Table Eleven

Mason crossed his legs, taking another sip of his scotch as he watched Elnora through the rim of his glass. The amber liquid cast a warm, distorted haze over her figure, yet it did nothing to obscure the tension in her posture. He could sense she would run out if given the chance, not that he was stopping her. He enjoyed the chase, the hunt, and right now, she was an intriguing prey.

What troubled him now was that he had no idea what he intended to do with her. Elnora happened on a whim, a reckless impulse very out of character for him. By now, his lieutenants would have heard of his elaborate bid for the dame on table eleven, and Donni would be curious to know where he wanted her and arrange transport.

He hadn’t thought this through, and he blamed it on her spellbinding hazel eyes, which looked rattled right now. Those eyes, capable of expressing a thousand unspoken thoughts, pierced through his calculated exterior.

“Are you all right?” he asked, voice smooth and deceptively gentle.

He watched Elnora shift away from him with an uneasy smile. Her eyes scanned the parlour again and lingered on the grand piano in the corner beside the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the night skyline of Berkton. He wondered what was going through her mind. She still hadn’t told him who Marcy was. Was l’Éclipse running women through another cartel? Marcello couldn’t do that without his say-so. But if this Marcy had women like Elnora in her employ, perhaps she was better off handling the auction.

With a shuddering glance, she replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look uncomfortable,” he pointed out, setting his glass down. He didn’t think he made her ill at ease. If anything, her patented glares left him tense with the need to ravish her.

“Tell me who Marcy is.”

Elnora rose, her movements abrupt. “Looks like we need to call it a night, Mason. I feel out of it, so I’m going to call myself a cab.”

Her comment made him chuckle. Not because the cab company would not provide a limousine to his fine residence—they did not operate in the Italian territory because they were run by the Irish—but because she was mistakenly under the impression that she could leave.

Bringing her all the way to his private house without a thorough background check was reckless, and Mason Dimitri was anything but reckless. He didn’t become the Underboss of the Castelli mafia family by being reckless.

“I’m guessing this Marcy didn’t tell you how this works?” he said.

She braced her free hand on her hip, forcing his eyes to roam her beautiful figure. The red dress clung to her curves, highlighting the delicate yet defiant strength she radiated. While he couldn’t wait to see her out of that dress, figuring her out was topmost—especially before Antonio, his oldest friend and consigliere, arrived.

“I don’t understand,” Elnora snapped. “I don’t get what you mean by that.”

He believed her. There was genuine confusion in her eyes. He leaned forward to grab his glass of Scotch, took another sip, and set it back down on the stool beside him. Then he wagged his finger for her to join him.

“I’m good here,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

Her increasing stubbornness was getting on his nerves, but he had to admit that her discomfort bothered him. They had shared a fierce kiss a moment ago, and now her eyes no longer reflected that feral hunger that consumed him. With a deep breath, he rose and approached her.

“Elnora,” he called in a low and commanding tone, “you’re in a very different world now. This, unfortunately, isn’t a game.”

She glared at him, her eyes flashing with anger. “Then explain it to me. What exactly is going on here?”

“I’ll feel more at ease if it didn’t seem like you’re itching to get away from me. Let’s talk. Sit down.”

Mason watched as her gaze softened slightly. She moved past him and settled onto the couch, her posture wary but compliant. He positioned himself in the opposite corner, giving her space but maintaining an assertive presence.

“Who is Marcello?” she demanded, her eyes sparkling with as she placed her purse beside her.

Mason studied her quietly while his mind mulled the many possibilities. He had always trusted his gut, and right now it nagged him with a relentless thought—Elnora did not belong in a place like l’Éclipse or in his world for that matter. If that were true, she wasn’t one of the dames, and her presence was a mistake he would need to correct.

“Marcello runs the l’Éclipse pub,” Mason told her, leaning back into the couch, observing her every reaction.

Taking a deep breath, she asked, “And you, what work do you do?”

So there she was, back to that question. Why did she care? Anyone in Berkton connected with their line of business knew who Mason Dimitri was. If she had any inkling of what happened at l’Éclipse, she should already know.

“No, that’s not how this works. I answered one of your questions, now you answer one of mine.”

“All right, what do you want to know?” She crossed her legs, drawing his eyes to the motion.

He was dazzled by her captivating presence and wondered how she looked without that body-hugging dress. In a daze, he relaxed and glanced at her. Her entire outfit, down to her scent, was amply enticing.

“Marcy, who is that?”

“A friend.” Her tone was defensive again.

“You’ve got to give me more, El,” Mason whispered, slipping closer to her.

As he now realized, there was a chance she wasn’t who he believed her to be. She probably even thought he was someone else.

Oh!

That would explain a lot. Would explain why she was so different from Marcello’s usual dames. Mason got up and walked across the room to grab his phone from the den.

“El, what exactly did you tell the soldiers at the club?” Mason scrolled through his contacts as he asked. If Marcello had okayed the transfer, then he’d set a series of unfortunate events in motion.

“Soldiers? You mean the rude guards at the door?” He nodded without looking at her. “That I was on a blind date.”

His eyes shot to hers and held. Elnora stood with her hands clasped on her hips, staring him in the face. Why would a woman like her need a blind date? She was exquisite!

“Don’t tell me you only just realized I wasn’t your blind date,” Elnora said, her eyes darting around the room.

Mason shook his head at her remark. Blind date? That was the secret code of table eleven, and El had managed to get herself auctioned off to him. If anything, Marcello and his soldiers were careless, letting an outsider into an exclusive club that no one should be able to gain access to. He would have to deal with that. Knowing Marcello, he would want to learn who Elnora was, and that was not the type of man he wanted around her.

There still was the question of who she was. She was in his house, and the only thing he knew of her was her name. He needed to correct that. Mason shoved his phone into his pocket before going to her.

“So Marcy is a friend of yours, and she set up your blind date?”

Elnora blushed red with embarrassment as she nodded. “She meant well.”

“Of course,” he replied quietly. Well enough to put El up for auction to the highest bidder. In his line of work, everyone was guilty of something, and he wasn’t so sure about this Marcy.

“And you,” she asked. “Why would you even need to be set up on a blind date?”

“Who said I was?”

Elnora’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped away from him. “I figure women tend to hit on you a lot, but picking up a complete stranger just seems weird.”

“Toot my horn, why don’t you?”

“Tell me I’m wrong. That you don’t go through women like you do your cuffs.”

Mason smiled. “I only own one pair of cuffs.”

“Cufflinks, you depraved man,” Elnora said with a laugh. “Ah, I bet you knew that.” Mason tucked his hands in his pocket with a smile. “Well, do you?”

“Why do you care if I do?”

“I don’t,” she murmured.

He stared at her, brimming with a new purpose—to get Elnora to ache for him. Mason went to her and stroked her chin as her gaze fixed on him. He could only imagine the throng of men breathing down El’s neck, and it made his insides throttle with jealousy.

“Why would you need to be set on a blind date, El?”

Her big hazel eyes glowed brilliantly. “Because I don’t have a lot of spare time.” Then she licked her lips, and his eyes dropped hungrily to them.

Nodding, Mason swallowed and considered his next steps carefully. He needed to handle things before Marcello sent his thugs after her. If she’d infiltrated the collective’s underground, then she was a problem Marcello was required to bring to the five families. The five families, the ruling bodies of Berkton’s underworld, operated with a rigid structure. Each family controlled different territories and aspects of the criminal enterprise, but ultimate power rested with the don of each family. Mason, known publicly as the underboss and enforcer, was in reality the undisputed leader of the entire collective. His position was maintained through a delicate balance of alliances, intimidation, and strategic manipulation.

Despite his rank, he had never bid at l’Éclipse, a fact that now complicated matters. Once Marcello got wind of this, he would make Elnora his new obsession, trying to decipher Mason’s sudden interest. Marcello’s curiosity, however, would reveal that Elnora had stumbled into their hub by mistake. The rules were strict, and even though she was now his, her presence posed a risk and he couldn’t play favourites.

But Mason couldn’t work out how to explain to Elnora that he had acquired her at an auction, or the repercussions for her being there in the first place.

“What do you do with your time?” he heard himself ask, trying to keep the conversation from veering into dangerous territory.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Elnora responded, a playful smile on her lips.

Her brilliant hazel eyes teased him, a captivating mix of innocence and allure. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until he was worn out, but he restrained himself, knowing there were more pressing matters to address.

The buzzing in his pocket startled Mason. He pulled his phone out and muttered a curse at the incoming call.

Marcello knew.