Going After Heaven (Mafia Romance)

Chapter Forty Four

The way to a man's heart is really through his favorite meal. Gabriele is all the proof.

"Dinner" I gesture with my eyes to the table in front of us.

Gabriele's eyes darken and his jaw stiffens. "Staring at mine," he says in a hoarse voice that makes my core twitch. He winks at me, then turns his eyes to the table. "Butternut squash salad for starter, pasta puttanesca as the main course then blackberry cobbler for dessert" he smiles curtly.

I hope they taste as good as they look. As good as he makes them look with that smug barely-there smile he has on. I am still skeptical about his cooking skill, especially after this morning with the dishes.

I pick up a gold napkin and spread it out on my lap, then start with the butternut squash salad that he serves me. He does the same with the salad but doesn't use a napkin.

I eat half a spoonful. The taste almost spurts a moan from me.

"Hmmm," escapes my lips regardless as the moist and nutty taste cloaks my taste buds.

Gabriele makes a throaty sound staring at me. Eyes like heat print on my lips. I chuckle, biting my lower lip before continuing to chew.

He watches my every move. Each time my spoon dips to scoop and keenly when my mouth covers the spoon to take the salad in. It feels erotic. Like I'm doing more than just eating this delicious salad.

Done with the starter, Gabriele serves me the pasta and sits back without serving himself.

"You're not eating?" I ask before taking a forkful of pasta to my mouth. Fuck it. This is so good I can have a foodgasm. "Hmm" I take it back. He's a good cook. Damn!

"I will, you're my main course" he leans back in his seat like those words are not strong enough to streamline pleasure to my core.

I clear my web-strangled throat "This is so good," I eat some more, pressing my legs together.

"That's because I didn't make it" he starts to tap his tattooed fingers soundlessly on the table.

I stop, fork midair. I look at him.

"You said you were going to make me dinner" I mean that makes it special right? Not that I minded having dinner with him that was cooked by someone else, but if he said he would, then I had expected him to.

"And I made it," he shrugs curtly, "I did cook but even Luna won't take a bite from it," he clips his lips, "hell Luna ran across to get Greta who came to my rescue" he chuckles— if we can call that abrupt reaction a chuckle—. "I wanted to cook for you but..." he sucks his teeth. "Thank the devil Luna got Greta" Okay, I wasn't expecting that. "You should never eat anything I cook," he stops tapping.

"You are a bad cook?"

"The word is horrible, I was close to burning down my apartment and I added more than the needed fucking spice," he grimaces and I laugh. I mean I can't hold it back in.

"I thought you said..."

"I thought I could," he starts to tap his fingers on the table again, "but fuck me,"

The laughter shuddering through me won't stop. I wish I was there to see him all confused in the kitchen. I can imagine Luna's face seeing him in the kitchen. I didn't think he was the kind of man that'll go out of his way to impress a lady but again I am wrong about him.

"Thanks for the heads up, I'm never eating anything you make, never," I say, still shuddering from laughter and my words click, sending my heart on a tailspin. I stop laughing.

He won't be here to make anything for me to eat after tomorrow.

I gulp.

Let me hope for the best. Now I'm hoping for the best. I am hoping that he can somehow make it out alive, past the fleet of Black Mist Brothers, the most powerful assassin mafias.