By Any Other Name (12 page)

He pushed his empty tray aside. "Not water, either. I want a drink… a real drink."

"Ah, a glass of rum."

"And Coke," he said.

"There was no Coke in that rum."

He laughed, relaxing back in his seat as he gazed at her. "There was."

"I don't care what you say."

"Come with me, then," he said. "Let me
show
you. I'll make you one myself."

Instinctively, she shook her head. Was he crazy? He expected her to go somewhere with him? "I can't."

"You can," he insisted. "Christ, you already let me take you into the heart of Barsanti territory."

"I didn’t know you were—"

"It doesn't matter," he said, cutting her off. "You went there, knowing it wasn't safe, and you didn't even bat an eyelash. You trusted me to keep you safe, and I did, didn't I? You got home safely, didn't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"So what makes you think I won't keep you safe now?"

"Because you know who I am."

"And I'm telling you I don't care."

"But it changes things," she said. Even he couldn't deny that. Regardless of if
he
cared, so many others would.

"It does," he agreed, leaning closer, his eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips, almost if by some instinct. And somehow, she knew—he was fighting the same urge she had fought earlier. "We have to be so much more careful now."

Those words washed through Genna, dulling a bit of her resolve. She stared at him, examining his face, trying to find some hint of deception, something to give away the ulterior motives she was certain he must have, but he merely gazed at her, wide eyes full of sincerity.
Ugh, why did he have to look so damn genuine
? She wanted to believe he was a wolf in sheep's clothing, sent to lure her, to devour her, but at the moment he looked like a sheep that knew it was dangerously close to being skinned alive, but a sheep that was willing to walk into the slaughterhouse on its own anyway. "I can't go with you back to that place."

"What place?"

"The Place."

He cracked a smile at that. "We'll go somewhere neutral then."

"There is nowhere neutral."

"Little Italy?"

She scoffed. "Please, at least half of that neighborhood knows who we are."

Her
, anyway. Sure, they knew the Barsantis, but she wasn't yet sure how many people would be able to identify
him
. She couldn't risk it, though. All it would take was one person recognizing them together for all hell to break loose.

He sat in silence for a moment. "Somewhere else, then."

"There is nowhere else." Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him, still trying to figure out if this was some kind of ruse. "How do I know this isn't a trick? That you won't walk me straight into an ambush?"

"You don't know. You just have to trust me."

"I need some kind of guarantee," she said. "Some kind of security."

"Then you pick the place. We'll go wherever you want."

"I don't know anywhere."

He sighed exasperatedly, running his hands through his hair. "We're getting nowhere here."

He was wrong. They were most definitely getting somewhere. Little by little, he was breaking down her walls despite the voice in the back of her mind, screaming, crying, and warning her away. She wasn't an idiot, and despite what she had told her brother, she knew she was a good judge of character. It was something her father had instilled in her, teaching her how to spot a schemer a mile away, teaching her how to con a conman in return. And this guy sitting across from her was either as genuine as they came, or he deserved a fucking Academy Award.

Wolf in sheep's clothing, maybe not, but he was undoubtedly Satan, tempting her to the dark side.
Forgive me, Father, for I want nothing more than to sin and sin and sin again
… "Can I ask you something?"

Matty's brow furrowed. "Sure."

"How do you fix your hair so your horns don't show?"

He let out a loud laugh as he shoved his chair back. "Funny."

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was a good one," he said, standing up. "I'm surprised it came from
your
mind, to be honest."

Genna smiled, amazed how easy the teasing came for them.
Must be in our DNA
.

"I can't linger here too long," he said, gazing down at her. "My car's parked outside, and well, someone's bound to take notice eventually."

She nodded. He was flirting with disaster coming here, even with her family preoccupied. Her father may not personally catch him, but someone else could. He had eyes and ears all over the city. "You were stupid to come here in the first place."

"You pronounced
fearless
wrong," he said, reaching over and lightly grasping her chin, tilting her face slightly more toward him as he gazed at her. "Thanks for the chili, Genna. Best soup kitchen meal I've ever had."

"You eat at soup kitchens often?" she asked as he started walking away.

His footsteps faltered briefly as he glanced back at her, his lips turning into that condescending—yet damn sexy—smirk. "No, but I might start."

Walking into the East Harlem soup kitchen was like stepping into the busy underground subway station. A continuous flow of people shuffled through, methodic yet still chaotic, and despite the fact that there seemed to be someone always cleaning, the place constantly remained filthy. An unpleasant odor hung in the air from an unknown source that Matty suspected might've been whatever concoctions they were brewing in the kitchen, strong enough to make him cringe when he inhaled.

He strolled in toward the end of dinner service again, immediately seeing Genna behind the partition. Even wearing a filthy apron, dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, she made him pause to take her in. A smile lit up her face, the kind of smile that could replace sunshine without you even noticing a drop in temperature. The girl was
radiant
. She laughed, and heads involuntarily turned toward her like a flower turning toward the light.

Ice princess? Hardly. She was the opposite of cold.

Christ, just the sight of her made Matty want to speak in fucking verse like he was Shakespeare incarnate.

Genna glanced up as he approached, her expression dimming a bit, worry evident in her eyes as they darted all around, doing everything not to look at
him
. He got it… he did. She didn't trust him. He couldn't say he blamed her.

After a moment, she skeptically met his gaze, her cheeks flushing. "What do you want now?"

There was an edge of antagonism to her voice that made it hard not to laugh. Matty's thinly veiled amusement made her eyes narrow further as she glared at him, awaiting an answer.

"Just stopping by," he said. "But don't worry, I'm not going to steal any of your food this time. I brought my own."

He held his bag of take-out up for her to see, to make his point, since she had given him grief for taking food from people who needed it. He expected maybe an eye roll at most, but the flare of anger caught him off guard. "You brought your own food? Are you stupid? You can't do that!"

"Why?"

"Why? It's
rude
! How dare you bring that in here and tease these people. What is it, anyway?" Before he could respond, she reached over the divider and snatched the bag straight out of his hand, opening it up to glance inside. She shifted the food around, surveying the contents. "French fries and what, a cheesesteak? Got onions and peppers on it?"

"Of course."

She snatched a fry, popping it in her mouth as she hastily closed the bag up tightly, her eyes darting beside him. "Hey, you. Yeah, you… guy with the green shirt. You like cheesesteaks?"

Matty turned, looking at the guy beside him as the man's eyes widened. "Uh, yeah, sure."

Genna thrust the bag over the divider, straight to him. "Here you go. Eat it. Enjoy yourself. My treat."

The man grabbed the food, quickly saying his thanks, and darted away before anyone could take it from him. Matty turned back around, gaping at Genna as she grabbed a paper cup and dished out some kind of brown gunky stew into it.

"Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Barsanti," she said, slamming it down on the tray before shoving it down the line. Matty stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, but she said nothing more, brusquely dismissing him with a wave of the hand before continuing to dish out more stew into cups.

Not wanting to hold up the line or make a bigger scene, Matty walked away and grabbed a tray from the end. He headed across the room, straight to the same seat from last time. He stared down at the food, picking up the plastic spoon and shifting the stew around, the potatoes and carrots turning to mush at a simple touch. Beef stew, he assumed, although he barely found any beef at all.

Hesitantly, he took a small bite, cringing as he swallowed it down. It tasted like nothing but water and salt. He couldn't fathom eating this crap every day.

It took longer this time, but Genna eventually wandered over at a few minutes after seven, yanking the chair out across from him and plopping down. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at him pointedly. Unlike yesterday when she'd been on the defense, scrambling to comprehend his presence, this girl appeared entirely in control, an air of authority surrounding her. Confidence oozed from her pores, bordering on downright cocky.

Matty knew it was an act, but damn if it didn't turn him on.

"You owe me a dinner now," he said, matter-of-fact.

"I gave you a dinner," she said, motioning toward the food in front of him. "Even cooked it myself."

"Yeah, well, do me a favor?" he asked, taking another bite of the beef stew. "Never cook for me again, because this? This isn't your strong suit."

She dramatically gasped, grabbing her chest with feigned hurt. "You mean I don’t live up to your expectations? How ever will I go on?"

Without responding, he made a point to choke down every damn bite of the god-awful stew before washing it down with the milk, desperate to get the salty taste from his mouth. Sighing, he tossed the carton down on the tray and gazed at her. "So how about a drink, Genna?"

Her self-assured expression wavered a bit, skepticism shining through. "Are we going to do this every day?"

"Do what?"

"Do
this
," she said, waving between the two of them. "This thing where you pretend like there could actually ever be something between you and me."

"There could be," he said. "There was."

"That's the past."

"And I told you I don't live in the past."

"Then why are you here?"

Christ, she was infuriatingly stubborn. Leaning forward, he shoved his tray aside. No words came from his mouth as he stared in her eyes, drinking in the pale blue hue, so unnaturally light they appeared almost gray, void of color. Like the iciest stone.

"Don't look her in the eyes," he said quietly. "She's dangerous."

She blanched. "What?"

"That's what they say about you. I'm sure your family warned you about me, told you to stay away, but you're not the only one, Genna. I've heard it all, too. They have a lot of names for you… the Ice Princess… Medusa… they say you're the worst kind of monster, the kind that can bring a man to his knees, that can shatter his world with a simple stare."

She blinked rapidly, looking away for a moment, before curiosity got the best of her. She turned right back to him. "I've heard Ice Princess before, but they seriously call me
Medusa
?"

He cracked a smile at the incredulous tone to her voice. "They do."

She remained quiet for a moment, contemplatively chewing on her bottom lip, her gaze leaving his once more. This time it didn't return. "If they warned you about me, why don't you just… stay away? It would be so much easier."

"I don't do things just because they're easy. Despite what you might think, I don't have sinister intentions. I risk coming here, because one of us has to take that risk. One of us has to be willing to take the chance. But if you want me to stay away, if you want nothing to do with me, fine. Just tell me. I'll stay away. You'll never see me again." Pushing his chair back, he stood up and leaned across the table. She tensed, her eyes closing as he brought his face close to hers, his cheek brushing against hers as he whispered in her ear. "It's too late for me, though. I already looked the soul-stealer in the eyes."