Monster in His Eyes(18)

Naz parks across the street, right along the curb beneath a tree. I  stare at the place, noting the small sign that indicates it's a  pizzeria. I didn't expect anything fancy, but this …  this doesn't look  like somewhere Naz would frequent.

He surprises me, though. He helps me out of the car, pressing his palm  to my back as he leads me across the street toward the pizzeria. I  realize, as we approach, that the people sitting outside are waiting for  tables, but Naz shrugs that off when I point it out to him.                       
       
           



       

Stepping inside, he pauses and glances around. The place is packed,  filled with customers. The inside is a stark difference from the  outside, a hidden gem in a seedy neighborhood. Not upscale, but not the  dump I imagined from across the street.

It only takes a few seconds for Naz to be acknowledged. A man strutting  by just happens to look our way, doing a double take, his footsteps  stalling. "Vitale."

Naz nods.

"You need a table?"

Another nod.

"Coming right up, my friend."

I'm flabbergasted. I don't even have a chance to say anything about it  before we're led through the restaurant, to a small table that's just  now being cleared. We stand there for a second as they rush to clean the  area, before Naz pulls out a chair for me. I slip into it, eyeing him  peculiarly when he sits down across from me.

He picks up a menu, his gaze wholly focused on it, but the corner of his  lip turns up into a smirk, flashing that dimple at me. I've never seen  someone look so downright cocky before.

Why is that so hot to me?

"So did you call ahead again?" I ask, picking up my menu. "Cash in another favor?"

He laughs at my question. "No, not this time."

"Then how'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You know what," I say. "You didn't even say a word to that man and he seated you right away."

"He knows me."

"I figured that much, Vitale."

He flinches when I say his last name, his expression falling as his gaze  abandons the menu to settle on me instead. "Don't call me that."

His tone isn't sharp, but it's most definitely no-nonsense. Not a  question, nor is it a request. That's a demand. My skin prickles, that  look in his eyes resurfacing as he regards me silently before turning to  his menu again. I can tell he isn't reading it. He's staring at it like  he's seeing through it.

After a moment, he meets my eyes again, that dark look fading. "They're  friends of the family. Nothing more. Having a big family comes with  perks. It doesn't just happen at restaurants, either. It's everywhere I  go. Get used to it, sweetheart."

"It's just strange," I mumble, picking up my menu. "I don't know that I could ever get used to that."

"You will," he says. "Because it'll start happening to you, too."

I laugh at that. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious," he says. "Just wait."

Rolling my eyes, I glance down at the menu, scanning through it for  something to eat. Unlike the last time he took me to dinner, this I can  read.

The waiter stops by while I'm still deciding and Naz greets him briskly,  requesting a bottle of 2008 Paolo Bea Santa Chiara. I have no idea what  that is, but as the waiter rushes off to retrieve it, I feel a peculiar  sense of déjà vu. "Are you trying to get me drunk again?"

"I like to indulge, too, Karissa," he replies. "You getting drunk and loose is just an added bonus."

Laughing, I playfully kick him under the table. He smiles at me, closing  his menu as the waiter returns with the bottle of wine. He uncorks it,  and Naz takes over, pouring us each a small glass before setting the  bottle aside. We order then-a margherita pizza to share. The wine is a  strange translucent peach color and has a slight orange tang, going down  smoothly.

Naz watches me, his eyes scanning my face as another man approaches our  table. He's older, with slicked back black hair and a thick moustache,  short and stumpy. He smiles wide, nodding as he greets Naz by name. Last  name. "Vitale."

Naz doesn't seem fazed when everyone else does it. "Signore Andretti."

That's the extent of what I understand. The men launch into  conversation, the words flowing fluently, but every bit of it is foreign  to my ears. Italian, I gather, from the smooth tone and romantic  sounding enunciations. They're both smiling, the air around them  friendly. Naz laughs after a moment as the other man motions toward me.  I'm mid-drink, nearly choking on the wine when their attention shifts.

"Sì," Naz says. That I know. Yes. "She is."

The man's expression brightens as he regards me, rattling off something  so fast the words all blur together. He reaches over, grasping my hand  and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Sei incantevole!"

Eyes wide, I watch him carefully. The man lets go of me and turns to Naz, giving him a thumb's up before scampering away.

"You speak Italian?" I ask, surprised.

Naz picks up his wine. "I have a basic understanding."

"Well, what did he say?"

"He said you're lovely."

I'm taken aback. "And what did you say?"

"A lot," he says. "I thanked him for the table and complimented the  wine. He's the owner, you see. He asked me how I was and who you were. I  told him I was great and you were someone special."                       
       
           



       

I stare at him, those words sinking in. "Special?"

"Yes, special," he says. "Don't sound so surprised."

"It's just surreal. I keep waiting for this all to be a dream."

He takes a sip of his wine before setting the glass down and leaning  closer, his gaze intense. "When I first laid eyes on you, I thought the  same thing. How could I be so lucky as to encounter you, in a city so  big? I thought I had to be dreaming."

"Because of me?" I can feel my face flushing. "But I'm just …  me."

"You're special, Karissa. I mean that."

Our food comes and I take a bite of the pizza, the crust not too thin,  the cheese just rich enough, and the sauce succulent. It's surprisingly  delicious for coming from a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, and I now  understand why Naz would come here. I devour it as Naz nibbles on a  slice, conversation playful, as the wine seems to magically evaporate.  POOF.

Before dinner is through, my head is fuzzy, my body tingling, the air between us buzzing like an electrical current.

"You ready to get out of here?" he asks as he once again counts out cash  to pay the bill. I sneak a peek at it, curious, and am relieved to see  it isn't nearly as much as the last time he took me to dinner.

"Sure." I swallow down the rest of my wine before setting the glass  aside. He stands up and takes my arm, nodding in greeting to the waiter  as we head for the door. People are still lingering outside, gathering  in groups, waiting for tables. "Where are we going?"

He cuts his eyes at me as we cross the street toward the Mercedes. The  sky is starting to darken, a pinkish hue shining down on everything.  "Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere."

"That's not an answer."

"Anywhere with you."

He smiles. "That's a bit better."

Unsurprisingly, we go to his house. I expect him to take me upstairs, to  pull me straight to his room like the last time we were here, but  instead he flicks on the light to settle in downstairs. "You want to  watch a movie?"

"Uh, sure."

"There are some DVDs in the den," he says, motioning toward a door past the living room. "Go ahead and pick one out."

Stepping the way he points, I head through the living room, my footsteps  faltering right in the doorway to the den. It's only dimly lit from the  windows, but I have enough light to see everything. The room is  massive, possibly even bigger than the entire house I shared with my  mother in Watertown. Unlike the rest of his place, which feels so modern  and sterilized, the den is well lived in.

He spends all his time in here, I realize.

The furniture is black leather and well worn, the tables wooden matching  the paneling of the walls. There seems to be a divider down the middle,  a long trailing rug in shades of burgundy and black running from the  doorway to the far wall, dividing it into two different spaces.

On one side there's a fireplace with half a dozen bookcases lining the  wall, each one packed with books, a desk right in the center surrounded  by chairs. It's an office and home library rolled into one. But on the  other side of the divider is an entertainment center, one of the most  elaborate I've ever seen, with a huge television and what looks like  more DVDs than he has books. It's like a movie theater, set up in front  of an array of furniture covered in pillows, cozy and welcoming.