Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 44899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“Bring us those little things from before,” I told Jason, referring to the dish we’d been trying out. I slipped him an extra hundred-dollar bill, watching his eyes widen. “And whatever other special stuff you guys keep hidden from the regular customers.”
The staff had fully embraced our impromptu party, bringing out dishes and drinks that weren’t on the menu.
Everyone continued to drink, including Tonio, who was showing the first subtle signs of the alcohol’s effect. Not drunk by any means, but perhaps the edge of his control was beginning to soften.
Sully watched me with knowing eyes, amusement dancing in their blue depths. He leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. “Having fun?” he murmured.
“Juuuust getting started,” I whispered back, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before turning back to the group.
As the evening progressed, I orchestrated increasingly elaborate toasts, each requiring everyone to drink. Some were silly. As I got buzzed myself, they became more heartfelt.
Tonio matched each toast without complaint, though his dark eyes grew increasingly observant, watching me with a calculation that made me wonder if he was onto my scheme. Still, he didn’t call me out, instead playing along with surprising good humor.
The bartender returned with a tray of colorful shots that smoked slightly at the tops.
“Dragon’s Breath,” he announced proudly. “My own creation. Not on any menu.”
“Christ, I’m too old to drink like this anymore,” Tonio muttered, but he took the drink.
“Perfect for another toast!” I declared, grabbing one and waiting for everyone else to do the same.
Sully took his with a resigned shake of his head and a soft chuckle.
I raised my Dragon’s Breath shot high, the vapor curling off the surface like ghostly fingers reaching for the ceiling. “To family,” I announced, my voice carrying a hint of challenge beneath the false sweetness. “The ones we’re born to and the ones we choose. May we always know the difference.” I locked eyes with Tonio as I said it, daring him to read between the lines as we clinked glasses and brought the fiery liquid to our lips.
The drink burned a path down my throat, leaving a trail of cinnamon and something vaguely citrusy in its wake. I suppressed a cough, determined not to show weakness. Sully didn’t bother hiding his reaction, letting out a low whistle and shaking his head.
“Damn,” he muttered. “That’s got a kick.”
I turned back to Tonio, ready to propose another round of increasingly personal questions, but paused when I caught his expression. He was studying me over the rim of his empty shot glass, a new awareness in his dark eyes. He set the glass down with deliberate care, his movements still precise despite all the alcohol I’d been feeding him.
“You know,” he said conversationally, “this reminds me of the time I tried to outdrink Seth’s business rival when I was twenty-three.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What happened?”
“I employed your exact strategy.” Tonio leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Except I was far less subtle about it.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I kept pushing drinks on him while secretly dumping mine in the potted plant behind us.”
The bartender snorted. “Did it work?”
“For about an hour.” Tonio’s smile widened into something approaching genuine amusement. “Until the whisky smell coming from the plant got to be too noticeable. The man was so offended he nearly pulled his gun right there at the table.”
Despite myself, a laugh bubbled up from my chest. “What did you do?”
“I did the only sensible thing.” Tonio’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I flipped the table on him and dove through a window.”
Jason, who’d been passing by with another tray, nearly dropped it. “Through a window? Like, actually broke through it?”
“Second floor,” Tonio confirmed with a nod. “Broke my arm and got sixteen stitches in my shoulder. Seth was furious. Made me pay for the window and the table settings.”
I stared at him, trying to reconcile this story with the immaculate, controlled man sitting across from me. “You jumped out of a second-story window?”
“The alternative was getting shot,” he said with a shrug. “Seemed like the better option at the time.”
“Holy shit,” I breathed, genuinely impressed. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the death by defenestration type.”
Tonio’s eyebrows shot up. “Defenestration?”
“The act of throwing someone or something out a window,” I explained, enjoying his surprised expression. “What? I watch Jeopardy.”
“Apparently so.” His eyes glinted with something that might have been approval. “I’ve always been more pragmatic than reckless, but there was a time when I took more risks than I should.”
The chef, who’d been quietly nursing his drink in the corner, chimed in. “My old man used to say you can tell a lot about a person by what kind of trouble they got into when they were young.”