His Smile: A Mafia Romance

by Katerina Winters

  “Do you know,” she began, leaning her chin on the palm of her hand. “Theodore actually had the nerve to come to me, in secret of course, away from the celebration going on in the other room for Nadia. And told me that he will be paying me more than Nadia, and if I look at the schedule, I am actually performing in more solos than her,” she laughed bitterly. “And that the only reason they picked her as principal was for the company's board of directors. He said it was some sort of look or something they were going for. He really tried to brush it off and have me focus on the salary. But I heard him,” she stabbed one finger down onto the marble, anger starting to rise within her. “I heard him clearly, I saw past all of his backpedaling. They did not think I was a good look for their company.”

  Pausing with his knife suspended mid cut above the mushrooms, Roman looked at her sharply. “Did he see you cry?”

  Shaking her head, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “God no, I would never let him have that.”

  “Good girl,” he turned and tossed the cut vegetables into the skillet along with the chicken, before grabbing a bottle of amber cooking wine.

  A nudge at her thigh, caused her to look down with a smile as Hannibal looked at her for attention. Reaching down, she stroked the top of the dog’s head. “All I thought of while he spoke was killing him,” she groaned. An image of Theodore’s pencil-thin neck came to mind. “I mean the act of actually wrapping my hands around his skinny neck and watching him die,” she pressed.

  “Now, now, gorgeous,” he gave her a reprimanding click of his tongue, before turning from his skillet and gave her a smile so wide and dangerous it reminded her instantly just who Roman was, in case she forgot. “Do not joke about such things I may get confused and deliver that wish as a belated birthday gift.”

  Laughing for what felt like the first time in forever, she inhaled the aromatic aroma of the cooking food and realized she really was hungry. That morning all she had was a small muffin and a bottle of water.

  “It will be a few minutes before everything is done if you want you can go take a quick shower,” he offered over his shoulder as he worked at the stove.

  A shower sounded amazing. “Can I? I would really like that,” she admitted.

  “My room is directly above.”

  Sliding off the barstool, she grabbed her bag and headed towards the stairs. The second floor overlooked the entire living room and offered what was probably a magnificent view of the backyard during the day. For now, all she could see was her own reflection as she walked up the stairs and crossed the narrow landing to the last door. Walking into the dark bedroom, she was struck by Roman’s familiar scent. Inhaling, she closed her eyes for a second and stood to appreciate that wonderful mixture of soft cologne and coffee beans. Finding the switch on the wall, her pulse awakened at the sight of the gigantic bed directly in front. It was huge and totally fitting for a man of Roman’s stature. Walking closer, she couldn’t help but marvel at the size. She had read somewhere about basketball players and some NFL players getting huge custom-made beds, this had to be one of those custom orders. Turning away from the bed, she spotted the open door to the bathroom and let out a strangled groan when she stepped through.

  “Dear God, I want to be rich,” she whined, taking in the dark shiny chocolate granite lined with veins of iridescent caramel and light hazel marbled floors. She would willingly die in this bathroom.

  Showered and dressed in a simple but cute blue pajama short set, Rahina made her way back down to the kitchen.

  Turning around from the stove, Roman gave her an accessing stare. Wherever his eyes passed over, she could feel her skin react to the studying look. Her outfit was by no means sexy, but she knew that on her long dancer’s body that the discreet pajama shorts sat high revealing the full length of her toned brown legs. The unmistakable recognition of heat in Roman’s usually laughing eyes left her feeling exposed and very aware of her own body. Resisting the urge to look down and check her breasts through the loose-fitting tank-top, she prayed the thinly padded bra she wore hid her stiffening nipples.

  “You are just in time,” he motioned for her to sit back in her chair, as he grabbed two plates.

  Serving the food onto the plates, he placed them in front of her before grabbing two wine glasses by their stems in one hand and grabbing a bottle of wine from the small wine cooler that was built into the cabinets. Rahina did her best not to stare as he walked around the large island counter. Even casually in his home, she found Roman magnetizing. Unlike some men, he didn’t walk with practiced swagger or dominating pretense. His tall, muscular form radiated power as he moved with a natural authoritative canter that made men want to move aside. Setting down the wine between them, he easily slid onto the stool next to her.

  His ever-constant smirk grew wider as he looked at her. “I have never met a woman like you before. Sometimes I will catch you staring at me like a lioness stalking her next meal and then others times like now you will surprise me and switch the roles entirely and stare at me with those beautiful wide brown eyes of yours like a small rabbit being cornered by a wolf.”

  Embarrassed, she looked down at her steaming plate of food. Chicken smothered in a wine sauce with capers and mushrooms on a light bed of pasta. “You’re a handsome man,” she admitted, picking up her fork. “It’s hard not to stare at you.”

  Receiving no response and seeing no movement in her peripheral, she looked up and caught her breath at the molten steel in his eyes. He was staring at her with a large carnal smile and a gaze that silently detailed everything he wanted to do to her.

  “Roman?” she whispered cautiously.

  “Eat,” he commanded, grabbing his own fork.

  Taking a bite of the steaming food, Rahina closed her eyes in a small moan of appreciation. “This is so good,” she praised between bites. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

  Drinking some of his wine, Roman leaned back on his chair. One of his knees brushing against hers with the movement. “I own a few restaurants,” he explained with a casual shrug. “I sometimes like to drop in unannounced on my chefs and watch them squirm as they try to guess why I am there. I may or may not pick up a few things along the way.”

  Setting down her wine to keep from spilling it, she used her napkin to hide her cough as she laughed. She could just imagine the grinning gangster doing just that. “You know, it would just be easier, and not to mention kinder, to just watch some cooking shows.”

  His smile twisted into a small frown as he shook his head. “And miss out on the hands-on experience?”

  “You mean the entertainment of watching them squirm,” she pointed out.

  Reaching over her refilled her wine glass. “That too, of course.”

  “Well, you may be right about the hands-on experience thing,” she took the last bite of her pasta and reached for his empty plate and hers. Without waiting, she slid from her stool and carried the empty dishes around the counter and found the dishwasher hiding amongst the black cabinets. “I cannot tell you how many times my mom nagged me to pay attention as she tried to teach my sisters and I to cook.”

  Getting up, he walked around the other side of the long counter and met her on the other side of the sink. Without the need for words, they worked as a mini assembly line, gathering dishes, rinsing, and stacking them into the dishwasher.

  “I take it you did not pay attention during those lessons,” she could hear the smirk in his voice and knew he was referring to her continuous consumption of pre-packaged meals.

  “Yeah,” she confessed heavily.

  Memories of her mother’s disappointed face and irate lectures came to mind. Rubina dutifully learned their mother’s recipes and replicated her movements in the kitchen while Rahina had spent most of her time talking and dancing around the kitchen with her younger sister, Safina. The idea of standing behind a hot stove for hours cooking didn’t appeal to Rahina one bit. Why should she, she had thought? It wasn’t like cooking was required anymo
re, they weren’t poor or living far away from society. This was the twenty-first century, and she was going to be a modern woman who made her own rules and did things her way. Or at least that was always what she thought, but now Rahina couldn’t help but wonder if it wouldn’t have helped a bit just to appease her mother on that one thing and just learn to cook.

  The sound of the dishwasher’s washing cycle beginning shook her out of her reverie. Looking to Roman, she put on a too bright smile at his unreadable look. “Thank you for dinner, I…”

  Closing the distance between them, Roman stepped forward and wrapped one hand around her back, pulling her towards him. Pressed close to him, she could feel the fabric of his jeans scraping against the skin of her thighs. Using his thumb, he traced the curve of her lips. “Don’t,” he spoke with a quiet magnitude that resonated through her body. “Do not give me a fake smile.”

  “Coming from the man who wields his smile like a weapon?”

  Roman said nothing in reply nor did his grip around her move. Staring up into his eyes, her body began to lose its tension. Eyes that probably evoked fear in so many men left her captivated, and in awe, at the secret trace of warmth, he seemed to show only her. How did this man make her feel so powerless in his arms but give her a look that felt as if he was beholding someone invincible? It felt as if he knew something about her that even she didn’t know as if there was a secret at the edge of that smile.

  “Do you,” he spoke inches from her lips, “really want to smile?”

  Her head tilted instinctively at the proximity of his lips. She shook her head as tears welled in her eyes. “No,” her voice was thick.

  “Then come here.” He guided her out the living room, grabbing the bottle of wine and their glasses off the counter as he passed. Sitting on the couch first, he pulled her down next to him. Behind the couch was a long narrow mirrored table that allowed him to set the wine and glasses on. Leaning partly in the corner of the tufted couch, he spread his arms along the back of the couch, sending her a silent invitation to come closer.

  Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his narrow waist and leaned her face against the fabric of his shirt. Her eyes fluttered close at the warm feeling of his muscled chest. For a few moments, neither one of them said anything. Staring out the darkened windows ahead, she listened to the steady beat of his heart against her ear.

  “I guess what hurts the most from all this,” she confessed quietly. “Is the thought of my mother’s disapproving face as she tells me, “I told you so” when she hears the news.”

  Rahina closed her eyes when she felt his hand settle onto her back, radiating heat through the flimsy fabric of her tank top.

  “Would she have been happy if you would have gotten the position?” his voice sounded like a thunderstorm beneath her ear.

  Not opening her eyes, her skin tightened and tingled as she felt his hand on her back move to toy with her long braid. Goosebumps rippled across her skin as she felt his handwork at the end of the braid and slowly make his way up. For the longest moment, she could not tell what he was doing exactly, but when she felt some of her hair fall to her waist, she let out an involuntary shiver as she realized he was loosening her hair from the braid.

  Actively she tried to focus her thoughts on his words and control the shivers that ran through her body at his touch. “I don’t think so,” she admitted. “She would have probably seen it as me going further down the rabbit hole of dance and further from what she wants.”

  “Which is marriage and grandchildren I presume,” his fingers had worked themselves to the base of her neck.

  Rahina squeezed her eyes tighter at the sensual feeling such a simple touch caused as she nodded her head in agreement. With her braid completely undone, a desperate part of her hoped he wouldn’t pull his hand away. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, and she knew he had to feel it against his stomach in their position. He didn’t pull away though, his hands kept moving through her thick hair, massaging the base of her scalp. Slow, gentle circles kneading every drop of her remaining strength out of her body until she lay completely limp.

  “Tell me, has your mother ever been satisfied with any of her daughters?”

  “She has been happy with us,” she felt a sudden necessary stab of guilt to defend her mother. “She just has certain expectations and wants for us to…oh,” her words ended in a surprise satisfied groan as his hand slid lower to her shoulder and began working at the stiff muscle.

  “Your mother does not sound like someone who is ever satisfied. Even if you quit ballet and received your doctorate, she would want to know when you will get married. Once you are married, she will want grandchildren. And once you have children, she would most likely start pressuring you on how you are raising them,” his other hand joined in on her shoulder working at her sudden stiffening.

  He was right. It was a similar conversation her and Rubina had many times, but it was different coming from an outside source. It felt like years of turmoil finally being brought to the light, that their complaints weren’t just complaints and that they were legitimate arguments.

  Pushing herself up into a quasi-pushup, she looked up at him. “I know you’re right and I know I need to stop letting her judgement affect me but…” Carefully she lifted one leg and placed it over his hip and then repeated the action with the other until she was straddling him. Placing both hands at the center of his chest, she gave him an imploring stare. “But just for tonight let me soak up all the rest of the sympathy and consideration you have shown me, please, I just want to enjoy this a little bit longer before I have to be strong and face reality again.”

  Her body thrummed with a pulse of energy at the feeling of his long fingers wrapping around the back of her neck and pulling her to his mouth in silent answer.

  Chapter 13

  Opening her eyes, Rahina stared out at nothing in particular with blurred groggy vision. She had to pee, really bad.

  Sliding from her bed, she frowned at the near stumble as her feet hit the floor. Stupid bed went and got taller on her, she grumbled mentally. Walking directly ahead, she blinked at the oncoming light source and then froze. Directly in front of her was a large set of unfamiliar windows. Blinking a few times, her memories came back to her. The insistent urge to pee momentarily vanished as she slowly turned back towards the bed.

  A deep navy-blue comforter with white sheets lie rumpled and turned from the spot she just vacated. Slowly, making not one sound, she tip-toed in her sock-clad feet back to the bed and stopped at the sight of him. Laying on his back with his head turned towards the other side of the bed, Roman lay sleeping on the other side of her rumpled covers. Did she sleep next to him all night and not even realize it?! His face was so calm and peaceful in his sleep Rahina wanted to desperately find her phone to take a photo. Creeping silently forward, she had to bite her lip as she realized he was shirtless. Her eyes darted from one symbol to the next, taking in every image and letter etched onto his firm skin. The urge to reach out and touch him was only surpassed by the reminder she had to pee.

  Turning, she ran to the bathroom with silent speed, closing the door softly behind her. After she peed, she thanked God with a serious prayer of thanks for having the forethought to leave her bag in the bathroom. Grabbing her brush and toothbrush, she quickly refreshed herself before carefully slinking back out into the bedroom. Cautiously, she kneeled onto the bed, carefully lowering herself back to the bed next to him. Sensing no movement to her left, she let out a sigh of relief.

  “That was the worst display of stealth I had ever seen,” the deep voice next to her startled a small scream from her lips.

  A hand came down between them batting down the small wall of bed linen down between them until she could see Roman’s teasing smile.

  Covering her rapidly beating heart with one hand, she glared at him. “I was trying to be considerate since I had no clue you were even next to me when I woke up.”

  Propping his head up with o
ne arm, he gave her a sardonic look. “That hurts, considering the fact you practically spooned me most of the night.”

  Embarrassment warmed her face, “I did?”

  Roman nodded. “You are quite obedient when you are drunk and sleepy.”

  Alarmed, she tried desperately to recall what happened last night.

  “How obedient?” She gave him a suspicious look.

  Folding his arms behind his head, he got comfortable against the pillows. She could do absolutely nothing to stop her eyes from falling to the movement of his pecs. They were just so firm and beautiful, covered in the most beautiful dusting of dark brown hair obscuring the tattoos beneath only slightly. She wanted to touch them so bad.

  When she looked back up at him, she felt a lance of pure embarrassment at the laughing glint in his eyes as he caught her blatant lustful stare. Thankfully he said nothing about it. “Trust me if you were that obedient you would still be sore.”

  Making a dramatic display of her shock, she clutched the blanket to her throat. “I was talking about me revealing secrets, what were you talking about, Mr. Mashir?!”

  “Sex,” he answered deadpan.

  Rahina tipped her head back in a laugh.

  The bed shifted slightly as Roman sat up, planting both feet on the floor and stood. Rahina’s mouth went dry at the realization he was only wearing a pair of tight black boxer briefs that molded to his backside like a miracle sent by God himself. She took in every movement from his sculpted ass as he crossed the room and pushed his way into the bathroom. Only when he was out of sight did she flop back onto the sheets bonelessly. The man made her want to scream and squeal with giddy delight all at the same time. No one should be so sexy. His towering body was everything she ever wanted but just didn’t know. Height-she knew very well she wanted, but a huge stocky frame that reminded her of a giant bare-knuckle boxer from centuries ago was not something she would have ever dreamed of wanting. She was used to working with men that were lean and powerful in their grace. Even Calvin, who was far bulkier than any of her dancer counterparts, was nowhere near the amount of mean carved muscle Roman amounted to.