Page 24 of The Obsession
“A door did this to you?” he asks, and I can tell he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
“It’s nothing,” I answer quickly, reaching for an apron. “Just clumsy. You know me.”
He lets out a low hum, sceptical but not pushing further. “You shouldn’t have come in today if you’re hurt,tesoro(Sweetheart). Sit down, I’ll get you some ice?—”
“No, really,” I cut him off, tying the apron behind my back. “I need to keep busy.”
Even a lobotomy would have sounded more appealing than staying home today.
We are flat out tonight, but I welcome it. It gives me less time to think about the clusterfuck that is awaiting me at home.
Some of our regular customers felt comfortable enough to ask about my lip, but they got the same lie as everyone else. I’ve said it so much tonight, it feels practically rehearsed.
I’m rushing out of the kitchen with both hands laden with plates of steaming pasta, but I freeze the moment I see him. Dominic Rizzo. The giant of a man with the little girl propped on his hip, standing just inside the door, waiting to be seated.
Great. I haven’t seen him in weeks, not since the day he defended my honour against that vile man he was dining with. Of all the nights he could choose to return, it had to be tonight.
My pulse spikes, and the plates suddenly feel heavier. “Give me a moment,” I say passing him, forcing my voice to remain steady as I move towards the table down the front to deliver their order.
I wipe my hands nervously on my apron as I approach him. His eyes are already narrowing in on my face, so I shift my attention to sweet little Peach.
She’s grown so much since the first time I saw her. She clutches a teddy bear under her arm and looks impossibly cute in the pink jumpsuit she’s wearing. There’s a pink butterfly clip pinning back some of her short dark curls and tiny pink sandals hug her feet. I find myself wondering how Dominic’s giant meaty hands can manage something so delicate.
Although this man is intimidating and downright scary, if I’m being honest, there’s something about him that makes me feel safe. He’s a mobster, so that’s crazy considering the man I’m living with seems to pale in comparison, but that adorable pink bundle in his arms makes him seem both fierce and gentle at the same time.
There’s so much I want to say, so many questions I ache to ask, but all that escapes my lips is, “Table for two?”
Tonight is not the night for small talk; any stray words could invite questions from him. Questions I’m not ready to answer.
He grunts in reply, as he usually does, but when his eyes drift from my cut lip to meet mine, I catch something raw beneath the surface, a flicker of pain, or maybe longing. It’s sharp and fleeting, hidden beneath the armour he wears so effortlessly, yet it’s enough to make my pulse race.
For a heartbeat, it feels like he sees more than just the cut on my lip; he sees something I haven’t dared to show anyone.
I lead them to the table, but instead of placing Peach down in her own seat, he plonks her on his lap.
“Would you like a highchair?” I offer.
“She’s fine here,” he replies.
Our eyes lock for a beat, and I don’t know what it is about this man, but there’s something that calls to me. I tear my gaze away from him and focus on Peach again. “Do you like to colour?” I ask her.
“She does,” he answers.
“We have little packs of colouring books and crayons. We give them out to the kids to keep them entertained. Can I bring one over for her?”
He glances down at his niece, then back up at me. His expression is unreadable when he nods.
By the time I return to the table with a menu and the colouring set, Peach has a bib fastened around her neck, a pink dummy in her mouth, and a sippy cup sitting in front of her.
There’s a patience and gentleness in him that I wouldn’t have expected. A quiet strength that softens his hard edges. Watching him with his niece, I realise just how effortlessly he balances authority with tenderness, and it leaves me unsettled in the best possible way.
Some time passes before I have the chance to return to Dominic’s table and take his order. Even with all the chaos around me, I could feel his eyes tracking me across the restaurant the entire time.
To start he asked for an antipasto—a mix of cured meats, cheeses, and marinated vegetables.
Watching Peach pause from colouring so her chubby little hand could reach for a pitted olive to pop it in her mouth made me smile.
For their main course, he ordered a spinach and pea risotto and a pasta dish in red sauce.
