Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

RILEY

Compared to Alessandro’s stoic white villa surrounded by lush green landscapes and the blue waters of Sardinia … Catania, Sicily is grey. It’s because the buildings are made of Mount Etna’s lava rock, the active volcano spitting steam off in the distance.

We travel in silence, Alessandro deep in thought while I’m unwilling to interrupt it, fearful of breaking the fragile bond between us. The moody scenery mirrors our relationship, doesn’t it? A constant navigation through shades of grey, where the soul-crushing darkness is balanced by beautiful blinding light? Alessandro and I walk an endless tightrope between the two, don’t we?

But as we travel Sicily’s roads in a black rented Ferrari, heading out of the city into the rolling hills surrounding it, life bustles around us. Giving me hope that we, too, can break through tumultuous times.

And holy hell was yesterday a strong step forward.

I touch the hickey on my neck. A second one marks my right breast. A third, my inner thigh. “Reminders of who owns you,” he growled against my breast in a sleepy, satisfied tone. As if making love to me over and over again wasn’t enough to convince me.

He was relentless.

Gentle.

Everything I’ve ever wanted him to be.

For twelve hours on a yacht, in his arms, him inside me , we lived in a bubble.

Is it better not knowing he could be a tender lover?

Is it better not imagining he might care?

My thoughts might be loud, but I dread the moment things go pop, so I keep quiet and wait for him to speak.

Nearly a half hour later, we turn off the road and down a gravel driveway flanked by cypresses. Alessandro drives around a large ornate fountain set before an old yet charming farmhouse. An older man waits on the porch to greet us.

I hesitate, unsure what to do.

“You like pistachios?” Alessandro demands.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re in fucking luck. Come on, let’s go. Speak when he addresses you, capisci?” His eyes meet mine, and then rake over me. Hungrily, and not for nuts.

A familiar warmth settles over me.

“Don Gallo’s a business associate.”

“Mafiosi?” I blurt out.

He arches an eyebrow. “You’re part of my world now, baby.”

My heart climbs into my throat. Part of his world?

He exits the car before I fully recover, paralyzed by hope. Does he see a future with me? Because it sounds like he does.

He embraces the older man, and then turns and waves at me. The second I draw near, he grabs my hand and tugs me along as we enter the farmhouse.

Don Gallo was expecting us, evident in the farm-size table set with enough food to feed an army.

“La tua fidanzata è bellissima, Alessandro.”

Alessandro’s hand tightens around mine, while I string together the Italian words I know. “Beautiful girlfriend.” I flash Don Gallo a smile for the compliment, then wait for Alessandro to correct the assumption.

“è stupenda, vero?” he smoothly replies. “She’s gorgeous.”

I tremble beneath his scorching look.

“Only English?” Don Gallo interrupts, before I combust into ashes.

“Yes, Don Gallo.”

“So polite. She’s a keeper, Alessandro.” He spins toward the stealer of hearts. “I hope you brought your appetite.”

“Always, Don Gallo. Along with my checkbook. My father would like us to discuss expanding our profit margins on green gold.”

The man laughs.

Alessandro must read the confusion on my face. “The pistachio market’s exploded worldwide. Who would have thought fucking nuts could be worth over four billion US dollars with a four percent growth estimate?”

Yes, I knew Alessandro was intelligent. But watching him in real time makes my lady parts hum.

Our eyes meet, and my knees wobble.

Don Gallo clears his throat. “If you’d like to clean up before we eat, il bagno is down the hallway.” He gestures in the desired direction, but Alessandro already has me by the hand and is dragging me along.

We enter.

He pushes my back into the door and shuts it.

And then his lips slam into mine.

His kiss is aggressive. I come up onto my toes and give myself over to it, as our tongues mash together. Fire reignites between us, and then consumes us until we break away, panting with need. “I want to take your virgin ass right here against the bathroom door while the old man waits.”

Oh my God. Is he serious?

And how can I want that? How will I sit through lunch?

The devil grins.

Teasing me, and he knows I was about to submit, too.

He presses a gentle kiss on my lips. “I fucking want to in the worst way. But I can’t disrespect Don Gallo, capisci?”

“Yes,” I grumble. I need to be careful around this version of Alessandro Beneventi, or I’ll lose my heart fast.

He unzips his trousers.

“I thought…”

He steps up to the toilet.

Lord, men can be so wickedly coarse.

“Your turn,” he tosses over his shoulder after finishing, flushing the toilet and then moving to the sink to wash his hands.

I will not pee in front of him.

“Not keen on showing me your tender little pussy right now?” Another laugh fills the air. Who is this man?

“Very well. But don’t be too long. I’m fucking famished.”

He exits and closes the door behind him.

I lean back on it, completely unhinged.

A few minutes pass, and I use the modern amenities and freshen up.

Exiting, I follow the hallway to the dining room, only to end up in a large living area. Wrong direction, Riley.

I’m about to retrace my steps when the window across the room is flung open. I freeze, then watch a girl a few years younger than me hoist herself over the frame and inside. Her dress slides up, and I immediately look away. Because she’s not wearing underwear.

“Oh, shit,” she exclaims. “You frightened the hell out of me.”

I turn back toward her as she closes the window behind her. Her black hair is wild, her cheeks flushed, and if I’m not mistaken, she has a nearly identical hickey on her neck. I’m too stunned to respond.

“Please tell me I didn’t miss lunch?”

I blink. “No.”

“Thank you, sweet Jesus.” She strides across the room. “That your car outside?”

“My…” Boyfriend? Lover? Kidnapper?

“Let me guess. Dante’s fratello rented it?”

I recognize the word fratello, as well as the name associated with it—Dante. But don’t correct her, not that she’s giving me the opportunity, as I track her quick progress across the floor.

“Do me a favor, girl to girl. Don’t share that you saw me.”

“My lips are sealed,” I reply. What would I say, anyway? That I encountered a barely dressed wild child with a hickey on her neck sneaking into the farmhouse through a window?

“See you in a few minutes.”

I hurry back down the hallway and reenter the dining room.

Both men are standing, politely waiting for me.

Alessandro pulls out my chair, and I sit.

They follow suit.

A server comes to pour us wine. “White,” Don Gallo says. “To complement the dishes.”

The aroma of pistachios fills the air. It takes me a moment to realize every dish on the table includes them, even the pasta.

“Catania specials,” the proud man informs us. It’s hard to believe a man this enthusiastic about farming is a mafioso.

We wait, and although no explanation is offered, I’m well aware who is late to lunch.

She comes racing in a few minutes later with a flurry of rapid Italian excuses. “Mi scuso, padre. Mi sono addormentato nella mia stanza e ho perso la cognizione del tempo. Spero di non aver fatto aspettare troppo i tuoi ospiti?” She abruptly stops, her eyes sweeping over Alessandro. She recovers, and then offers him a polite nod, the picture of innocence in her somber, high-collared dress more fitting for winter than the dead heat of summer. “Don Beneventi.”

“Alessandro,” he corrects. “And you must be Luna Cecilia Gallo?”

I watch her closely as she looks confused and turns to her father for help. Curious how she doesn’t recognize her own name, especially since Alessandro pronounced it in Italian.

“Failed her English classes, I’m sorry to admit. My principessa only speaks Italian.”

My lips part. What?

The wild child’s eyes meet mine, almost daring me to rat her out.

Except I don’t. I’ve my own worries to contend with without causing more trouble by ruining her fun. With Dante? I’d bet ten sacks of pistachios I’m right.

Lunch begins, and the men talk business in Italian.

Not that I’m completely ignored, not with the principessa’s curious glances. Not when Alessandro places his palm on my lap, his fingers dangling precariously close to my already sensitive nerves.

“Cos’è questa storia che Dante Lucchese ha acquistato il terreno accanto al tuo?” Alessandro asks. I catch Dante Lucchese’s name, but so does Luna as she sits up a little straighter in her chair.

Dante Lucchese gave her that hickey, didn’t he?

Except, Alessandro is also staring at her. Like he knows.

“Don Lucchese sent his son to secure the land. We were held up at gunpoint a few months ago, and the thieves stole thousands of handpicked pistachios. They pushed around my baby and threatened her life if I didn’t put down my weapon. Dante Lucchese bought the land next door days later.”

“At his father’s request?” Alessandro repeats.

Don Gallo seems confused. “That’s what he claims. We haven’t had a problem since.”

If her father looked closer, he’d realize the loss of pistachio nuts are the least of his problems.

My gaze locks on Alessandro. He doesn’t believe that’s why Dante is here either, does he?

“Emilio Conti visit my fratello?” The last word is said with clear sarcasm, except I’m more interested in the man’s first name. Until now, Alessandro and his men only referred to him as Conti. But Emilio … Something about his name nags at me, but I can’t quite work it out.

“No. Dante met him in Rome months ago. Something about repositioning Atlanta. My men inform me Conti left the meeting furious.”

Alessandro seems satisfied. “Lucky he left at all. Hollywood isn’t one to take shit.”

“Hollywood?” Luna bursts out, her English accent perfect. Realizing her mistake, she begins speaking in rapid Italian. “Ho sempre desiderato visitare la Hollywood Walk of Fame. Sai, dove tutte le famose star del cinema mettono le loro impronte digitali nel cemento? Padre, dovrai portarmi con te un giorno, presto…”

“Quiet, principessa. Alessandro and Riley aren’t here to listen to you ramble on.”

She nods, the picture of obedience.

The men turn back to business.

We finish our meal and say our goodbyes. My heart is in my stomach because our trip to Sicily’s ending. Will things now be different back in Sardinia?

The brunettes are gone, I reassure myself.

He’s holding my hand.

He seems lighter … happy, even.

We pause outside as Don Gallo waves his hands and enthusiastically describes the new pistachio crop about to be harvested after a two-year wait.

I feel a tug on my elbow.

Luna.

She pulls me out of earshot of the men. “Thank you. I owe you a huge favor.”

“Just be careful.” I feel obligated as an older woman to warn her.

Instead of being worried, she rolls her eyes. “Your boyfriend’s Alessandro Beneventi. You be careful.”