Romano's Reckless Girl

The bell above Manny’s Grease & Glory didn’t chime. It wheezed. Luka stood in the doorway like a CEO who’d taken a wrong turn out of hell and into purgatory. His suit was still immaculate. His expression was not. Chipped vinyl booths. Grease on the windows. A neon sign that buzzed louder than it glowed. The entire place smelled like regret and fried onions. Across from him, Isabella was already sitting, one leg crossed, honey-brown curls spilling over her shoulder like she hadn’t just ruined a man’s life three hours ago. Her dimples were out. Her eyes were sharp. And she was smiling at him like he was the punchline to a joke she hadn’t told yet. “Took you long enough,” she said, tapping her nails on the table. “I was starting to think you got kidn*pped. Or grew a conscience.” He slid into the booth. The vinyl groaned. So did he. “I don’t do places where the ketchup bottle is older than my car, Belle.” “Good,” she said, leaning forward. “Because tonight isn’t about your car. It’s about survival.” She looked him dead in the eye and added, very softly, “Also, if you call me Belle one more time, I will dump this shake on your head.” His mouth twitched. “Noted, Belle.” She groaned. He looked smug. The waitress slapped two sticky menus down. “You two look like trouble. What’ll it be?” “Two doubles, extra cheese, fries, chocolate shake, water,” Isabella rattled off without blinking. “And whatever he’s having. He’ll survive.” Luka blinked. “I didn’t agree to—” “You did when you slashed a stranger’s tires for me,” she said sweetly. “Now eat.” The waitress lingered. She flipped her hair, leaned on the table, and aimed her smile at Luka. “You want anything else, handsome? On the house? Maybe dessert?” Luka didn’t even glance up. “No.” Her smile faltered. “Right. Uh… I’ll get your order in.” The second she walked off, Isabella burst out laughing. “Oh my God. You’re ruthless. She was practically begging and you didn’t even look at her.” “I’m not here for dessert,” he said flatly. “I’m here because you’re starving and threatening me.” Isabella was still grinning, shaking her head. “You’re insane. I like it.” When the waitress left, the diner noise faded. And Isabella’s smile faded with it. Because the truth was, three hours ago she hadn’t been in Manny’s. She’d been in Aurelia. *Flashback: 8:17 PM. Aurelia Restaurant.* Aurelia wasn’t a restaurant. It was a flex. Marble floors, chandeliers, waiters who memorized your last name and your net worth. And Isabella walked into it like war in a wine-red satin skirt. The slit went high. The shirt fit like it was painted on. Her heels clicked against the floor like a countdown. Her honey-brown curls were perfect. The gold strands caught the light every time she moved. Her eyes, the brightest honey-brown, almost golden, scanned the room with the confidence of a woman who thought she was about to get the biggest interview of her career. A promotion was sitting on that table. She could taste it. A waiter guided her to a corner booth. “Just water,” she said, voice steady. The actor was late. Five minutes became twenty. Twenty became an hour. No texts. No calls. No show. Her fingers drummed against her portfolio. Her chest tightened. She reached for her phone. Drew. Her fiancé. Two years. Engaged for six months. Her thumb hovered. He was on a flight to Australia. He’d land soon. He’d call. Don’t be that girl, Isa. Don’t be clingy. She put the phone down. And that’s when she saw him. Drew. Not on a plane. Not in Australia. Sitting two tables over, laughing, feeding pasta to a blonde woman like they were in a toothpaste ad. His hand was in her hair. His mouth was saying things he used to say to Isabella. Her brain stalled. She didn’t jump to conclusions. She walked. Slow. Deliberate. Close enough to see the sauce on the blonde’s lips. Close enough to hear Drew whisper, “You’re so beautiful,” with the exact tone he used on her. Her heart cracked first. Then rage filled the cracks like molten steel. She stopped at their table. Drew looked up. Froze. The fork stopped halfway to the blonde’s mouth. Isabella smiled. Slow. Devilish. She put a hand on the back of his chair and leaned in. “Babe,” he choked out. “I can explain—” “No,” she said. Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. “You can’t. Because you’re a liar. And a coward. And you have the worst s*x I’ve ever had in two years.” The restaurant went silent. Whispers started. Phones came up. A woman at the next table gasped so loud it echoed. Drew reached for her wrist. “Isa, you’re embarrassing yourself. Lower your voice.” She jerked away. “If I’m going down, we’re going down in 4K.” She turned to the cameras. “Hi. I’m his fiancée. This is me catching him cheating with Discount Barbie. Two years of his terrible performance in bed, and he still thought he could upgrade? You can’t upgrade from nothing, Drew.” Laughter. Gasping. Someone actually clapped. She grabbed the plate of fettuccine, held his eye contact, and dumped it over his head. Sauce dripped down his designer shirt. The blonde screamed. Isabella yanked the diamond ring off. She held it between two fingers, poised to throw it. Then she smirked, dropped it into her bag, and said, “I’ll pawn this. Consider it payment for emotional damages.” She looked at the blonde. “You should thank these people for filming, who knows what would have happened to you two. Remember this love," Isabella leaned in intimidatingly "If he can cheat on someone who looks like me, he’s definitely cheating on you next week.” She walked out to applause. Isabella headed straight to the parking lot, cursing under her breath. Blinded by anger and mixed with pooling tears, she misstepped on the curb, twisted her ankle, and went down hard. The snap of her heel was louder than her scream. She sat on the concrete, breathing hard, furious at herself, at him, at everything. That’s when she saw it. His car. White. Sleek. Arrogant. Parked three rows away like it owned the lot. She got up. Hobbled. Stormed over. Lip gloss in hand. No cameras watching this angle. She dragged the words CHEATER across the hood in bright red. Then she kicked the tires. Hard. “Satisfied?” The voice came from behind her. Isabella froze. Her heart was already hammering, and now it jumped into her throat. She turned slowly. And there he was. Dark hair, perfectly messy. Eyes, the prettiest blue she has ever seen. A jawline that could cut glass. His suit hugged broad shoulders and a frame that screamed ‘I lift weights to relieve homicidal urges.’ He smelled expensive. Like cedar and something illegal. He had his arms in his pockets. He wasn’t smiling. He was just… watching her. Like she was a problem he wanted to solve. Isabella forced a nervous laugh and crouched, pretending to wipe the car. “Oh. Hi. I’m just… cleaning it. For the owner. Out of kindness. You know. Community service.” He didn’t move. “You need help slashing the tires?” She blinked. “Excuse me?” He raised a brow. “You’re doing a bad job with just lip gloss. The tires need more commitment.” She stared at him. He was serious. So she did the unhinged thing. She pulled the pin from her hair. Her curls fell down her back in heavy waves. She held the pin out to him with a manic grin. He took it. And he slashed the tires. One. Two. Three. Four. Isabella clapped. Giggled. Like a villain in a cartoon. “Yes! Yes, thank you! Oh my God, you’re amazing!” He stopped, wiped the pin on his sleeve, and handed it back. “You’re terrifying.” “You helped,” she said, breathless. “Why? Are you a psycho too?” He scoffed. “I saw what happened in there. I hate assholes. And I like people who don’t pretend they’re okay when they’re not.” He paused. “Also, you’re entertaining.” She laughed. Real. Loud. The first real thing she’d felt all night. He noticed her feet then. Bare, with one broken heel dangling from her hand. “Wait here.” He disappeared into the lot and came back two minutes later with sneakers. Big, white, hideous sneakers. “These are criminal,” she said, letting him slide one onto her foot. “Your ex is criminal,” he said, doing the laces. “I win.” Her stomach growled. So loud it echoed in the empty lot. He looked up, amused. “Come on. Let me feed you before you start chewing on the asphalt.” She eyed him. “Are you a mafia? Serial killer? Because this is how those dark romance books I read start.” He stood, pocketing his hands again. “If I were mafia, you’d already be in the trunk. If I were a serial killer, I wouldn’t waste time feeding you first" "Well, f**k it," Isabella threw her hands up "If I'm going to die at least I'll be fed first" He unlocked the car with a beep. It was a matte black beast. Leather seats, no fingerprints, smelled like money and bad decisions. Isabella slid in carefully, still in his oversized sneakers. She ran her hand over the dashboard. “Okay. Rich psycho confirmed. You either launder money or sell people on the black market.” He got in, started the engine. The purr was obscene. “Flattering. What’s your name, vandal?” She hesitated. “Isabella.” He glanced at her. “Isabella. That’s a lot of syllables for someone who kicks cars. I'll call you Belle” “Don’t call me that" "Why?" "It sounds too sweet" "I think it sounds just fine" "Well, it's my name psycho. I decide what to do with it. Your turn" “Luka.” “Luka,” she tested it. “Sounds like a villain. Or a mafia heir.” “Good,” he said, pulling out of the lot. “Keeps people from asking stupid questions.” They drove in silence for 30 seconds. Then she broke it. “So… you really just s***h tires for strangers?” “I really just hate watching people get walked over,” he said, eyes on the road. “And you didn’t look like the crying type. You looked like the burning-everything-down type.” She smirked. “You’re not wrong.” She told him where to go. He typed Manny’s into the GPS. He stared at it like it was a threat. “That’s a burger place.” “Don’t say it,” she warned. “No ‘I’ve never eaten at a road side diner’ speech.” He sighed. “I have. Just not where the fries come with a side of regret.” She laughed. “We’ll see if you survive.” They pulled up 10 minutes later, standing in front of the rusty burger place. Isabella laughed at the horrified expression on his face. "Don't judge a book by it's cover, Luka. They have delicious burgers" "I doubt this book even has a cover" he scowled "Come on, it'll be fun" Isabella grinned, skipping happily into the diner. A little too happy for someone so heart broken. *Back To The Present* The food arrived. Isabella dug in like she hadn’t eaten in days. She moaned over the first bite. Luka watched her for a beat too long before taking his own. It was greasy. It was messy. It was… actually good. She chewed, swallowed, then set her burger down. Her fingers played with the napkin. “My fiancé,” she said, voice flat. “Drew. He was an asshole. Absolute jerk. Two years of his ego and his late nights and his ‘I’m busy’ excuses.” She looked up at him. “And the blonde? She wasn’t even pretty.” Luka paused, burger halfway to his mouth. “She was blonde.” “So?” “So. Blonde is a classic.” Isabella’s glare could’ve set the table on fire. “Which side are you on, Luka?” He held her stare. Three seconds. Then he sighed, put the burger down, and raised his hands. “Fine. You win. She was a knockoff. Plastic hair, personality from Temu. Happy?” Isabella’s face lit up. “Very.” “I’m a coward,” he muttered. “You would’ve shoved this shake down my throat.” “Correct.” She grinned and took a sip. “So,” she said, wiping her mouth. “Your date. What happened?” Luka’s jaw ticked. “It wasn’t a date.” Isabella paused, fry halfway to her mouth. “Excuse me?” “My grandfather told me it was a business dinner. Clients from Tokyo. I showed up in a suit, with a deck, ready to talk mergers.” He took a bite, deadpan. “Turns out the ‘client’ was a 26-year-old in yoga pants. With a slideshow of her hobbies.” Isabella burst out laughing. “No. You’re lying.” “I wish.” He stole one of her fries. “She asked if I believed in soulmates. I said I believe in quarterly reports. She cried. I Venmo’d her for the bread basket and left. Whole thing lasted 11 minutes.” Isabella was wheezing now. “Rich psycho. Scammed by his own grandpa.” “Barely,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Romance is just ambush marketing. And I don’t do ambushes.” “You’re impossible,” she said, still grinning. “God, I needed that" The night stretched on. Greasy food, sharper words, and a weird, electric ease between them. By the time they walked out, the diner was empty. Her feet were still in his terrible sneakers. He opened the passenger door. “Where to?” She hesitated. Home was empty. Home was memories. “Just drive,” she said. “I’ll tell you when to stop.” He nodded. The engine purred. And as they pulled away from Manny’s Isabella glanced at him. Rich psycho. Sharp tongue. Sharp jaw. Way too pretty for his potty mouth. For the first time all night, she wasn’t thinking about Drew. She was thinking about trouble. And she was smiling. --- .