Page 33 of It Hurts Me

“Because this is my restaurant.”

“Oh…” Good thing I’d only given compliments. “Do you like to cook?”

“I don’t know shit about food. I just bought a couple places to wash my money…among other things.”

I wondered what those other things were. “I’m glad we came back so I could try something else.”

The waiter returned with the drinks. He poured me a glass of wine and left the bottle behind.

“You like their wine?” He glanced at the bottle between us.

“I love it. Why?”

“Do you know the Barsetti Family?”

“No. Do you?”

“I know Crow. He’s the one who started the winery. Bought it to wash his money.”

“Whatever the reason he bought it, I love it.” I picked up the glass and took a drink.

“I like that about you.”

“That I like wine?”

“That you know my world.”

“I wouldn’t say I know it…” Just seen it indirectly, at dinners and galas, late nights with Bolton’s men.

“But you’re aware of it—and unafraid of it.”

I had no reason to be afraid of it. Bolton’s immoral work never affected my life. He hid his trail well, so it never came back to me. He had several different names, so our marriage license was tied to one of those aliases. Our properties had been bought under other names and identities. I wasn’t sure how he kept track of all of it. “What do most women think when you tell them?”

“I don’t.”

“Then how do you meet them?”

“I pay them.” He grabbed his scotch and took a drink.

“You sleep with prostitutes?”

“Escorts. There’s a big difference.”

“There is?”

“An escort is an exceptionally beautiful woman who charges a fortune for her time. Her livelihood is dependent on her health—so they’re clean. It’s one of the things you’re paying for.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be concerned that he openly paid for sex…or respect his honesty about it.

“That bothers you.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I can tell it does. But I’m not going to lie about it.”

“Are those the only kinds of women you sleep with?”

“No. I meet women when I’m out. In a bar. At an event. Wherever.”