Mafia Darling: Chapter 9

“This must be the lovely Francesca,” my cousin Toni exclaimed, walking forward. He kissed both of Francesca’s cheeks “You are every bit as beautiful as I’ve heard.”

“Thank you,” she said, then looked to me for an explanation.

We had just arrived at one of the restaurants I owned in Siderno after the obstetrician appointment. I didn’t like how thin she was, and the doctor had expressed concern over the amount of weight Francesca had lost. Though the baby was perfectly fine, the doctor had encouraged Francesca to eat more, whatever she could hold down. So I decided to bring her to lunch, also inviting Toni to discuss business. He’d been pestering me for an in-person meeting for months. Two birds, one stone.

“Meet Antonio, my cousin,” I said. “He handles many of my businesses for me.”

“Call me Toni,” my cousin said. “Zio Toni, if you prefer.”

I pulled a chair out for her and she sat. “You speak very good English,” she said to Toni.

“I was raised in the Connecticut suburbs until I was twelve. Then my mother moved us back to Siderno and I became acquainted with my Italian cousins.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I was pleasantly surprised he agreed to meet in person today.” Toni gestured to me, still speaking to Francesca. “Your influence, no doubt.”

“Oh, I can hardly take credit,” she said as the waiter passed out menus. “Fausto always does whatever the hell he wants.”

I tried to hide my smile. “Francesca had an appointment at her obstetrician this morning. We came here directly after.”

She bristled in her seat, no doubt furious that I had mentioned the pregnancy. But there was no use hiding it. Word of my presence at the doctor’s office would spread all over Siderno by sundown. Besides, Toni was family. He deserved to hear it from me.

“Oh, this is wonderful news!” Toni exclaimed and leaned forward to slap my shoulder. “Complementi, cugino!”

Francesca rolled her eyes, then held up her hand to get the waiter’s attention. When he arrived, she said, “I’ll have the tiramisu and the frangipane tart.”

“No.” I proceeded to give the waiter a long list of things to bring to the table. She would eat actual food with vitamins and minerals first.

“You’re impossible,” she said when the waiter left.

Putting my hand on the back of her chair, I leaned over. “You may have whatever you wish for dessert, no? And I purposely did not order chicken.”

Her lips parted, a flush deepening her cheeks and throat. “Fine.”

Satisfied, I straightened. “Now we must discuss business,” I said to her. “I hope you won’t mind.’

“Yes, forgive us, Francesca,” Toni added. “He’s been too distracted lately, though now I understand why.”

“Oh, he wasn’t distracted by the baby. It was because he sent me away and then I was kidnapped.” She gave me a bland stare that didn’t fool me for a moment. “Right, paparino?”

Fury washed through me, even though I knew she was trying to get back at me for taking away her dessert and going to the doctor’s appointment. My lips met the shell of her ear and I whispered, “I’m glad you are feeling better, piccola monella. I was worried you would need more time to recuperate. I see that’s no longer the case.”

Francesca didn’t say anything, instead reaching for a slice of bread from the basket on the table. While she busied herself with eating, Toni and I caught up on the various matters I’d ignored the last month.

The meal dragged on, and I was surreptitiously watching Francesca enjoy her gnocchi when Toni nudged my arm.

“Are you listening?” Toni asked. “I know she’s beautiful but surely I’m not that boring.”

I frowned at him, though I was annoyed at myself. I should have paid better attention. “I heard you. There’s a buyer for the media conglomerate and you want to sell. So, sell.”

“No, Fausto,” Francesca said, forking up another bite of gnocchi. “He wants to split the media conglomerate apart and form two companies. The less-profitable half would be sold.”

Toni held out his hand toward her as if to say, At least someone was paying attention. I ignored him and concentrated on my woman. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’d have to learn what each half of the company was responsible for.”

“The profitable half,” Toni explained, “would be data mining for advertisers through social media, dating apps, and online storefronts. The part I’d like to sell is the television and print side.”

“Because ad revenue is down,” I added to make sure she understood. “Everyone streams nowadays and gets their news on an app.”

“True, but if the last few years have shown us anything it’s that whoever controls the flow of information has the most power. People will believe anything.”

Toni and I exchanged a look. This was true. “So, sell the data mining instead?” I asked.

“That would be a mistake,” Toni said. “The revenue potential is incredible.”

Francesca put down her fork and reached for her sparkling water. “You should split the companies but keep them both. Rename the data mining side, though, to something no one would associate with the media side. People don’t like thinking their computers are spying on them. There was a big scandal a few years ago with one of the social media sites doing that.”

“There was?” Toni asked. “I don’t remember it.”

“Yep. Everyone was deleting their accounts. That site was mostly for older people, though. Like Fausto’s age.”

Without thinking, I stroked my knuckles along the soft skin of her forearm. “Ancient, then.”

Freezing, she stared at where I was touching her. Yet she didn’t pull away, not at first. I took advantage, caressing her gently, not bothered that Toni was across the table. Finally, she shifted and moved out of my reach. Her hands ended up in her lap, her fingers knotted together.

“So we have a decision, then, yes?” Toni asked.

“Yes, and Francesca will choose a name for the new company.”

She blinked at me. “I will?”

“You helped to make the decision, so it’s only fair.”

Her mouth stretched into a wide grin before she could stop herself. The sight of her pleasure hit me like a punch to the solar plexus, and I had to restrain myself from leaning over and kissing her. I wanted to taste her joy, drown in her happiness. I missed losing myself in her, the only woman who dared to antagonize and fight me at every turn.

The moment passed and she retreated, her mask firmly back in place for the rest of the meal. Toni and I moved onto the hedge fund he operated, as well as the real estate. I enjoyed the legitimate side of the Ravazzani empire, the strategizing over numbers and data. If I wasn’t so suited to blood and violence, I could have been happy as an investment banker or CEO.

Toni cleared his throat and leaned in. “Rav, your former friend has made a request about the house.”

I was distracted, watching Francesca lick tiramisu off a spoon. “Friend?”

“Katarzyna,” he said reluctantly, referring to my previous mantenuta.

Francesca paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. “What about her?”

No way to hide it now. I waved my hand, indicating Toni should explain. My cousin shot me an apologetic look before saying, “She’d like to sell the house in Portofino.”

I snorted. “Have we even finalized the paperwork? She doesn’t even own it yet and she’s trying to make a quick Euro.”

“This is why she needs our—my—help. I wanted to check with you first.”

“Is there a reason not to let her sell it?” Francesca asked, her attention on me.

I shrugged, annoyed that our day had been tainted by this unpleasant conversation. I didn’t want Francesca reminded of the women in my past. “Other than her appalling sense of greed? No.”

“You cannot blame her, Fausto,” she said, her voice calm. “Both of you went into that arrangement with your eyes wide open. Do not penalize her for using it to her advantage now that she’s on her own.”

My soft-hearted dolcezza. This was the side of her I had missed the most, the one who looked out for her sisters. Who insisted on saving the baby lambs. The woman who stood up for my son, even when it had cost her everything.

Dio cane, I worshiped her.

Lifting her hand to my mouth, I pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Let Katarzyna sell the house,” I told Toni, keeping my gaze on Francesca.

Her breath hitched and she licked her lips. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but her hooded lids gave me a good idea. If Toni wasn’t here, I would ask her if her panties were wet. Perhaps I’d even check for myself.

Without warning, she jerked away from me and pushed away from the table. “Excuse me. I must use the restroom.”

Toni and I stood as Francesca hurried from the room. I had rattled her, which was very good. Glancing at Benito, who stood in the corner, I flicked my hand to indicate he should follow her. Because I owned the restaurant, I wasn’t worried that someone would hurt her. They wouldn’t dare.

But I was worried she might try to escape.

Francesca

I was weak.

I could feel my resolve crumbling like day-old bread. Those dark eyes of his, that sexy voice. It was like Fausto had a direct line to my hormones and he could pluck those strings at will, flooding my system with lust so strong I couldn’t breathe.

Between my legs was a needy mess. My traitorous body had clearly forgotten all Fausto had done wrong, and no amount of reminders was keeping me immune to him.

I pushed into the ladies toilet and entered the empty stall. After I relieved myself, I came out to wash my hands and splash water on my face. I had to pull it together. I could not forgive him or start sleeping with him again. Both were terrible ideas.

God, but the look on his face when he saw our eleven-week old baby during the ultrasound. It was like he’d been the emotional one, his eyes turning glassy as he stared at the computer screen. I’d almost grabbed his hand, needing to share the joy and excitement for a moment, but somehow thought better of it.

You were very much my whore—and a good one at that.

Those words still hurt. He’d been so cruel, so cold. What was to say that wouldn’t happen again when I did something he didn’t like? I couldn’t risk it, not when I had a child to think of. I could not be at Fausto Ravazzani’s mercy ever again.

The door to the ladies room opened and an older woman walked in. I gave her a polite smile and finished drying my hands. As I went to go past her, she put a hand up. “Francesca Mancini?”

How did she know my name? “Who are you?”

She pulled a card out from her coat pocket. “I am Mia Rinaldo.”

I glanced down at the card. Guardia di Finanza. Holy shit. Even I knew they were the police force in charge of smuggling and financial crimes. Basically everything Fausto did.

That they were approaching me, here in the ladies’ room, couldn’t be a good thing.

My anger at Fausto aside, I could never side with the police. That had been ingrained in me since birth. I thrust the card back at her and retreated a step. “No.”

“You haven’t even heard what I have to say.”

I tried to move around her. “It doesn’t matter,” I hissed. “I don’t want to hear it.”

She blocked my exit. “You are in a very precarious situation, Miss Mancini. And I suspect you aren’t as happy as Fausto Ravazzani’s mistress as you let on. Especially after Enzo D’Agostino kidnapped you.”

Jesus Christ. How did she know all this? Did she know I was pregnant, too? “Stop spying on me.”

The agent laughed. “If you are in Ravazzani’s orbit, you are being watched. Only a stupid woman would assume otherwise and one thing I suspect you are not, Miss Mancini, is stupid.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know you were raised in the life, albeit in Toronto. That makes you an asset to him, whereas the other women were just arm candy. He’s paid more attention to you. Even went as far as to impregnate you.”

I couldn’t hide the shock from my face. Yes, they did know everything.

She moved in as I stood there, reeling, and slipped the card in my purse. “Is this what you want for your child? A lifetime of wondering when their father will be arrested? Blood and murder and drugs? Think, Miss Mancini. We can help you if you help us. We can work to keep you and your baby safe. We can put Fausto Ravazzani away where he can never get to you.”

Did she honestly think that would work? I stood taller and pushed my shoulders back. “You know I’m smart, yet you try this line of bullshit on me. We both know there is no safety, even if I wanted to cooperate with you—which I don’t. Fuck off, Agent Rinaldo.”

I shoved on her shoulder to get her out of the way and slammed open the door. Benito was on his phone in the corridor, waiting for me while not paying a lick of attention. I rolled my eyes at his ineptitude. A GDF agent had just tried to get me to turn on Fausto and Benito was probably searching for a date on Tinder.

I strode past him and went down the hall. When I entered our private dining room, Fausto glanced up and raked my body with a hot gaze, as if making sure I was all right. My entire body tingled and the enormity of what I’d done hit me in that moment.

I had chosen Fausto.

Oh my fucking god. I had chosen this man, the one who had hurt me and tossed me away. The one who’d said terrible things and forced his son to pretend to be straight. The chance to escape had presented itself through the Italian government a few moments ago and I had thrown it away.

What was wrong with me?

A sweat broke out on the nape of my neck as I sat. I ignored the quirk of Fausto’s brow and finished my tiramisu, all the while contemplating my decision in the bathroom. Did I truly wish to get away from Fausto or was I kidding myself? What did I want?

Because if I really wanted to leave him, then—hatred of the police or not—I should have jumped at that opportunity.

Yet I hadn’t. Why?

At my core, I was a mafia princess. I’d been raised in this world and I understood it. Even being sheltered from my father’s day-to-day business, I knew how the organization worked and the men who ran it. Fausto had accused me many times of liking the danger, calling me bloodthirsty.

Do not ever try to tell me you weren’t made for this life, that you weren’t born to rule as a queen.

While I doubted that, I also would never stoop to working with the police. Doing so would get me killed faster than anything else. Fausto could never let that betrayal slide, regardless of the pregnancy, and his reach extended throughout the globe. There wasn’t anywhere I could go that he couldn’t find me, Guardia or not.

I put down my spoon, sick at the realization. There was no escape from this, unless he willingly let me go. And, considering he nearly cried at the sight of the baby this morning, it was safe to say he wouldn’t, at least not until the baby was born. But I certainly wasn’t leaving my child alone in Italy under Fausto’s care, so I was stuck here.

There was also the problem of my libido. I was struggling—and failing—to resist him. What did that mean? Was I fooling myself in trying to keep my distance? More than anything, I needed him to suffer, to regret his treatment of me so that it never happened again.

Which meant I was already intending to forgive him.

Shit.

I rubbed my forehead, beyond exhausted by the mess of my life.

Fausto moved his chair and stood. “We’ll finish later, Toni. I need to get Francesca back to the castello to rest.”

I considered contradicting him, but I was tired. So I didn’t protest when he led me out of the restaurant and helped me into the Range Rover. He settled beside me, his leg resting against mine. I didn’t bother pushing him away. My head was too fuzzy. I just closed my eyes and let myself drift.

He placed something on my lap.

Looking down, I saw a to-go bag from the restaurant. “What’s this?”

“I had them box up two orders of their tiramisu, since you seemed to like it. Don’t tell Zia, though. She will think you don’t like hers.”

I loved Zia’s tiramisu, so there was no chance of that, but his thoughtfulness touched me all the same. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

The side of his mouth hitched, making him appear even more gorgeous. “Does this mean you are no longer mad at me, dolcezza?”

I sighed and decided not to answer. Instead I opened my purse, dug around, and held out Agent Rinaldo’s card. “While I was in the washroom, I had a visit from the Guardia di Finanza.”