My Mafia Mate

#Chapter 6: Intentions

Ella

“...Miss Morgan. Good evening.”

As the words left the familiar man’s mouth, I felt a pang of unease. The empty top floor of the restaurant was eerily silent, amplifying my growing discomfort.

The smoky scent of the warm charcoal fire, the soft crackling of the wood, the distant clinking of silverware, everything seemed to halt as he muttered my name.

“Ella Morgan,” he repeated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty and something akin to regret. “You’re Ella Morgan?”

“Yes,” I answered slowly, my heart pounding. “You’re Mr. Barrett?”

The man’s face almost seemed to blanch a little more. “Yes. Logan Barrett. There… is no other Ella Morgan around here, is there?”

I couldn’t help but give him a strange look. “No,” I replied, furrowing my brow. “I mean… I don’t think so, at least.”

I watched as he spun around, frustration etched on his face. He muttered something under his breath, the harsh undertone a stark contrast to the serene ambiance.

My mind raced with a myriad of thoughts.

“It’s him,” Ema said, bristling with excitement. “It’s our mate!”

“You think I don’t see that?” I responded, resisting the urge to run right then and there. “Don’t get too excited, Ema. We’re not staying.”

I heard Ema’s distinctive growl inside of me. “I’m not excited,” she murmured. “Our last encounter left a bad taste in my mouth, too. He may be our mate, but I don’t trust him.”

“You called my boss specifically for me,” I said, taking a slow and tentative step forward. “Is there something wrong?”

“No. Of course not.” Logan straightened himself and turned back to face me, his expression guarded and polite. “Will you sit with me? I’d like to discuss the case.”

I was reluctant to work with this man. He seemed like a jerk in the car the other night, and of course there was the issue of the fact that we were fated mates.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barrett, but this might not be appropriate,” I said, adjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder. “There are plenty of excellent lawyers at my firm that I could recommend instead—”

“Please,” Logan interrupted, holding his hand out to stop me. There was almost something frantic behind his eyes then. “Let’s just have dinner. I apologize for my behavior the other night, but I can assure you that I’ll be nothing but pleasant to work with.”

I hesitated for a moment. Every muscle in my body was screaming for me to run, but I felt obligated by duty to go through with the dinner.

“It’s just dinner,” Ema said. “You can tell him you’re not doing the case later.”

“I could feel that you were getting restless inside. You still want to spend time with him, right? ”

“Yeah...I’ll let you decide then…” I felt her growl a bit, then retreat.

But She was right, it was just dinner. I knew nothing about the case, and maybe it would be appealing after all. Maybe it would be a quick and easy case, and then I could move on and not see him anymore.

Hopefully.

“Alright,” I said, letting out an almost inaudible sigh. “I’ll stay for dinner.”

Logan’s face flashed with an undeniably handsome grin. “Thank you,” he murmured, pulling out my chair.

I felt myself stiffen as I brushed past him and sat down, holding my breath against the assault of his overwhelming scent. When he sat across from me, I found myself staring awkwardly down at the tablecloth, just wishing that this could all be over.

As we sat across from each other, the air around us grew tense. Our connection as fated mates pulsed between us, a constant reminder of our entwined destiny. His scent teased my senses, and I had to force myself to focus on the task at hand.

“So, the case—” I began, but was quickly cut off.

“Let’s at least order dinner first,” Logan said, handing me a menu. “Dinner is on me. Order whatever you like.”

I blanched a little, but took the menu. It seemed as though this man was intent on having dinner with me before bringing up the case, and I decided to go along with it.

The restaurant's flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the table as I poured over the menu. Logan, who'd been quiet since our tense confrontation, finally broke the silence.

“Are you a seafood lover, Ella?” His question hung in the air, a thin attempt to shift the evening into safer territory. “This restaurant has some really decadent dishes.”

“I… usually prefer more simple dishes,” I responded, pointedly glancing at the gourmet options on the menu: lobster, caviar, fresh oysters. All of the dishes had exorbitantly high prices, something that Moana would have griped about.

Finally, I tapped my finger on the one appealing thing on the menu. “Steak and potatoes,” I said, feeling my mouth water. “That’s more up my alley.”

Logan’s brows knitted together in slight confusion. “Ah, I thought perhaps you would prefer something more... exotic.”

“Why?” I asked, c*****g my head.

Logan shrugged. “Well... no particular reason. You look like..”

“It seems that I’m no longer the “peasant” in your eyes just because I changed my outfit,” I narrowed my eyes. “Don't judge people’s taste buds by its cover, Mr. Barrett.”

He froze for a second, but soon his lips twitched into a half-smile. He seemed almost amused by my words. “Well, in that case, let’s get two steaks. Medium-rare?”

I nodded, admittedly feeling the hunger pangs set in. Maybe dinner wouldn’t be so bad after all.

As we ate, Logan seemed much more polite than the man who I had met the other night. I began to wonder if he was intoxicated when I met him, or in a bad mood.

He seemed much different now. Our conversation flowed a bit more freely, although it continued to teeter between comfortable and painfully awkward given our… history. No matter how many times I tried to bring up the case, he never seemed to want to hear it.

Finally, with the main course over and the dessert plates cleared away, I decided it was time to discuss the case once and for all.

I felt the restlessness of my wolf, her impatience mirroring my own.

“Well, Mr. Barrett—”

“Call me Logan.”

“Right. Logan… I think it’s time we discuss the case.”

Logan nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair with an air of practiced comfort. “It’s a matter of land, really,” he began. “My tenant. His name is Hector. He’s a business owner—an old friend. Maybe I’ve been too lenient.”

"How so?" I asked, leaning forward, elbows on the table.

“I own the building where Hector runs his business,” Logan explained. “He’s been falling behind on his rent for a while now. I let it slide, out of respect for our friendship. But I’ve come to learn that he’s been using my building to conduct some... unsavory deals.”

I frowned at this revelation, my brows knitting together. “You mean he’s engaging in illegal activities?”

“Exactly,” Logan said, nodding. “And I want no part of it. I’ve asked him to vacate the premises, but he refuses.”

“What has he said exactly?” I asked, considering the legal implications.

“He claims he’s still within his lease agreement, says he’s been there for years and has the right to stay despite the fact that he’s months behind on his rent. The man is so delusional, in fact, that he even claims that he’s not behind on rent at all. He’s been uncooperative to say the least, and I think he’s just trying to stall.”

I pondered the situation. “A lease agreement, you say? Do you have a copy of it?”

“I do,” Logan affirmed. “I can have it sent to your office first thing tomorrow.”

I nodded, scribbling a few notes on a napkin. “Good. That will help. You’re confident he hasn’t paid you the rent he claims to have paid?”

“I have every receipt,” Logan said. “He’s months behind.”

“Then this should be a straightforward case,” I said, glancing up at Logan. “Given what you’ve told me, he has no legal standing to stay if he’s conducting illegal business and failing to pay rent. I can forward your case to one of our excellent lawyers—”

Logan leaned forward in his chair, his eyes flashing with surprise. “Ella, I don’t want another lawyer. I want you. Wasn’t that clear?”

I frowned. “Why me?”

“Because…” Logan continued, “You don’t have to know why. You just need to know that I want to work with you, and I will always provide more cases like this one for you in the future.”

There it was, the deal sweetener. He had more cases for me—more “easy wins”.

As I looked at him, it finally hit me. The reason he wanted me to handle this case. The reason behind this ostentatious dinner.

His words from our initial meeting replayed in my mind, his casual mention of a woman he could “always have if he wanted.”

It was me he was referring to. Me, Ella Morgan, whom he wanted for my status and wealth.

“You knew who my father was, didn’t you?” I asked.

Logan’s expression changed instantly.

“You weren’t looking for a lawyer, but a girlfriend from the Morgan family.”