The Enemy
I made the driver circle around town, no destination in mind, just needing to breathe, anything other than the endless gates and manicured gardens of the Cincinnati estate. We passed narrow roads and colourful graffiti until a cosy little restaurant caught my eye.
“Park here,” I told the driver.
I got out, walked in, and chose a small table near the window. I poured myself a glass of wine, letting the first sip melt against my tongue. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that doesn’t make you feel lonely. For once, I was just enjoying a moment that belonged to me.
“Excuse me, miss, is this seat taken?”
I looked up. An elegant-looking man stood there. He looked breathtakingly attractive in a confident, clean way. He wore a dark jacket and had that casual kind of charm that told me he knew how to talk to women.
“No, it’s not,” I said with a faint smile. “Please, join me.”
He smiled back and took the seat. A waiter came by and he ordered his drink. Then he turned to me with a look that was part mischief, part curiosity.
“So, what’s a beautiful woman like you doing at a place like this?” he asked. And then, before I could answer, he added with a playful grin, “Specifically… by herself.”
He gave me a once-over, not too obvious, but clear enough to catch it.
“I wouldn’t let a woman like you sit here all by herself if she were my girlfriend.”
I smiled, lifting my glass. “Well, maybe that’s because I don’t have a boyfriend.”
His eyes lit up, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned back in his chair and undid the button of his jacket.
“Seems like my lucky day.”
I gave him a playful grin. “Seems so.”
“So, what’s your name?” he asked, his tone shifting now that he thought the field was clear.
I hesitated for just a second. I couldn’t give him my real name. Not with who I was, who I was married to. So I slipped into a lie.
“Cindy,” I said.
“Cindy…” he repeated, smiling. “Great to meet you.”
He turned toward me, extending his hand.
“I’m Marco.”
We shook hands, he held mine a second too long. Longer than was polite. Longer than any man had dared to, at least with me.
But then again, he didn’t know who I was. He didn’t know I was Sarah Sullivan-Cincinnati. If he had, he wouldn’t even be sitting at my table.
And that was exactly why I didn’t tell him.
This felt like a dream.
All those romance novels I used to read, where the girl flirted so effortlessly, where there was tension in the air and a man who actually looked at her like she mattered. I used to wonder what that would be like. And now, here I was. Flirting. Laughing. Smiling back at a stranger who didn’t know who I was.
Marco didn’t know. He didn’t know I was Sarah Sullivan-Cincinnati, the mafia wife, the woman trapped in someone else’s life. He only saw me. And I think he liked what he saw.
It was a new feeling, to be seen like this. Wanted like this. No expectations, no history. Marco thought I was sexy. He was looking at me like I was desirable, and for once I didn’t have to think about anything or anyone else. This was my moment.
He reached across the table, still holding my hand, and his thumb slowly moved across my skin. His eyes were soft but interested like I was the only thing he wanted to look at. My cheeks were warm, not from the wine, but from how free I felt.
And then,
“If you still want use of that hand,” a voice said, sharp and cold, “I’d suggest you let go of hers right this second.”
The voice came out of nowhere, cutting straight through the wine, the flirtation. I blinked, caught completely off guard. That voice…
I turned, and there he was.
The mean bodyguard. The meanie.
He stood at the edge of the table, his arms crossed, his eyes dark and unreadable. Not looking at me, but at Marco. Deadlocked. A stare so sharp it could slice glass.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped, my voice laced with confusion and anger.
Marco, still holding my hand, didn’t flinch. He hadn’t let go. His posture shifted slightly, shoulders squaring up, eyes narrowing at the new arrival. The two of them locked into a silent, testosterone standoff. Neither of them backing down.
The flirtation was gone, replaced with tension so thick you could choke on it. My table, which just seconds ago had been light and playful, was now a battleground of male dominance.
“Let’s have a go of her,” Meanie muttered, clearing his throat in frustration. His voice was lower now, more serious this time.
Marco finally let go of my hand, slow and smooth like a velvet caress, as if trying to leave behind something more than just skin contact. Something that shouldn’t have stirred anything in me but it did. It absolutely did.
Then Meanie turned fully toward me. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was anything but calm.
“Stand up. We’re getting the hell out of here.”
“No,” I said simply, leaning back comfortably in my seat.
His eyes narrowed. “I said stand up. I’m taking you back home. Now.”
“No,” I repeated firmly. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I came here to have a peaceful time by myself, and I’d really appreciate it if you went away.... by yourself.”
“You’re sitting here with the enemy,” he snapped, voice rising just a little.
Marco laughed, rich and amused. “So now I’m the enemy? That’s news to me. I thought we were building toward something... Friendship.”
“If you actually cared about that,” Meanie shot back, jaw tightening, “you wouldn’t be here touching someone else’s wife. Your partner’s wife.”
“I wasn’t touching her,” Marco replied calmly, still cool and collected. “I was simply holding her hand. Getting to know her.”
Meanie scoffed. “If that helps you sleep at night.”
I rolled my eyes at their childish posturing. “Do you two need a room or something?”
I nearly chuckled as the words left my mouth. But instead of making them uncomfortable, I was the one who ended up embarrassed because Marco turned to me with a smirk and said,
“She is something, isn’t she?”
His eyes held something, something I couldn’t quite name, but it made my stomach flip.
Meanie groaned in frustration. “Don’t make this hard for me. Let’s just get out of here,” he said to me, gentler now, almost pleading.
But I was already standing my ground.
“No,” I said clearly. “I just met Marco. And the two of us are going to have more wine... maybe even dinner together.”
Meanie scoffed. “Marco?”
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