Maid for the Mafia
Bella Bambola

**ROMANY**

I could still feel that asshole, Romano, watching me when the waiter came to take our orders. Glancing around, I realized that Simone and Pinch were nowhere to be found and Tiny was MIA as well. *Where the hell did they go?* With a shrug, I went ahead and ordered the Cioppino and a fattening bowl of tuxedo mousse for dessert, then watched as Mickey whispered into the waiter's ear for five whole minutes.

When he was finally done talking and the waiter disappeared, I asked, "Where are Simone and Pinch?" I cursed, "Damn it! I meant, Bruno. Where did they go?"

"I had the manager escort them to a special, much more private, table," Mickey explained. "They looked like they needed one."

Nodding, I faced his way, scouring the restaurant for Tiny in my peripheral. Even though Mickey pretends to be unconcerned, I have noticed him becoming increasingly jealous. Just the way he looked at me a few minutes ago,*before* he learned that Paul Romano was only a few tables away, was alarming. There was anger *blazing* in his eyes and his face puckered with discontent when he glared at me. When he shifted his attention from me to Tiny, I honestly thought he might explode. But Tiny was quick in diverting him, knowing exactly what to say to deflect Mickey's anger.

"You said... Pinch. Don't act like you didn't," Mickey accused and my eyebrows shot up like spines on a porcupine. I leaned forward eagerly, resting my chin on my hands as I waited for whatever nonsense he would spit next. "He must be new, no? Who the fuck is he? This *Pinch*?" He rolled his eyes, lifting his chin toward the bar in the center of the dining room. "Wait, don't tell me! It must be one of the hot waiters, or the bartender."

I sat back slowly, a ball of anger twisting in my gut as he shook his head incredulously. "No," I snapped, wringing the cloth napkin between my hands instead reaching across the table to twist his neck. *Boy oh boy, he is losing it. Fucking paranoid.* "That's my name for Bruno when he's not around. Pinch."

Mickey stiffened, a tumbler of whiskey frozen about an inch away from his lips. Eyes darting back and forth, he looks at me oddly. "What? Why?" Then he continued to drink.

I shrugged, taking a sip of my water. "He reminds me of a miniature bulldog. His face... it's all jammed in the middle... all soured up. Pinched."

A shower of whiskey sprays across the table with my remark and Mickey is choking to death in the seat next to me.

"Oh my God!" I squealed, scooting closer to him and pounding on his back to help him regain control.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he insisted, clearing his throat and taking a deep drink from his water glass before turning back to me. A gleeful, barely contained chuckle sputtered from his lips as he smiled at me - like *proper* smiled - for the *first* time in days. "Pinch, huh?" he repeated, testing to the name as he glanced toward the darker, more romantic, section with a jovial smirk turning his lips.

"Finally," I whispered, granting him a smirk of my own. "You gave me a *real* smile."

His eyebrows drew together as he considered me. Then, with a sly grin stretching across his face, he snickered again, burying his face in his hands as his body shook with mirth. "I've got to buy a miniature bulldog now," he informed me. "And I have to name it Pinch."

I chortled, laughter bubbling from my lips as I realized what an awesome idea that was. "Promise me," I giggled. "Promise that you'll do that!"

"I will," he assured me. His vibrant green gaze warmed as some of his recent tension disappeared. The lines of worry vanished from his face. "Do you know how long this restaurant has been open?" he asked me suddenly.

I shook my head, tossing him a sarcastic smile. "Oh yeah, sure. Of course. I come here all the time," I joked.

He grinned, reaching out to trace the tiny netted holes over my bosom and making my body hum with energy. "Three and a half years," he stated. "And do you know what, *Bella Bambola* means?"

I shook my head, shivering with pleasure as his fingers circled over one nipple and then down over my ribs.

"It means," he sighed, his eyes shuttering as his palm flattened over my thigh, stroking toward my sex on the outside of the dress, "Beautiful Doll."

*Doll? Is that why he picked this place for dinner? Because of the name.* "It's pretty," I hissed with a shudder, parting my legs just barely for Mickey as he pressed his fingers over my coin covered slit and began to circle and plunge rhythmically. "It most definitely is," he agreed. "From what I understand, the owner named it after a woman he spied on the street one day. And although he had never met. She was so beautiful, and so doll-like... so *innocent*, that he was afraid he'd break her if he tried to get close. So, instead, "he whispered, scooting closer to me. "He began to obsess over her."

Heat barreled over me, my hips jerking as his touch became more and more focused. I didn't even give a damn that we were in the middle of a dining room. My eyes closed and I began to wiggle in my seat, my orgasm hovering over me like a feather tracing over skin. If he didn't give it to me soon I was probably going to cause a scene.

"But everyone knew," he whispered, punching two fingers through the netted holes and beneath my bikini bottoms underneath. I moaned, desperately, my hips bucking upward. "Everybody knew how insane she was making him. How *dangerous* his fascination for her was becoming." I whimpered, as my pussy began to clench and juice, and my hip began to gyrate in small, wild circles. "So he stopped talking about her to them. And pretended not to stalk her late at night. Soon, they began to believe he was over it." Mickey suddenly ripped his fingers out of my dress and away from me. "Fuck. Dill," he whispered.

I whined, opening my eyes in frustration. "Why did you stop! Why?"

He smirked, leaning in close. "I don't have time to explain why yet, but Paul's heading this way."

"What?" I growled, ready to stab him in his fat pot belly.

"No, doll. Listen to me carefully. I'm going to need you to pretend you're happy to see him, okay?"

"Are you blown?" I snapped. "Or high?"

"Just trust me baby doll, please, please, just do it for me. Here he comes!"

I released a shallow breath and Mickey smiled and nodded to someone standing behind my chair. My body wound up as tight as a bow string and I worked to relax my features. At first, I didn't think I could do it, but then Tiny dropped into the seat on my left and his shoes slipped under my feet like a footrest.

"Romano," Mickey greeted him and I swear his smile looked so genuine, my head began to spin.

"Scavo! It's always a pleasure dropping into my favorite restaurant," Romano's scratchy, raspy, overweight voice sounded behind my head. " Great food, all the best girls," he commented and suddenly his pudgy hands were on me, massaging my shoulders. I grit my teeth and glared daggers at Mickey, who didn't break character for even a moment. "How are *you* doing tonight, gorgeous?" he asked, sliding his hands over my shoulders to stroke all the way down over my nipples. I was just about to lose it, when his ugly pockmarked face leaned in next to my ear and he kissed my face. "I'm ready for *you* baby. I'm heading upstairs now," he cooed.

My eyes went straight for Alex, ice and despair filling my heart as it broke. *This is why he's been so upset. He's not jealous.*

*He's guilty. Because he's been planning to sell me too.*

*Just like Alex.*