Dating A Mob Boss (The Dating Series Book 2)

by Love, B. T.

  “Four.”

  “That's not too bad. I'll get these tickets to my tables then I'll go back there and get their drink order.”

  “I already know it. Scotch on the rocks all the way around.”

  “Well that's easy enough.” I flipped around and made my way through the loud room, handing the bills out one by one to my tables. After that I went back to the bar to get the scotch for the private party.

  The bartender that night was Manny. He was dark and handsome, with slicked-back hair and bulging muscles. I couldn't help but notice him watching me most of the night and smiling when we made eye contact. He was cute but he wasn't my type; he was a little too Jersey Shore-ish for my taste.

  I sat my tray down on the counter. “Hi Manny. I need a scotch on the rocks times four.”

  His face glowed with a smile. “Comin’ right up.” He went to work pouring the drinks and sat them one by one on the tray. “So how you like working here?” he asked.

  “It's great. I feel like I'm really fitting in here.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  I smiled and took the tray off of the counter. “Thanks Manny. Talk to you later.”

  “I hope so,” he replied, giving me a wink.

  I tried to hide the look of disinterest on my face as I spun around and headed off to the back of the restaurant. I was a little nervous serving this group. I had no idea who they were but I knew they had to be important. Usually business men reserved it.

  I pushed open the door and was met with a thick plume of cigar smoke. The room had low romantic lighting as it was, and the smoke seemed to add to the darkness. In the center was a large round table with four men relaxing around it, playing poker in business suits.

  “Hello,” I cut into their chatter. “I'm Amber and I'll be your waitress tonight.” I brought the tray to the table and sat it down, unloading a couple of glasses onto the table. “We have a delicious garlic shrimp pasta tonight. It comes with a side of garlic bread and a fresh garden salad.”

  I made eye contact with an older gentleman who had a thick mustache and a bald head. “Sounds delicious,” he said.

  I smiled and moved to the other side of the table to unload the rest of the drinks. “There's also a chicken Alfredo dish that I would recommend. It's my personal favorite.”

  “Ugh, what the hell is this?” one of them asked in a heavy Brooklyn accent. I looked up to see that the remark came from a younger man with black greasy hair that was slicked back worse than Manny’s.

  “Is there something wrong?” I asked, unsure of what the problem was.

  “Yeah, this scotch is wrong. You brought us the cheap stuff.”

  “Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you preferred a certain brand.”

  “Of course we prefer a certain brand. Don't ya know who the hell we are? What, are ya new here or somethin’?”

  “Well, um, yes I am.”

  “Well ya better fix it—”

  “That's enough, Mikey,” another one of the men cut in.

  I looked over at the man who came to my rescue; I hadn't even noticed he was sitting at the table until now. He was absolutely gorgeous, with a smooth face and what looked to be hazel eyes. His hair was short on the sides and a little longer on top, and I could tell that he was accustomed to running his fingers through it.

  I cleared my throat. “Again, I'm very sorry. Is there a certain brand of scotch I can bring you instead?”

  The handsome man smiled. “Highland Park, if you don't mind.”

  “But that's a five hundred dollar bottle . . .”

  “Yes,” his eyes sparkled. “I'm aware of that.”

  I nodded and went around the table picking up the short glasses. When I got to the handsome man’s glass I cut my eyes over at him, only to be surprised that he was watching me. My heart quickened and I smiled nervously. “I’m sorry again.”

  He waved it off. “It’s no big deal. So, how long have you worked here?”

  “Less than two weeks; I’m still trying to learn everything. But don’t worry I’ll remember what you all like for the next time you come in.”

  His eyes lit up with his smile as he sat back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of his expensive-looking suit. “Like I said, it’s no big deal.”

  I dropped my head shyly to the circular tray in my hands. “I, uh, I’ll be right back with your drinks.” With that I spun around and left the room, going straight back to the bar. “Hey Manny,” I said while setting the tray on the counter, “I got the wrong stuff for the party in the back room. Apparently they want Highland Park. I would never buy a five hundred dollar bottle of scotch. They must be rolling in the—”

  “The back room?” he cut in. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me it was for the back room?”

  I pulled my head back with surprise; his tone was pretty rude. “Well geez, I didn’t know it mattered.”

  “Of course it matters. Don’t you know who they are back there?”

  “I don’t know, rich guys in suits?”

  “Yeah, rich guys in suits is right. But you forgot one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Those guys are a part of the mob.”

  “Mob?” I laughed. “Like with Tommy guns and trench coats and stuff?”

  His face was serious. “Exactly.”

  “Is this some kind of joke you’re trying to pull on me? I mean, I know I’m naive but I’m not that naive.”

  “The mob is one thing I would never joke about.”

  “Oh, come on. This isn’t the seventies anymore. The mob doesn’t exist.”

  He finished loading the expensive drinks on the tray and leaned against the bar. “It does. And the guy who runs a large part of it is back in that room. He’s a very powerful man; I don’t need him knowing about me messing up this drink order.”

  I took the tray back into my hands and smirked. “You’re delusional. And don’t worry, whichever one he is he knows I’m the one who messed it all up.”

  “Good,” he said, throwing a bar towel over his shoulder. “Now don’t leave them waiting any longer. Get in there.”

  My eyebrows pulled together. He sure was being a jerk. Who did he think he was, my boss or something? I left him without another word and made my way back to the smoky room. “Okay you guys,” I said as I pushed open the door. “Sorry about that.” I sat the tray on the table and unloaded the glasses one by one, trying to avoid the cards and chips from their poker game. “I assure you that this is in fact the good stuff.”

  “It better be,” the young man muttered under his breath.

  The handsome man leaned forward. “Do we have a problem, Mikey?” he asked him, his face as hard as stone.

  Mikey stiffened in his seat and shifted his eyes down at the table. “No. There’s no problem here.”

  “Good.” He relaxed back into his chair and turned his attention to me. “Don’t listen to this guy, he doesn’t have any manners.”

  “Yeah, his mom must have dropped him on his head when he was a baby,” another man said. All the men except for Mikey chuckled.

  I laughed a bit under my breath and pulled out my pen and pad to take their order. “Well, if you guys are ready I can take your order.” One by one they told me what they wanted. After writing it down I went around the table and collected the menus. “Hopefully I’ll get this one right,” I joked.

  “The only one you have to worry about makin’ happy is Mikey over there,” one of them said. “He has to act so tough ‘cause he’s tryin’ to make up for somethin’.” Again, they all laughed.

  “Shut up,” Mikey said.

  I clutched the menus in my hands and smiled. “Well I wouldn’t want to upset the modern day mob, would I?”

  Their laughter dwindled. The handsome man took a lit cigar from the tray in front of him and brought it to his smiling lips. “Modern day mob, huh? Why on earth would you call us that?”

  The smile flew off of my face. “Oh, um, it was
a joke. Someone told me you guys were a part of the mob or something and I, um . . .”

  All of the men’s eyes were on him; it was then that I realized he was the most powerful man in the room, the one Manny was talking about.

  He puffed on his cigar and watched me as he took it away from his mouth and let the smoke bleed past his lips. “Who told you that?” he calmly asked.

  “Oh, uh, just some idiot.”

  He laughed. “And what did you tell him when he told you that?”

  “That the mob doesn’t exist.”

  He stared quietly at me for a moment and then smiled. “Smart woman.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and spun around, leaving the room as quickly as I could. I put the orders in to the cook and searched for Natalie around the loud restaurant. When I spotted her at a corner table I took off in her direction and waited until she was done speaking with the customers. “Natalie,” I shouted to get her attention.

  When she saw me she came over. “What’s up?”

  “How could you do that to me?”

  She looked confused. “What are ya talking about?”

  “The men in the back room. Apparently they’re some big shots and I took them the wrong brand of Scotch.”

  “Oh, man. I’m so sorry, I really am. I forgot that ya don’t know who they are. Were they mad?”

  “One was; he kept giving me a hard time.”

  She took me by the arm and pulled me around the corner. “Was it the hot one?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. Which one is the hot one?”

  “Oh come on, ya know exactly which one the hot one is.”

  “No,” I shook my head, “it wasn’t him. It was some guy named Mikey.”

  She nodded while a thought danced around in her head. “Okay, don’t worry about him. It’s the hot one ya have to worry about.”

  “Why, because he’s some kind of ‘mob boss’?” I teased while making quotations with my fingers.

  “Yes.”

  I dropped my hands. “Yeah right.”

  “I’m not messin’ around. Have ya ever heard of the Falco family?”

  “No.”

  “Of course ya haven’t, you’ve only lived here a couple of weeks. But let me tell ya, that good-lookin’ guy in there is Trent Falco. He’s the grandson of Ken Falco.”

  “Who’s Ken Falco?”

  “The head of the Falco family. He has his hands in a lot of dirty things around these parts. He doesn’t do much these days ‘cause he’s getting up in years, but Trent handles all his business for him.”

  “What do you mean by dirty things?”

  “Ya know: drugs, illegal gambling . . . And there have been quite a few people who have disappeared after they crossed the family, if ya know what I mean.”

  “Oh god,” I moaned. “Are you kidding me? I just made a joke about them being in the mob right to their faces!”

  “What the hell did ya do that for?”

  “I don’t know, they were just joking around and . . . Ugh, I thought the mob disappeared back in the seventies or something.”

  She shook her head. “Well ya better get back in there and make them happy.”

  “Well now I’m scared to death to go in there.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about it. You’re a pretty woman; they’ll leave ya alone. And anyway, they only come in on Sunday nights when ya usually don’t work so ya probably won’t even see them again.”

  “God I hope so.”

  * * *

  I busied myself with my other tables until the food was ready for the dreaded back room. While balancing a few plates on my arms I pushed through the door and found the private space oddly quiet. They had removed the cards and poker chips from the table and were now speaking seriously to each other, the mood in the room no longer relaxed.

  Their chatter ceased when I came closer and put their food in front of them. My eyes shifted over to Trent. Again, he was watching me intently, almost like he was trying to figure me out or something. He was relaxed in his chair with his hand on the table and the cigar between his fingers, the same hand holding onto his empty ice-filled glass.

  “Can I get you a refill on your scotch, Trent?” I asked.

  His eyebrow twitched lightly with surprise. “You know my name,” he said, not as a question but as a fact.

  I didn’t know how to respond, so I decided to just continue doing my job. “I’ll be right back with the rest of the food and a refill on scotch around the table.” I left the room again and silently scolded myself for letting him know I knew his name, which meant I had been talking about him outside of the room. I brought them the rest of their food, avoiding eye contact with Trent the entire time, and then returned once more with another round of scotch.

  “Thank you,” Trent said when I sat his glass down in front of him.

  Our eyes met. “You’re welcome. Can I get you anything else?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “Your last name.”

  “My last name?”

  He tapped the end of his cigar against the ash tray in front of him. “You’ve got one, don’t you?” he asked before taking a puff.

  “Johnsom.”

  “Johnson?”

  “No,” I laughed lightly. “It’s Johnsom,” I said, pronouncing the last letter clearly so he could hear the difference.

  “Amber Johnsom,” he repeated while blowing out a plume of smoke. “Amber, like the color of this fine scotch that flows smoothly past my lips. The most exquisite taste in the world.”

  The men around the table chuckled and Trent himself looked pleased by his clever choice of words. Who did this guy think he was? Yeah, he was downright gorgeous. And I couldn’t help but find that I was intrigued by his apparent level of power in the Brooklyn community. But all that aside I wasn’t stupid; I knew he was being some kind of cocky, self-righteous flirt. And I wasn’t into that sort of thing.

  I went around the table and picked up the empty glasses from the first round of drinks. “No, Trent. You’re wrong.”

  The room fell quiet, something that happened so quickly with this group. Trent cocked his head to the side. “Am I? Tell me how I’m wrong, Amber. Tell me how you’re not as fine as what’s in this glass.”

  Trying to remind myself he was someone I shouldn’t cross, I calmed my tone, holding the tray up with one hand with my other hand on my hip. “Well I’m not smooth, or, exquisite.”

  He lifted the glass and swirled it gently around, making the cubes of ice chime against each other. “Oh, I beg to differ.” He took a slow sip, watching me over the rim of the glass.

  I twisted my lips together with irritation. “Wrong again. Amber, as in the gem that is appreciated for its natural beauty.”

  He sat his glass back on the table. “You’re absolutely right; you are naturally beautiful.”

  This guy was good. “Thank you for the compliment,” I said with a straight face. “Will you be needing anything else? I have other tables to serve.”

  His smile slowly faded and his eyes stayed on my face. “No,” he answered. “Thank you.”

  I flipped around and left the room, completely dumbfounded by his flirtation. For one thing, I didn’t like guys who thought they could just win me over by charm. I mean, that was what my ex-fiancée was all about. And secondly I didn’t want anything to do with a gang, no matter how classy they seemed to be. A gang was a gang. End of story.

  The rest of the night I stayed busy. When I had to go into the back room I avoided eye contact with Trent and instead concentrated on helping the other men in his party, which happened to be quite pleasant. Well, besides the Mikey guy. I had to admit I fully realized the mistake I had made by talking back to the boss, something I did against my better judgement. I felt stupid for doing it and afraid of the consequences at the same time. So I decided to stay quiet the rest of the evening. Oddly enough Trent stayed quiet as well, deciding not to engage me in any more conversation.

  When the group of them lef
t I was back by the kitchen. I couldn’t help but watch them as they made their way through the crowded restaurant, Trent leading them like the important man he apparently was. He held himself with such poise and control; it was incredibly sexy. It was hard not to watch him. When he got to the front door he held it open and stood back, letting the other men go through first. That was odd to me; someone should be holding the door for him, not the other way around. After the men exited he stood there still holding the door open, his eyes scanning around the restaurant. And then he spotted me in the back. His eyes seemed to flicker with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. I didn’t smile; he didn’t smile. We were just two wild animals in the forest, a rabbit and a wolf. You can only guess which one I was.

  Three

  I couldn’t sleep; Trent occupied my mind like a cancer. After he left the restaurant I had went back to the room to clear the plates, only to find a three hundred dollar cash tip sitting under his empty scotch glass. Three hundred dollars! I took it, of course, but I was hesitant. Did that tip mean I owed him something? Maybe he was trying to impress me some more. Or maybe he was giving me a nice gift before he put a hit out on me . . . I didn’t know what to think. But I did know two things at that point: I needed to put the cash in the bank before someone swiped it from me, and that Trent’s generosity probably meant he wasn’t mad about my backtalk. Hopefully.

  Vin had brought me home after my shift and once I got inside I took a shower to wash the cigar smoke out of my hair. I didn’t like cigarette or cigar smoke, and I was never interested in men who partook in the habit of smoking. But I had to admit that an attractive man holding one of the two between his lips was a bit alluring. Trent was very alluring.

  I rolled over in my comforter. The warm waves of heat blew gently across my face from the wall heater; the scent of dusty warmth filling me with an odd sense of comfort. I missed home. But now this was my home, my home with not one piece of furniture in it. I didn’t even have a bed. Instead I just folded my comforter in half hot dog style and slept in it as if it were a sleeping bag.

  A moan bled through the walls from the apartment next door. I raised my head, unsure of whether or not I heard it. A moment passed and then again, another moan. After realizing what it was I rolled my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The prostitute next door was obviously on the clock. Another moan echoed from her apartment. I pulled the covers up over my head and tried to block the sound. “God that guy is loud,” I conversed with myself beneath the blanket. “So gross.” For a split second I thought about calling the manager, but I figured I was safer minding my own business. After all, who knew what kind of a woman the prostitute was; she could be dangerous. I hadn’t even seen her in the short time I had been living next to her. I heard she slept during the day and handled her ‘occupation’ at night, so that would explain her absence. At least she was quiet during the day.