Kidnapped By The Italian Mafia

As it turned out, The Loft was a modern eatery in mid Manc.h.e.s.ter city with old fashioned lightbulbs hanging low from the industrial style ceiling and a pretentious open plan roofless patio situation around the back of the restaurant. The décor of the place was minimalistic, using wood tones combined with shiny black floor tiles and marble counters.

Overall, I thought the look of the place was too high strung. The exterior of the building was rundown and dated, but the inside was completely renewed, like a recent face lift on an old crone.

Apparently, to make the whole thing more appalling, it was necessary to dictate reservation numbers to the hostess standing in the foyer of the building.

"How irreverent," Henri muttered the moment we stepped around a table of people eating… something. They were eating something. "No clear distinction between the culture of the food."

And he was right. I quickly came to realise that the whole shtick of the place was to make extravagant dishes that mixed cultures together.

"What's wrong with mixing a little culture?" I smiled at the hostess when we were stopped in front of a private dining room. "Some countries plates compliment each other quite well."

"Well I don't see you mixing your fine Spanish dining with monsieur DiBiancci's Italian cuisine." Henri held the door open for me with a passive aggressive smirk on his face. If there had been a rag nearby, I would've sprayed it with disinfectant and wiped his face with it.

"Certain foods are not to be mixed with others." My words were muttered as I copped Marco at his table with goons standing behind him like always. The man had an incessant need to intimidate everyone around him, it was very annoying.

"Funny, I thought you said the complete opposite fifteen seconds ago."

"Some foods. I said some foods."

"You'll need to specify if you don't want me to make assumptions, miss."

"Shut up, Henri." I snapped at him before pasting a tight smile onto my botoxed face. I would have smiled wide and genuine but the work I'd had done didn't allow it. "Monsieur DiBiancci, how lovely to see you again."

"Likewise, madam VanBurren." He smiled at me smugly and I almost stabbed him with my butter knife. The arrogant fool.

"Mademoiselle. I am unmarried."

"Oh, pardon me. Is this not your husband?" Marco looked at Henri standing directly behind me, pulling out the seat for me.

"Hardly, he is my butler." Marco's bushy eyebrows rose from the dead in surprise. I would have to ask who his aesthetician was because they obviously did a good job. "Family butler. I inherited him when my parents—" I cut myself off and pretended to sniffle. "Family butler."

As we settled into our seats again and Henri moved toward the wall at the far end of the room to give us some privacy, I tapped my watch twice to enable the secret recording feature I'd hidden away in it.

"Thank you very much for accepting my offer to lunch."

"Thank you for inviting me, this is quite the pleasant surprise." Now there were two options I had here. One, I could act like a French vixen who was also a little bit of an air head to extract information from him, or I could act like a shrewd, celibate business woman who was well versed in the ways of the world.

"I have to be honest, I did not simply invite you here for the p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e of your company." Marco clasped his hands on the table and stared at me. Or rather through me, because the look he was giving seemed to be spelling out all my secrets for me.

"Then you have invited me here for the p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e of what?"

"Business."

"Oh, monsieur DiBiancci, please. At least buy me dinner first." I giggled and waved a hand at him. "No offense to you or your business proposal but I am starved."

"Of course! I would never dream of depriving a lady of her food. Experience has taught me to steer clear of that already." He signalled to one of his goons and had them bring in a waiter with two menus.

I had to resist the urge to cackle at him because I knew just what experience he was talking about.

"Merci beaucoup." I thanked the waiter who handed over my menu and began to skim through the options, internally making note to come back by myself and try the Indian-Chinese food blend. For now, my attention was fully on the Euro-Polynesian style, which seemed very bizarre to me.

But maybe if I ate it and got food poisoning, I'd be able to guilt Marco into whatever I wanted.

Who am I kidding, he didn't work that way.

"I must say, monsieur DiBiancci, I am a fan of your work."

Marco looked up at me from his menu and blinked a couple of times in a way that told me he could see right through my shit. I didn't care though, and continued trying to stroke his ego.

"My work?"

"Oui, mademoiselle Katarina would speak of you often. Sa père does hate you so." The wine menu seemed to be very interesting, but I was unsure whether it would be a good idea to indulge in alcoholic beverage around this man.

"Si, the blood feud between our families is most unfortunate." He smiled at me uncomfortably and darted his eyes back down toward the menu.

"And you managed to find love through it all." I sighed dreamily.

"What?"

"You and mademoiselle Katarina?" I clarified for him, since Marco looked like a deer in headlights. "Oh, I almost forgot. Where is your lovely companion?"

"A family emergency, she's back in Italy." Dammit. "Were you hoping to see her here today?"

"A little bit, admittedly."

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint you but it's just me." We both laughed peckishly like two WASP moms who flirt with each others husbands.

"Lucky for you, I don't hold grudges." He stopped laughing, I giggled awkwardly. After a few more moments of horrid silence, we placed our food and drink orders then handed the menus back to the waiter who had been patiently waiting this entire time. "Monsieur DiBiancci, I'm anxious to discuss the whole point of this meeting."

"Me too." Marco got more comfortable and clasped his hands on the table. "I know this seems unconventional given the nature of our two families, but I would like you to work with me."

Hah, I bloody knew it. The big oaf thought he was so slick.

"With or for?"

"No miss VanBurren, I have no intention of making you my employee."

"Then what are your intentions?" I deadpanned. "I am only a club manager, I have nothing to really offer you."

"Katarina chose you for a reason." He deadpanned back. "I know that club is not a legitimate business."

"Watch your words very carefully, monsieur DiBiancci." I warned him calmly. "Club Cinque is an honest business."

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I know that club is a laundering station."

"Your point?"

"What are you laundering for?" He asked rather intuitively. "Katarina is gone, I doubt her transport management is still en route without her at the helm."

"That club is Montenegro property, if we do not launder mademoiselle Katarina's money then we will launder her father's."

"Salvador would never approve." He was right.

"How do you know?"

"He owns an airline, the man has better means of laundering his money than a nightclub. I know you are no an idealistic person, miss VanBurren. Think it through."

"Even so, the club generates enough money without laundering. We have no need for dirty business."

"If you work with me on this you will have a twenty percent cut of all earnings."

"Fifty."

"Twenty-five."

"Fifty."

"Thirty."

"Fifty."

"Forty."

"I'll consider it."