For a few moments when I wake up the next day, I consider not showing up to Bond's date at all. It would make things easier for me now, but harder in a couple days when I show up for our family sponsored “date”. Or maybe he'll understand completely.

I should never have let him buy me a drink last night.

No. I really enjoyed his company, and I want to see him again. I don't care that we're rivals, or whether things will be weird when we officially meet. For once in my life, all I care about is the now.

And right now, I'm starving. I call up Sara. I know she's probably getting ready for her photo shoot, but who doesn't want to get some breakfast? She sounds sleepy when she answers, but agrees to meet me.

I throw on a pair of sweat pants and a tank top, put a light jacket over top, and go down to our favorite diner. It's just one building over from my apartment and it's where we like to talk about everything and nothing. I order us a couple cups of coffee before she arrives.

In a few minutes, a gorgeous blonde walks in. All eyes are on her in those tight jeans and a tighter sweater, perfectly framing her generous hips and breasts. Even compared to me, she is a knockout.

She seems oblivious as she walks to the booth I'm sitting in, though I know she's anything but unaware. She makes a lot of money by flaunting those curves. She's a model and I know she'll make it big any day now.

“Hey there,” she calls to me. I stand up and she gives me a hug.

“Good to see you,” I say. We sit down. “Who's your client today?”

She rolls her eyes. “Another car dealership that wants a pretty blonde sitting on an expensive car for an ad. At least it's easy work.”

I nod. Sara knows about my mob connections. She's a friend of the family, so to speak. She's gotten a couple of gigs because she knows the right people, but I try to keep her out of the darker parts of my life.

I want to talk to her about Bond, but I can't tell her exactly what's happening. Until things are certain and I have a ring on my finger, I can't really tell anyone about this. At least not all of it.

“So, you'll never believe this. I met a guy last night at the piano bar.”

Sara's eyes light up. “Cara, you little minx! Tell me all about him.”

The other patrons look over, but then look back at their newspapers and coffee. I grin at her and make a Shh sign. “What do you want to know?”

“Was he rich?”

Of course that would be the first question Sara would ask. “Yes, I think he was rich.”

“Was he tall, dark, and handsome?”

I thought back to meeting Bond. He was at least six feet tall, definitely a good looking man, and those eyes were dark enough to steal my soul. I nod my head. “There's just one thing.”

“There's always a catch.”

“He's not a good dresser.”

Sara laughs. “Deal breaker. You can have him. I won't steal him away from you.”

I wanted to tell her more. I wanted to get an opinion of what I should do, but I don't want to put Sara at risk with information she shouldn't have.

“I'll need that in writing,” I tease, changing my mind about telling her more.

“You got it. Let's order,” Sara says. “I have to meet my client in three hours and I am not going on an empty stomach.”

It's early December, but the tight jeans and sweater I pick out should keep me warm enough. Today is supposed to have sunshine. It looks quite a bit like Sara's outfit from earlier. I smile at the way the jeans and sweater hug my own curves. Working with what Mama gave you, I thought.

My thoughts flash back to my mom for a moment, and I quickly push the darkness that often follows from my mind. Today is all about fun, all about the now, and I shouldn't be thinking about the past at all. I take one last look in the mirror, wink at myself, then stroll out the door.

The piano bar never picks up until later in the evening, so it's practically deserted. However, there is one man sitting at the far side of the bar, nursing a drink.

For a moment, my breath is taken away again. Even from this distance, his dark brown eyes seem to pierce into my soul. He smiles, a wry, crooked smile that seems to show off just how handsome and confident he is.

He waves at me and I walk over to him. Again, his eyes wander up and down my body, making no move to disguise himself. It's an attractive quality, to be honest. He knows what he wants. As I get closer, I see he's wearing an expensive suit jacket and pants over a white, button up shirt. It's definitely nicer than what he was wearing last night.

“Hey there, Vesper” he says.

“Hey there, Bond,” I reply. I wave my hand up and down his body. “I feel like I may have under-dressed for this. You're all dressed up now.”

He chuckles. “It's all part of being a spy,” he says. He gestures to the bar stool next to him, and I sit down. He orders me the same drink I was drinking yesterday.

“How was your day at work?” he asks.

“Work?” I say, forgetting that was my excuse for leaving so early last night. “Oh. Work. Stressful, but fine,” I say, recovering quickly.

“Great. What did you say you do again?”

I draw in a deep breath. “I didn't,” I say. I don't want to get caught in a lie, just in case he knows something about retail or whatever. I don't dare say anything about mattresses.

There's a pause between us. “Fair enough,” he says when he finally figures out that I'm not talking.

“How about yourself?” I ask.

He makes a tsk tsk sound. “I'll tell you, if you tell me,” he says.

My drink arrives. I raise my glass to cheers him and say, “I guess we're at an impasse, then.”

He clinks my glass. “I'm usually better at negotiation than this.”

I sip at my drink. “Maybe it's time to try a different negotiation strategy.” I wonder just how many negotiation strategies he knows. Probably not all of them nice ones. That comes with being in the mafia.

He thinks about that for a moment. “My name's Dante,” he says.

“That's not a very good negotiation tactic.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I guess I can keep calling you Vesper, then...”

He sounds like he's starting to give up the fight. I can throw him a bone here. “Lucia.” I go with my middle name. That should be safe enough. “Or, at least that's what it says on my driver's license.” As one of my names.

His eyes light up. “Lucia. That's good to know. And it's good to know that you have a driver's license.”

I laugh. “So maybe I'm not as much of a rebel as I pretend to be. You, on the other hand, are still drinking in this bar.”

“I told you, I own it,” he says, this time much more matter-of-factly.

I roll my eyes. It's an act, because I do actually believe him. “Well then, Bond, should we spend the entire evening here so that you can get free drinks?”

He can't help but grin. “I had a better idea, Vesper. How often do you go to Central Park?”

“Never.” Like most people who live in New York, I try to avoid the tourist traps.

“Then this should be a lot of fun.”

Of course he has a limo waiting outside for us, one that I didn't even see him call. And of course he has a change of clothes in there.

The Russo Family likes to flaunt their status. They may be hurting for cash flow, but they won't let the rest of the world see that.

“Do you mind? I don't want to be overdressed for this date,” he asks.

I laugh. “You want me to turn around?”

He shrugs. “Look out the window. I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me.”

I can tell he's just teasing me, but I look out the window anyway. “Okay, I'm looking at some boring buildings instead of you.”

“Good,” he says. I can still see him in the reflection of the glass, and as he takes off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. I like what I see. He's in great shape, with a set of muscular pecs and a six pack of abs. He throws on a soft t shirt and a light jacket over that. I try not to peek too much as he quickly slides into a pair of jeans. The fancy suit is tossed carelessly to the side. I wonder if he just came from a meeting.

“Okay, you can look now,” he says.

I make an exaggerated look of surprise when I see his transformation. “That was quick.”

He smiles. “I don't want to waste your time, Vesper.”

I laugh. “So this is a date, now?”

“If you want it to be,” he says with a shrug.

“Hey, your words, not mine,” I say.

When the limo gets to Central Park, I let him help me out of the car. He immediately walks over to the closest hot dog stand and orders us two hot dogs. “Hope you don't mind, I'm starving.”

My stomach is grumbling as well. It has been a long time since I had a street vendor hot dog. Most guys tended to take me to fancy restaurants on our dates.

We walk through Central Park, our hot dogs in hand. I'm still extremely surprised at how quickly I feel comfortable with him already. I never feel this way with anyone. I'm usually on edge, especially with anyone not from the family. Yet, I feel comfortable around him. It's kind of exciting and wonderful.

“So, why the piano bar?” he asks.

I shrug. “I've always liked the piano. It seems like a surefire way of telling that someone is cultured.”

“And that's what's important to you? Whether someone is cultured? I mean, I can play the piano and I don't feel too cultured,” he says, that wry look back on his face.

“I don't know. I mean, when I play, I feel like a different person.”

“You really do play? I thought you were just talking trash yesterday,” he cuts in. I immediately regret saying anything.

“Well, yeah. I'm not all that good.”

He shakes his head, as if he doesn't quite believe me. “I bet that's not true. I bet you practice every day. I bet you have a piano in your house.”

I can feel my face immediately turn red. How could he have guessed that? “Joke's on you, I don't live in a house.”

He looks at me. “Nobody in Manhattan lives in a house. You know what I meant.”

I nodded softly. I did. “Well, somehow I believe that you live in a house.”

He shrugs. “I used to. Not any more.”

I leave it at that, and we continue to walk, eating our hot dogs. He turns us so that we are headed deep into the park. I wonder briefly if walking through Central Park with a rival crime mob member is a good idea, but I let him lead. I am safe with him. I trust him. I don't know why, but I feel like I would let him take me anywhere.