Dinner With The Mafia

Chelsey's POV

I had seen him before - on television, in pictures, but nothing like this. Nothing compared to seeing him in real life. He had this aura about him, one that he carried proudly with his thousand dollar suit and the gold Rolex on his wrist.

He gazed at me with his emerald eyes, scrutinizing me from my feet up to my forehead. The once-over wasn't quick, he took his time, examining me like I was an object, some tool for him to take control over. And when he was done, he leaned forward, glaring straight into my face. I fought to keep my cool, to maintain my stance and remain as tough as possible.

But it was difficult. His ambience was suffocating and I couldn't keep up. I became so self-conscious.

“American,” he finally said. His voice was husky and deep, rumbling through the soft music and resonating with a captivating intensity that wrapped around me. I tried my best not to think about it and I raised my brow at him.

“Is that the first thing you noticed about me?” I asked.

“No,” he replied bluntly. “But if I told you the first thing I noticed, I can't say for sure how you would react.”

A frown crept onto my face. “Why? Is it offensive?”

There was a heedless expression in his eyes as he said, “It depends on what you take offense to, American Girl.”

I gulped, momentarily averting my gaze from his burning green eyes. I hadn't imagined that it would be this difficult, trying to hold myself against his charms and simply state what I wanted. But I had made a mistake, I forgot what kind of man Don Canaan Cavagna was; a playboy billionaire who had conquered the major mafias in Italy and I was just me, a prey for him to devour.

“Can we start?” I managed to say, slowly finding my voice. “I'm in a hurry.”

“No, no. Hold on, you will eat.” he instructed. He motioned on the waiter who quickly hurried over to him, while I was left in incomprehension from what he had just said.

‘I will eat,’ ? Not ‘I should’ or ‘Am I interested?’ He was literally telling me what to do. Not suggesting, not asking… telling. I continued to stare at him as he spoke to the waiter, still shocked by his statement and wondering when was the last time I had ever been spoken to like that.

“I'm not hungry,” I said when the waiter left. “Thank you though.”

“But I am bringing you food.” His eyes warned me. “So you will eat.”

I frowned, wondering whether it would be wise of me to still try to refuse his demand. In the end, my lips remained sealed and I waited for him to ask the questions.

“You know my name,” he said. It sounded more like a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“What is yours?”

This also made me scowl. There was no actual way that he did not know what my name was. He had invited me to this meeting, how could it be that he didn't know my name? What was he playing at?

“Chelsey Briggs,” I replied soon after, not thinking too much about it.

Don Canaan Cavagna smirked. “Like the football club, ey?”

“No, mine is spelt with a y,” I corrected.

His eyes quickly caught mine as he gazed at me in surprise. I got stiff, wondering if I had made a mistake or said something wrong.

“You spell Chelsea with a y?” he asked.

I let out a silent sigh of relief. “No, my Chelsey is spelt with a y.”

“How do you spell Chelsea with a y?” he queried further. “Do you hear that, Lorenzo?” He turned to one of his men who was sitting not very far from us. “Americans. They name their children after football clubs but change the letters. Chelsea with a y? What is that?”

Lorenzo and Don Canaan laughed together as I watched them with disdain etched across my face. At this point, I had had enough. “Are you going to go straight to the point or what? We are both here for a reason, yet you've wasted half my time laughing about my name instead of telling me why you have called me here.”

A stifling silence followed and I felt my heart drop. The anger subsided and there I sat wondering what the mafia boss was going to do to me.

He was glaring at me, his eyes darkened and his lips right. My face fell in nervousness, I played with my fingers while I waited for him to say something. “You're quite audacious, American Girl,” he said.

I sighed. “I just feel very uncomfortable here… scared.”

“I noticed that,” he acknowledged. “That is why I offered you food. I want you to relax. I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Well, we both know that's a lie, don't we?”

He grimaced. “What do you mean?”

Was he being smart? Pretending like he didn't know what I meant. I raised my brow at him, highlighting my confusion. “So you really don't know who I am?”

“I know who you are,” he replied firmly. “I invited you.”

“But you don't remember what you did to me?”

I watched as his hunter eyes narrowed, watching me with his own mystification. “I don't think I've done anything to you. If I'm not mistaken, this is our first encounter.”

“Yes, it is,” I concurred, regaining my confidence. “But some months ago you had something… done to me.”

The look in his eyes evolved, and now he was more worried than confused. “What do you mean I had something done to you?”

“Sir?” The waitress interrupted as she arrived with the meal, momentarily diverting my focus from Don Canaan. I stared down at the tray of food, surprised by my sudden appetite.

“Is that risotto?” I asked Don Canaan, taking a quick glance at him.

“And chicken tenders,” he replied.

The meal beckoned with an enticing aroma, the sight was tempting and I could almost taste the flavorful blend of the creamy risotto. But I knew what the mafia don was up to, I knew there was a catch. And so my mind remained in the seriousness of the moment.

“Eat,” he demanded.

I eyed him annoyingly. “Why?”

“I want to watch you,” he replied slowly. “I want to watch you while you eat.”

This prompted a quizzical raise of my brow and I became slightly uneasy about his odd request. “You want to watch me while I eat?”

He sat back, never taking his cold eyes off me. “Eat.”

With no other option, I sighed and reluctantly picked up the fork and knife. Cutting a piece of chicken and a bit of risotto, I brought it to my mouth, chewing slowly under his watchful gaze. When I swallowed, I saw him narrow his eyes and I continued to wonder what he was gaining from all of this.

“There,” I said after I took a gulp of wine. “Are you satisfied?”

He didn't say anything yet, but his enchanted eyes bore into mine with a silent intensity that hinted at a desire I couldn't quite fathom. I wondered what he was thinking behind those penetrating glances, but at the same time, I also didn't want to find out.

I heard him heave a sigh. “Don't worry about my satisfaction. Not yet. What I want to know is what it is that you think I had done to you.”

A surge of frustration welled up within me. Why was he still hellbent on denying what he had done? It felt like he was playing a game of deception, and my irritation grew with each seemingly unaffected word he uttered. “Two months ago when I spoke about you and your mafia on the news, you had your men beat me up and leave me a warning.”

Don Canaan didn't reply, he remained quiet and indifferent, no reaction in his eyes, no response to my statement.

“Well, are you going to say something?”

“That was not me.”

“What?”

“Whoever these men were, either they are not my men or they acted alone. In both cases, I have nothing to do with it.”

Of course I didn't believe him, and I made that clear by the look in my eyes. But just as usual, Don Canaan didn't at all react to it. He just looked the same, calm and unbothered.

“Listen American Girl, I did not send my men after you. I don't send my men after women.”

“Why should I believe you?” I asked.

“It's a waste of time lying to you, is it not?” he replied. “You can not do anything to me and I do not care what you think of me. But first, these men… can you recognize them?”

“I can never forget their faces,” I replied.

“Good, and if I was to punish them accordingly for what they did to you, will that end it? Will you stop publishing stories about me and investigating my business.”

Hearing this, a smile tugged at the end of my lips. “I thought you said I can't do anything to you.”

“Hmm,” Don Canaan clasped his hands together, his eyes blaring like a warning. “Think of it this way, American Girl. If you were a man, we would not be having this conversation right now.”

And just like that the smile disappeared. He was right of course, Don Canaan could have had me killed anytime he wanted and that was the reason why I was hoping he would be the one. Because it seemed that from all the mafias in Italy, he was my safest bet. I braced myself to reveal my proposal. It was a confession I wished I didn't have to make because uttering it meant acknowledging a vulnerability, admitting that I needed his help.

“Your offer is good but I want something else,” I declared.

Don Canaan sighed. “I didn't take you for a lover of money.”

“I don't want your money,” I snapped.

His brows furrowed and he glanced momentarily at Lorenzo before returning to me. “Well then. What is it that you want?”

“I want your protection!” I quickly blurted out.

There was a short silence which was an obvious product of my statement. The don silently gazed at me, this time I could see the confusion in his eyes. “You want protection?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “I need your help. I need you to protect me. I need you to keep me safe.”