Mafia Kings: Roberto: Dark Mafia Romance Series #5

Iquickly walked over and put myself directly in her path. “Hello.”

Her eyes widened as she stopped in surprise. “Oh – hello.”

Her voice was absolute music: soft and warm, with the sexiest and most demure British accent imaginable.

At 5’7” in heels, she was about six inches shorter than me. Up close, I could see that her black cheongsam had a dark green dragon embroidered on it. The head and claws extended down the front of her dress, while the dragon’s body curled over her shoulder and presumably down her back.

“I had to come over and meet you.” I extended my hand. “My name is Roberto Rosolini.”

She smiled as she took my hand. “Chan Mei-ling.”

Her skin was like silk; her grasp was so soft, it was like I was holding the petals of a flower.

In Asian countries, the family name comes first. Chan was a common family name, so I knew her ‘first’ name – her given name – was Mei-ling.

May-LEENG.

“That’s beautiful… does your name have a meaning?” I asked.

“‘Beautiful spirit’ or ‘beautiful bell,’ depending on how you wish to interpret it.” A change in her expression indicated she was about to brush me off. “Mr. Rosolini, I – ”

“Call me Roberto. May I buy you a drink? Say yes.”

“Mr. Rosolini – ”

“Say yes,” I repeated in a slightly different voice.

“I don’t – ”

“Say yes,” I said one last time, trying to make my voice as mischievous as possible.

The third time was the charm. She laughed silently – just a smile and a couple of movements of her shoulders.

“…alright. Just one.”

“What would you like?” I asked.

“Jiangbei knows,” she said as she gave a slight nod of her head in the direction of the bar.

The female bartender in the tuxedo nodded in return and started preparing something.

I noticed that Han was grinning like an idiot as he watched me. I chose to ignore him.

“Why don’t we sit?” I asked.

“I’d love to,” she said with a smile, and led the way to one of the recessed booths. We sat on opposite sides. I could smell her perfume – an intoxicating mix of floral notes and delicate spice.

“Is this your first time at De Sade?” she asked politely.

“It is.”

“Is everything to your liking?”

“It is now that I’m talking with you.”

“Mm.” It was a pleasant sound, and she said it with a smile, but I could tell she was humoring me. I was sure a hundred men told her every night how stunning she was.

This was the part I hated: trying to interest a woman I’d just met. I wasn’t a natural seducer like my youngest brother, Valentino. I couldn’t rely on wit and charm like Niccolo. And I had nowhere near the magnetism of Dario, or the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude of Adriano, or the quiet confidence of Massimo.

To be honest, I always got lost in this stage of the interaction. I had no idea how to make myself seem interesting.

The bartender rescued me when she came over and hand-delivered a drink to Mei-Ling. It was an off-white liquid in a martini glass with three small, white, pulpy orbs speared on a tiny bamboo umbrella.

Mei-ling said something in Chinese to the bartender, who nodded and walked away.

“That looks delicious,” I said. “What is it?”

“A lemon lychee cocktail. Have you had lychee fruit before?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“It’s quite good. Very sweet and delicate. Have Jiangbei make one for you later.” She took a sip of the drink. “So – what is it that you do, Roberto?”

I wanted to say something sexy and dangerous: I’m a member of a Cosa Nostra family fighting a war with my uncle and cousin.

But instead I said, “I’m in finance.”

Technically correct, but utterly boring.

On the other hand, it would have been idiotic and foolhardy to reveal the true nature of my business just to impress a woman.

“We have quite a few customers in that field,” she said pleasantly.

“So you work here?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

My heart began beating much faster. “I…”

Then I trailed off.

Mei-ling raised her eyebrows in anticipation of my question.

“…how much would it be to spend the evening with you?” I asked.

She gave me a smile, though it was cool and slightly contemptuous. “You don’t have enough money to spend the evening with me, Mr. Rosolini.”

That answer took me aback.

And not just that she’d stopped using ‘Roberto.’

You don’t have enough money to spend the evening with me, Mr. Rosolini.

I wanted to say, I have a cashier’s check in my pocket for $227,000 that says otherwise, but that would have been crude and boastful – the opposite of how I wanted to present myself.

“What about $10,000 per hour of your time?” I offered.

I was expecting the offer to surprise her – maybe even stun her into silence.

What I did not expect was for her to scoff at me dismissively. “No, thank you.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand. You said you work here – correct?”

“You said that. I said, ‘In a manner of speaking.’”

“So what does that mean, exactly?” I asked, a bit more sharply than I intended. I didn’t like verbal games and clever asides – mostly because I was terrible at them. I always preferred to be direct.

All warmth dropped from her voice, leaving only cool condescension. “It means I own De Sade, Mr. Rosolini.”

“…ah,” I said, realizing just how badly I’d overstepped. “I apologize. I’m unfamiliar with the club and how things work around here.”

“You could have asked,” she said with a fake smile. “Instead of assuming.”

I was beginning to grow irritated. It had been a simple misunderstanding and not entirely out of place given the kind of establishment we were in.

“Alright, let me ask you this,” I said. “You seem to have taken offense that I assumed you work here. But what’s so wrong with that? You own the club; surely you value your employees and their work. What’s so wrong with someone mistaking you for an employee?”

“I assume from your expensive suit and Rolex that you’re very successful in finance, Mr. Rosolini,” she said. “Am I correct?”

It felt like she was laying a trap for me. I tried to evade it. “I like to dress this way, so I do.”

“But you are very successful at your profession, are you not?”

The trap loomed closer. I could sense it coming.

“More or less,” I answered.Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

“How would you like it if a visitor mistook you for an entry-level accountant?”

“It wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.”

She laughed, but not pleasantly. “Given the status and wealth you project, I find that hard to believe.”

I clenched my jaw as I smiled. “It’s a family business, so it’s not like I’m the CFO of a major corporation. If I were mistaken for one of my very few employees, all of whom are excellent at what they do – as I said, it wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Let me change the question, then. How would you feel if someone asked you to fetch them coffee? Or do some other menial job?”

“So you consider your employees’ work to be menial?” I shot back.

“No…”

Fire flashed in her eyes as she stared me down.

“…but I’m the owner. And since my employees’ work is sexual in nature, I don’t like to be propositioned for whatever it is you think you can buy me for, Mr. Rosolini.”

At that moment, she would have been overwhelmingly alluring if she wasn’t so goddamn high-and-mighty.

“I wasn’t – ” I began, but she abruptly stood up from the booth.

“Since this is my club, and since you didn’t actually pay for my drink, I think our time is at an end.” She smiled oh-so-sweetly and oh-so-fakely. “You’re welcome to ask any of my employees what they’re willing to do, but I would advise you to ASK… rather than assuming you already know. Good evening, Mr. Rosolini.”

And with that, she turned and walked away.

I sat there, my mouth open, not sure whether I was furious or aroused. Or both.

Over by the bar, Han was nearly doubled over with laughter.

I got out of the booth and walked towards him. I glanced in the direction Mei-ling had gone, but she’d disappeared into the shadows.

“What’s so funny?” I snapped when I reached Han.

“YOU,” he laughed. “Your expression – it was priceless.”

I felt my face flush hot with both embarrassment and anger.

“Yeah, well… I guess I did get my ass handed to me,” I muttered.

Han slapped me on the shoulder in a way that reminded me of Adriano or Massimo. “Ahhh, don’t take it too hard. You’re not the first to get ripped a new one by Chan Mei-ling.”

I frowned. “So you know her?”

“Everybody knows her. Or knows about her, anyway. She’s a stone-cold bitch.”

I didn’t like him calling her that. It made me angry for some reason.

“She wasn’t a bitch,” I said. “I assumed she was a worker and propositioned her, not realizing she owns the club. She had a right to be offended.”

Han’s laughter slowly died off, though he kept smiling in a grim sort of way. “Is that what she said? That she owns the club?”

“Yes,” I replied, unsure why his attitude had shifted.

“…huh,” he muttered.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Han suddenly snapped back into friendly mode. “Ahhh, don’t let her ruin your night.” He waved his arm around the room. “There’s a ton of hot women at De Sade. Get whichever one you want.”

“No. I’m good.”

“Come on.”

“I’m serious. I’d like to leave.”

“But – ”

I stared him straight in the eyes. “Take me back to the hotel. Please.”

I said ‘please’ like Don’t make me tell you again.

Han shook his head and sighed, then turned and headed for the stairs.

What I couldn’t tell him was that there was only one woman I wanted…

And if I couldn’t have her, I wouldn’t settle for anyone else.

It was her, or nothing.

And since I couldn’t have her…

‘Nothing’ was what it would be.