Lovenap

Chapter 5

The afternoon sun felt warm on their skin as Bianca and Dimitri stepped out of Fine Italian Tailoring. The little brass bell gave one last cheerful tinkle behind them, and the comforting scent of fresh fabric and cedarwood still clung lightly to their clothes. Bianca walked a step ahead, trying to project confidence, but Dimitri noticed the way her fingers fidgeted with her keys and the lingering pink flush on her cheeks.

He couldn’t stop the satisfied grin spreading across his face. The new navy shirt and charcoal pants fit like they were made for him — the fabric smooth and luxurious against his skin, the tailoring sharp yet comfortable. More than the clothes, though, he loved the memory of Bianca’s eyes on him in front of that three-way mirror. She’d tried to be subtle. She’d failed spectacularly.

“You know,” he said, voice low and teasing as he fell into step beside her, “if this is how you treat all your hostages, I might have to start causing trouble just to stay around longer. New wardrobe, home-cooked meals… I’m starting to think k********g me was the best decision you’ve ever made.”

Bianca shot him a sideways glare, but her lips twitched with the effort of hiding a smile. “You’re supposed to be scared and cooperative, not… whatever this cocky attitude is.”

“Cocky?” He leaned in a little closer as they reached the Alfa Romeo, catching that now-familiar vanilla-cinnamon scent. “Or just honest? You were practically ogling me back there, Zayka.”

Her cheeks burned bright red. “I was not ogling! I was… assessing the situation. Making sure Uncle Louie did a good job.”

“Mm-hmm.” Dimitri opened the passenger door for her with a playful flourish before sliding into his own seat. The red leather was warm from the sun. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

She huffed and started the engine, pulling out into the Chicago streets with more force than necessary. For a few blocks the car was filled with comfortable silence broken only by the soft hum of the radio and the occasional honk from surrounding traffic. Dimitri watched the city scenery roll by — brownstone buildings, corner cafés bustling with people, and the distant gleam of the lake.

Eventually his stomach gave a quiet rumble. Bianca glanced over, one eyebrow raised. “Hungry again already? I just fed you breakfast a few hours ago.”

“Apparently being your hostage is hard work,” he replied with a grin. “Or maybe it’s the company. You’re very distracting.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her amusement. A few minutes later she pulled into a small parking lot behind a cozy family-style Italian restaurant called Nonna’s Cucina. The air outside smelled heavenly — garlic, simmering tomato sauce, fresh basil, and warm bread.

“Papa likes to conduct business here sometimes,” she explained as they walked inside. “And since you’re my… guest… you might as well eat well before we get there.”

The restaurant was warm and lively, with red-checkered tablecloths, strings of fairy lights, and walls covered in family photos. They were quickly ushered to a quiet corner booth. Once they had glasses of water and a basket of still-warm crusty bread between them, Dimitri leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“So, tell me about this master plan of yours,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “You drag me to your uncle for a new suit, feed me again… Are you trying to seduce your hostage, or is this all part of impressing Papa?”

Bianca tore off a piece of bread, dipping it in olive oil and balsamic. “The plan is simple. I show Papa I can handle family business. You’re leverage. Or a peace offering. Or… something.” She waved her hand vaguely. “I’m still working out the finer details.”

Dimitri chuckled and stole a piece of her bread, earning an indignant little gasp. “You’re adorable when you’re winging it. Most people who point a gun at me regret it. You? I’m having the best day I’ve had in years.”

Their food arrived shortly after — plates of rich carbonara for her and a hearty osso buco with risotto for him. The aromas were intoxicating. As they ate, the conversation flowed easily: playful jabs mixed with genuine curiosity. He asked about her favorite chaotic family stories. She asked why a man like him would go along with such a terrible k********g so willingly.

“Because the kidnapper turned out to be you,” he answered simply, his voice dropping. “Those big brown eyes and that ridiculous determination? I was done for the second I saw you, little Zayka.”

By the time they finished and the check mysteriously vanished (courtesy of the house), the sun had dipped lower in the sky. They stepped back outside into the cooling evening air. Bianca stopped beside the car, keys in hand, looking a touch uncertain.

“Papa’s expecting us soon,” she said. “I’m supposed to present you as my captive. So… try to look a little more hostage-like and less like you’re enjoying a date.”

Dimitri stepped closer, close enough to see the way her breath caught. “For you? I’ll try. But I make no promises, Zayka.”

She swallowed hard, then quickly turned and got into the driver’s seat. As they pulled away, Dimitri leaned back, more smitten than ever.

Whatever waited at Papa’s — tension, questions, or chaos — he was ready.