CLAIMED BY THE DON
She slid into her chair beside me, close enough that her thigh brushed mine under the table.
Her hand moved fast as she slipped something small and smooth into my palm. I closed my fingers around it without looking as my curiosity burned. I waited until Mamma Rosa turned to pour more wine, then lifted the object just enough to see.
It was a remote, a small black remote with three buttons: vibrate, pulse, and intensity.
My pulse kicked into my throat.
I shot my eyes to her. She met my stare, with her lips parted in the tiniest smirk. Then she shifted in her seat, slow and deliberate, crossing her legs like she had all the time in the world.