Chapter 127


    The club is high end, huge and very clearly well used in a very trendy part of Midtown, it’s called


    ‘Alfa’s’. Its décor isn’t overly dated, just a little worn and faded, and even empty you can smell the years


    of sweat, boozy-bodied dancers and stale smoke. It’s modern and obviously up market but it just


    misses the little ‘va voom’ that makes a ce stand out.


    I take a walk around the vast room of multi-levelled tforms and seating as Alexi talks to his manager


    by the bar, sitting sipping an ice water because he is driving and watching me do my slow evaluation.


    He told me to go explore and tell him what I think needs to be done and it’s exactly what I am doing


    while I get a little head space.


    I can feel his eyes on me every second, burning my skin and giving me goosebumps. He’s been


    weirdly quiet and distant since we got in here and that suits me fine. Careful not to get too chummy,


    and even though he opened my car door, he kept his distance and gave me breathing space. It seems


    our little ‘chat’ has registered somewhere and he’s being a gentleman for once.


    I can handle unemotional and aloof Alexi, when the focus is business.


    * * *


    We walk out into the midday sun after spending a lot longer than nned talking fine details with rk,


    his bar manager. It was better than I thought it would be, and he made me feel valued, as though my


    opinion held real weight while they both listened and rk took notes. I don’t know who Alexi told him I


    was, but the guy treated me as though I had some kind of authority in club décor. It was kind of nice.


    Alexi has a file in hand of suggested changes, repairs and such, and a list of things his manager took


    notes on that might improve the takings, all suggested by me. I gave my input and Alexi didn’t find fault


    in a single suggestion; Both of them listening while I gave my feminine point of view on the look and


    feel of what he was aiming for, a real boost to my mood, and yet back in the car we are once again


    strangely silent.


    There’s an atmosphere between us still, one I cannot read but it’s there nheless, and I’m tired from


    the emotional drain it puts on me. I feel like I have been on a rollercoaster in thest couple of hours


    and I am mentally exhausted and a little fragile.


    ‘Do you want to go for food?’ Alexi breaks into my muggy brain, and I blink his way uncertainly.


    ‘I’m hungry but I’m not sure having a cosy little lunch date is wise, so I guess not,’ I point out nkly,


    giving him a one-shoulder shrug and a pointed look, but he just smiles at me.


    ‘Then call it a business lunch, we can recap what we talked about at the club. I’m starving and you


    must be too, it’s after two.’ He is in serious mode—a hint of bossying through and I can tell it’s


    pointless to argue. I wanted this version of him and it is back with a vengeance. I don’t know if that


    should be a sign to rx and maybe I am being over cautious, but either way, he wants us to have


    lunch and NO is falling on deaf ears; Even if he did make a show of asking me first.


    ‘Fine.’ I back down, literally starving too as I skipped breakfast this morning, and sink back into my seat


    a little huffily. He’s left me feeling bruised all day, regardless of lifting me up in the bar, and I cannot shift


    this weird knot of anxiety in my stomach.


    ‘Italian?’ He throws me a raised eyebrow as though my input means something and I just eyeroll.


    ‘Because I obviously don’t have enough of it in my life … sure … Italian it is.’ I sigh and look away from


    the furrowed brow he starts giving me and stare out the window at passing scenery instead.


    ‘I know a little ce close by Club Carrero—family-run—really good food.’ He ignores my obvious put-


    down and just carries on, undeterred; A brighter, chirpier, mellow hue to his voice.


    ‘By your family?’ I nch at him, weirded out that he might take me somewhere to meet more Carreros


    when things between us aren’t exactly friendly. I am not in the mood to y nice and put on my Cami


    mask anymore today. I’m just tired.


    ‘Kind of,’ he answers absentmindedly as he leans forward to look behind him out the side of his window


    at trafficing up the side, before he turns left. Distracted by focusing on the road.


    ‘Meaning?’ They are either family or they are not. He’s vexing me without even trying.


    ‘A family who took me under their wing when I moved to the city at seventeen; I go there sometimes.’


    He throws me back an odd smile and then concentrates on manoeuvring the car into a little side alley


    which cuts through to another road and gets us moving in a new direction with the traffic heading


    downtown. I am guessing the restaurant is on the way back to the club.


    Great!


    I’ll give Alexi one thing—he is a very capable and confident driver and I feel strangely safe at his


    chauffeuring abilities.


    Twenty minutester, he silently cuts us through another dim alley and we end up down a very dark,


    small back street that has washing lines strung between the buildings overhead. It’s a bit like going to


    Chinatown, but it’s all bed sheets and aprons and adds to the intimate secrecy of this little building


    nestled in secrecy; Sun shing through the gaps as we move and I wonder at where we are. I know


    it’s Little Italy, where the club is, but I cannot get my bearings as to exactly where.


    There’s barely room for cars down here, and as he parks with the car propped up on the pavement in


    the narrow alley I let myself out, rather than wait for him to be a gentleman and get my door. It’s a real


    squeeze to exit it and he would have no chance fitting in here as well.


    Alexies around the front to meet me at the bo, and, without touching, guides me towards the


    little open door of the small crowded building ahead of us. I can already smell gorgeous food wafting


    our way, infused with garlic and herbs and my mouth starts watering. I may have had reservations


    abouting to eat with him, but now I can smell it I am delighted he decided to bring me here. It


    smells divine and my taste buds start firing on all cylinders from the aroma alone.


    We duck inside and step down into a tiny darkened restaurant, tables crowding the small space with


    red and white chequered cloths and lit candles on each surface. It’s gloomy at first, until your eyes


    adjust from the sunshine outside, but as the roomes into clear view I get the vibe of Old Italian


    heritage and cosy surroundings. Traditional twee but so quaint it’s adorable.


    There’s warmth in the little rustic room and an elderly greying man in brown cords and a cream shirt


    makes a start towards us, catching my attention as he beams with delight at seeing us.


    ‘Alessandro!!!’ The heavily ented male rushes forward to pat Alexi enthusiastically on the shoulder


    before swooping in and kissing him on both cheeks in a really over dramatic way and hugging him


    heartily. All hugs and back ps in a very OTT wee. Alexiughs, uttering something Italian too


    and hugs him back.


    Italians!


    But…


    Who is Alessandro?


    It never dawned on me that Alexi was actually short for something. I never questioned it, and now I can


    hear someone call him that it just does not fit at all. It’s such an old man name for someone as sexy as


    Alexi. I don’t like it on him one bit. Sexy Alexi is a far better title and it has a ring to it.


    When the man steps away he swoops on me and I get a helping of the wet kisses on each side of my


    face, disturbingly so, and I try not to cringe as he rambles away in Italian chatter as though I can


    understand it. I don’t react, just smile politely and take the weird greeting before discreetly patting my


    face with a napkin when he turns his attention back to my date.


    ‘This is Cami,’ Alexi gestures towards me, smiling brightly and looking a little too Gino, before


    answering the man in fluent Italian again, faultlessly. I find myself gazing at him intensely. There is


    something really hot about Alexi speaking his family’s native tongue so fluently. If you didn’t know any


    better you would think he was a purebred foreigner when he is like this, and it’s captivating to listen to


    that husky voice talk in tongues of romance. I know he must have spent a great deal of time there as


    he harbours an odd twang in his normal dialect, but you don’t tend to notice much unless you listen


    hard.


    He catches my eyes on him and smiles softly, a weird moment between us that makes my skin erupt in


    feathery sensations and I look away uneasily; Stomach flipping and heart drumming intensely from the


    briefest things. Still haven’t got a grip on it.


    When we are shown to the nearest table and settled down, I’m dutifully handed a paper menu that’s


    handwritten and the old man sweeps off to fetch us some fresh hot Italian bread, and water.


    This belongs to N?velDrama.Org: ?.


    ‘Alessandro, huh?’ I throw Alexi a smug look and smile, banter over a name that definitely doesn’t suit


    him. I just cannot associate him with it at all. It conjures up greasy pool boys looking for a quicky with


    ageing rich women.


    ‘Yeah … Mothers! It’s the Italian form of Alexander. She truly likes to torture her kids. At least it’s not


    Luigino!’ He smiles back, pronouncing Gino’s full name with an ent that could possibly melt knickers


    and that really ends me. I start giggling at the absurdity of that name. It really is worse than Alessandro


    on every level, and now all I can think of is that little Mario brotherputer game duo, and Gino in


    green overalls.


    ‘Really? I thought Gino was at least just that … Gino! Jesus, did your mother not like either of you


    much then?’ I ask through my merry giggling fit, forgetting all my stress and weird mood vibes as I rx


    with him. Alexi picks up his menu and bops me on the head with it, looking amused. yfulness back


    on and the air clearing between us once more.


    ‘Yeah, something like that. She is very traditional and very Italian. My mother likes to remind us of that


    every day.’


    ‘I don’t like it … You’re Alexi, nothing else,’ I point out, and he keeps smiling at me, reminding me of a


    simr conversation over my use of the name Meghan. Leaning back in his chair casually he turns his


    menu to scan it.


    ‘Do you need trantions?’ He waves it at me and as I look down at my own I can see it’s all in Italian


    and I have no clue what any of it says. It could be symbols and dots for all I can decipher.


    ‘Hmmm. Why don’t you just pick me something? As long as there is wine to wash it down, I’ll like it. I’m


    not a picky eater.’ I smirk and throw my menu down in front of me, leaning back to match his pose and


    watch him as he reads it.


    ‘Red? Your favourite colour … Okay, we could just have today’s special. It’s spinach and four cheese


    risotto with pancetta and mushrooms.’ Alexi nces up at me over the paper and I nod approvingly.


    ‘Sounds good. And yes, to red … always.’


    ‘I could get on board with that.’ He throws his cheeky wink back at me and that weird tension from


    earlier lifts a little—taking nothing from his retort except a mild flirt. He’s in a charming mood now he


    has food on the brain, and I can let go a little and just go with it. Early upset finally forgotten and I look


    around the quaint little room and really appreciate my surroundings. It has a good ambience, warm and


    friendly and makes for a simr frame of mind. I like it.


    ‘So how did you find this ce?’ I probe, interested that someone like him would find somece like


    this a good fit. It doesn’t seem all that Alexi to me. Not shy, expensive or sinister enough. It’s a little


    homely and too family feely for our Mafia king and his avoidance of all things wholesome.


    ‘I kind of fell into it … literally. I was drunk, lost, trying to find my way home and ended up down here


    somehow one very wet night. I tried to find an exit via the side of the building and thought scaling a


    fence was quicker than walking back out the way I came. I ended up falling into their backyard and


    knocking myself out … very, very, wasted.’ He raises a brow and gives an apologetic shrug with his


    tale, and I burst outughing and shake my head at him in disbelief.


    ‘Seems very far away from all the Carrero grandeur to get lost around here. What did they do when


    they found a sleeping Alexi in their garden?’ I ask, lifting the water ss to turn right way up to fill, but


    Alexi is fast and swoops in for the jug before I do and pours me some in a very chivalrous manner.


    Proof he was raised with manners anyway.


    ‘I started life in an apartment near here … downtown, average, far away from everyone … They just put


    me on a fold-up bed in the kitchen to sleep it off. Next morning, they fed me and sent me on my way.’


    ‘And you came back?’ I seem surprised by this but then I guess seventeen-year-old Alexi was not as


    closed off and untrusting as thirty-two-year-old Alexi and probably wasn’t much like he is now. I get a


    pang of longing to know what he was like back then and try to picture him so much younger and much


    less affected by his world. I wish I could have met him before all that makes him who he is hadn’t fully


    seeped into his soul. Maybe I would have liked him a lot more.


    ‘I realised I left my wallet around here somewhere, so I had toe back. I didn’t really intend for it to


    be a regr haunt.’ His eyes meet mine with a sort of resigned nod and he carries on filling his


    own ss.


    ‘And now here we are,’ I point out with a beaming smile as old man Italy brings us his basket of


    breadsticks and deposits a fresh jug of iced water on the table despite the one I’m drinking still being


    cold. He removes the first jug anyway as Alexi gives him an order, still in Italian. He writes it on a little


    pad, nods with a smile, and when the old man totters off I lean in conspiringly.


    ‘He doesn’t speak English?’ Nodding after him, confused that someone living here for all these years


    hasn’t grasped basic English and he just shakes his head in reply.


    ‘No. His wife does and his children, but not him. He just never learned how I guess.’


    Talking of such, a girl wanders through casually, around my age,te twenties, and beams at us sitting


    here as soon as she looks up; bursting into overenthusiastic happiness as she spots my Lothario at the


    table.


    ‘Alessandro!’ She mimics that of the older man, ent not as heavy, and rushes over to paw and kiss


    Alexi on the cheeks, a little flirtier than the old man did, breaks into fluent Italian without looking my way


    once.