The club is high end, huge and very clearly well used in a very trendy part of Midtown, it’s called
‘Alfa’s’. Its décor isn’t overly dated, just a little worn and faded, and even empty you can smell the years
of sweat, boozy-bodied dancers and stale smoke. It’s modern and obviously up market but it just
misses the little ‘va voom’ that makes a place stand out.
I take a walk around the vast room of multi-levelled platforms and seating as Alexi talks to his manager
by the bar, sitting sipping an ice water because he is driving and watching me do my slow evaluation.
He told me to go explore and tell him what I think needs to be done and it’s exactly what I am doing
while I get a little head space.
I can feel his eyes on me every second, burning my skin and giving me goosebumps. He’s been
weirdly quiet and distant since we got in here and that suits me fine. Careful not to get too chummy,
and even though he opened my car door, he kept his distance and gave me breathing space. It seems
our little ‘chat’ has registered somewhere and he’s being a gentleman for once.
I can handle unemotional and aloof Alexi, when the focus is business.
* * *
We walk out into the midday sun after spending a lot longer than planned talking fine details with Clark,
his bar manager. It was better than I thought it would be, and he made me feel valued, as though my
opinion held real weight while they both listened and Clark took notes. I don’t know who Alexi told him I
was, but the guy treated me as though I had some kind of authority in club décor. It was kind of nice.
Alexi has a file in hand of suggested changes, repairs and such, and a list of things his manager took
notes on that might improve the takings, all suggested by me. I gave my input and Alexi didn’t find fault
in a single suggestion; Both of them listening while I gave my feminine point of view on the look and
feel of what he was aiming for, a real boost to my mood, and yet back in the car we are once again
strangely silent.
There’s an atmosphere between us still, one I cannot read but it’s there nonetheless, and I’m tired from
the emotional drain it puts on me. I feel like I have been on a rollercoaster in the last couple of hours
and I am mentally exhausted and a little fragile.
‘Do you want to go for food?’ Alexi breaks into my muggy brain, and I blink his way uncertainly.
‘I’m hungry but I’m not sure having a cosy little lunch date is wise, so I guess not,’ I point out blankly,
giving him a one-shoulder shrug and a pointed look, but he just smiles at me.
‘Then call it a business lunch, we can recap what we talked about at the club. I’m starving and you
must be too, it’s after two.’ He is in serious mode—a hint of bossy coming through and I can tell it’s
pointless to argue. I wanted this version of him and it is back with a vengeance. I don’t know if that
should be a sign to relax and maybe I am being over cautious, but either way, he wants us to have
lunch and NO is falling on deaf ears; Even if he did make a show of asking me first.
‘Fine.’ I back down, literally starving too as I skipped breakfast this morning, and sink back into my seat
a little huffily. He’s left me feeling bruised all day, regardless of lifting me up in the bar, and I cannot shift
this weird knot of anxiety in my stomach.
‘Italian?’ He throws me a raised eyebrow as though my input means something and I just eyeroll.
‘Because I obviously don’t have enough of it in my life … sure … Italian it is.’ I sigh and look away from
the furrowed brow he starts giving me and stare out the window at passing scenery instead.
‘I know a little place close by Club Carrero—family-run—really good food.’ He ignores my obvious put-
down and just carries on, undeterred; A brighter, chirpier, mellow hue to his voice.
‘By your family?’ I blanch at him, weirded out that he might take me somewhere to meet more Carreros
when things between us aren’t exactly friendly. I am not in the mood to play nice and put on my Camilla
mask anymore today. I’m just tired.
‘Kind of,’ he answers absentmindedly as he leans forward to look behind him out the side of his window
at traffic coming up the side, before he turns left. Distracted by focusing on the road.
‘Meaning?’ They are either family or they are not. He’s vexing me without even trying.
‘A family who took me under their wing when I moved to the city at seventeen; I go there sometimes.’
He throws me back an odd smile and then concentrates on manoeuvring the car into a little side alley
which cuts through to another road and gets us moving in a new direction with the traffic heading
downtown. I am guessing the restaurant is on the way back to the club.
Great!
I’ll give Alexi one thing—he is a very capable and confident driver and I feel strangely safe at his
chauffeuring abilities.
Twenty minutes later, he silently cuts us through another dim alley and we end up down a very dark,
small back street that has washing lines strung between the buildings overhead. It’s a bit like going to
Chinatown, but it’s all bed sheets and aprons and adds to the intimate secrecy of this little building
nestled in secrecy; Sun flashing through the gaps as we move and I wonder at where we are. I know
it’s Little Italy, where the club is, but I cannot get my bearings as to exactly where.
There’s barely room for cars down here, and as he parks with the car propped up on the pavement in
the narrow alley I let myself out, rather than wait for him to be a gentleman and get my door. It’s a real
squeeze to exit it and he would have no chance fitting in here as well.
Alexi comes around the front to meet me at the bonnet, and, without touching, guides me towards the
little open door of the small crowded building ahead of us. I can already smell gorgeous food wafting
our way, infused with garlic and herbs and my mouth starts watering. I may have had reservations
about coming to eat with him, but now I can smell it I am delighted he decided to bring me here. It
smells divine and my taste buds start firing on all cylinders from the aroma alone.
We duck inside and step down into a tiny darkened restaurant, tables crowding the small space with
red and white chequered cloths and lit candles on each surface. It’s gloomy at first, until your eyes
adjust from the sunshine outside, but as the room comes into clear view I get the vibe of Old Italian
heritage and cosy surroundings. Traditional twee but so quaint it’s adorable.
There’s warmth in the little rustic room and an elderly greying man in brown cords and a cream shirt
makes a start towards us, catching my attention as he beams with delight at seeing us.
‘Alessandro!!!’ The heavily accented male rushes forward to pat Alexi enthusiastically on the shoulder
before swooping in and kissing him on both cheeks in a really over dramatic way and hugging him
heartily. All hugs and back slaps in a very OTT welcome. Alexi laughs, uttering something Italian too
and hugs him back.
Italians!
But…
Who is Alessandro?
It never dawned on me that Alexi was actually short for something. I never questioned it, and now I can
hear someone call him that it just does not fit at all. It’s such an old man name for someone as sexy as
Alexi. I don’t like it on him one bit. Sexy Alexi is a far better title and it has a ring to it.
When the man steps away he swoops on me and I get a helping of the wet kisses on each side of my
face, disturbingly so, and I try not to cringe as he rambles away in Italian chatter as though I can
understand it. I don’t react, just smile politely and take the weird greeting before discreetly patting my
face with a napkin when he turns his attention back to my date.
‘This is Camilla,’ Alexi gestures towards me, smiling brightly and looking a little too Gino, before
answering the man in fluent Italian again, faultlessly. I find myself gazing at him intensely. There is
something really hot about Alexi speaking his family’s native tongue so fluently. If you didn’t know any
better you would think he was a purebred foreigner when he is like this, and it’s captivating to listen to
that husky voice talk in tongues of romance. I know he must have spent a great deal of time there as
he harbours an odd twang in his normal dialect, but you don’t tend to notice much unless you listen
hard.
He catches my eyes on him and smiles softly, a weird moment between us that makes my skin erupt in
feathery sensations and I look away uneasily; Stomach flipping and heart drumming intensely from the
briefest things. Still haven’t got a grip on it.
When we are shown to the nearest table and settled down, I’m dutifully handed a paper menu that’s
handwritten and the old man sweeps off to fetch us some fresh hot Italian bread, and water.
‘Alessandro, huh?’ I throw Alexi a smug look and smile, banter over a name that definitely doesn’t suit
him. I just cannot associate him with it at all. It conjures up greasy pool boys looking for a quick lay with
ageing rich women.
‘Yeah … Mothers! It’s the Italian form of Alexander. She truly likes to torture her kids. At least it’s not
Luigino!’ He smiles back, pronouncing Gino’s full name with an accent that could possibly melt knickers
and that really ends me. I start giggling at the absurdity of that name. It really is worse than Alessandro
on every level, and now all I can think of is that little Mario brother computer game duo, and Gino in
green overalls.
‘Really? I thought Gino was at least just that … Gino! Jesus, did your mother not like either of you
much then?’ I ask through my merry giggling fit, forgetting all my stress and weird mood vibes as I relax
with him. Alexi picks up his menu and bops me on the head with it, looking amused. Playfulness back
on and the air clearing between us once more.
‘Yeah, something like that. She is very traditional and very Italian. My mother likes to remind us of that
every day.’
‘I don’t like it … You’re Alexi, nothing else,’ I point out, and he keeps smiling at me, reminding me of a
similar conversation over my use of the name Meghan. Leaning back in his chair casually he turns his
menu to scan it.
‘Do you need translations?’ He waves it at me and as I look down at my own I can see it’s all in Italian
and I have no clue what any of it says. It could be symbols and dots for all I can decipher.
‘Hmmm. Why don’t you just pick me something? As long as there is wine to wash it down, I’ll like it. I’m
not a picky eater.’ I smirk and throw my menu down in front of me, leaning back to match his pose and
watch him as he reads it.
‘Red? Your favourite colour … Okay, we could just have today’s special. It’s spinach and four cheese
risotto with pancetta and mushrooms.’ Alexi glances up at me over the paper and I nod approvingly.
‘Sounds good. And yes, to red … always.’
‘I could get on board with that.’ He throws his cheeky wink back at me and that weird tension from
earlier lifts a little—taking nothing from his retort except a mild flirt. He’s in a charming mood now he
has food on the brain, and I can let go a little and just go with it. Early upset finally forgotten and I look
around the quaint little room and really appreciate my surroundings. It has a good ambience, warm and
friendly and makes for a similar frame of mind. I like it.
‘So how did you find this place?’ I probe, interested that someone like him would find someplace like
this a good fit. It doesn’t seem all that Alexi to me. Not flashy, expensive or sinister enough. It’s a little
homely and too family feely for our Mafia king and his avoidance of all things wholesome.
‘I kind of fell into it … literally. I was drunk, lost, trying to find my way home and ended up down here
somehow one very wet night. I tried to find an exit via the side of the building and thought scaling a
fence was quicker than walking back out the way I came. I ended up falling into their backyard and
knocking myself out … very, very, wasted.’ He raises a brow and gives an apologetic shrug with his
tale, and I burst out laughing and shake my head at him in disbelief.
‘Seems very far away from all the Carrero grandeur to get lost around here. What did they do when
they found a sleeping Alexi in their garden?’ I ask, lifting the water glass to turn right way up to fill, but
Alexi is fast and swoops in for the jug before I do and pours me some in a very chivalrous manner.
Proof he was raised with manners anyway.
‘I started life in an apartment near here … downtown, average, far away from everyone … They just put
me on a fold-up bed in the kitchen to sleep it off. Next morning, they fed me and sent me on my way.’
‘And you came back?’ I seem surprised by this but then I guess seventeen-year-old Alexi was not as
closed off and untrusting as thirty-two-year-old Alexi and probably wasn’t much like he is now. I get a
pang of longing to know what he was like back then and try to picture him so much younger and much
less affected by his world. I wish I could have met him before all that makes him who he is hadn’t fully
seeped into his soul. Maybe I would have liked him a lot more.
‘I realised I left my wallet around here somewhere, so I had to come back. I didn’t really intend for it to
become a regular haunt.’ His eyes meet mine with a sort of resigned nod and he carries on filling his
own glass.
‘And now here we are,’ I point out with a beaming smile as old man Italy brings us his basket of
breadsticks and deposits a fresh jug of iced water on the table despite the one I’m drinking still being
cold. He removes the first jug anyway as Alexi gives him an order, still in Italian. He writes it on a little
pad, nods with a smile, and when the old man totters off I lean in conspiringly.
‘He doesn’t speak English?’ Nodding after him, confused that someone living here for all these years
hasn’t grasped basic English and he just shakes his head in reply.
‘No. His wife does and his children, but not him. He just never learned how I guess.’
Talking of such, a girl wanders through casually, around my age, late twenties, and beams at us sitting
here as soon as she looks up; bursting into overenthusiastic happiness as she spots my Lothario at the
table.
‘Alessandro!’ She mimics that of the older man, accent not as heavy, and rushes over to paw and kiss
Alexi on the cheeks, a little flirtier than the old man did, breaks into fluent Italian without looking my way
once.
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