a taste of italy

I COVER A yawn with my hand. Amalia raises her eyebrows at me, a playful glint in her eyes. “Rough night?” she teases.

I return her smile, but before I can respond, Stella jumps in. “You look thoroughly fucked,” she declares.

I’m taken aback by her choice of words. In the Mafia, women who use such language are often labeled as loose. That’s why I usually stick to less harsh words like “douche” or “prick.”

But I don’t want to judge her.

“What?” She blinks at us, feigning innocence.

“You just swore,” Lisa points out.

Stella shrugs. “It’s not like the guys are going to tell. Are you?”

I can’t help but smile. I’m not going to tell. She hasn’t done anything wrong. In fact, I kind of like her. She seems fun, and I look forward to spending more time with her whenever I return to Italy.

Soon, we all forget about my tired state. They’re knitting clothes for fun while I’m engrossed in a book.

I giggle quietly at a funny part in the novel. I’m so into it that I’m annoyed when my phone rings.

It’s strange that it’s ringing in Italy, but then I remember Antonio must have arranged it. A blush creeps onto my face at the thought of him.

~Husband~, the caller ID reads.

I blink in surprise. He’s supposed to be out with his men.

The girls look at me, curiosity in their eyes. I smile reassuringly at them. Amalia, who’s sitting next to me, throws me a teasing glance when she sees his name.

“Sweet,” she mouths at me.

“Shut up,” I mouth back.

She chuckles, and I can’t help but return her smile as I leave the living room.

“Hello,” I answer.

“You busy?” he asks. I’m surprised that he doesn’t get straight to the point.

I glance at the book in my hand. I love Percy Jackson, but Antonio is more important right now. He never calls unless it’s necessary. “No,” I say.

“Get in the car outside,” he instructs.

“What car?” I ask as I step outside, purse in hand. There are so many cars.

“Stefano will show you,” he says.

“Where are you?” I ask, my tone unintentionally accusatory.

He’s silent for a moment. “Outside.”

I look around, trying to spot him, but then I realize he means he’s outside the house, out on business. I suddenly feel foolish.

“When will you be back?” I ask.

“You’ll see me soon,” he replies curtly.

I bite my lip to keep from sighing into the phone. “Okay,” I mutter. “Just come home quickly.”

“Why?” he asks before I can hang up.

“Just do it.”

I can’t bring myself to tell him that when he comes home late, it scares me. I always fear he’s in danger or dying. I think he knows, though.

All Mafia wives share this fear and stress when their husbands aren’t home on time. This is Italy, this is our city, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have enemies.

We have enemies everywhere.

He ends the call and I walk stiffly down the porch steps. Stefano gets out of one of the black SUVs and opens the door for me.

“Madam.” He gestures toward the door. I’m confused about where Antonio is sending me.

“Where are we going?” I ask once I’m settled in.

“I’m not supposed to say,” he replies as he takes the driver’s seat.

I don’t ask anything further.

Sirens blare as our cars pass through the town. People look our way and immediately recognize us, with the police and private cars surrounding mine.

I open my book and start reading. I’m interrupted when Stefano announces, “Madam, we’re here.”

I look outside to see a small Italian restaurant. It’s not luxurious, but rather middle class. I’m confused as to why I’m here.

When Stefano opens my door, I step out briskly with my book. “Where are we?”

“At A Taste of Italy. It’s a nice restaurant,” he answers briefly.

I nod as I start walking toward the place. My long jumpsuit flutters softly in the wind as I try to tame my brown hair.

I grip my phone tightly, ready to use it if needed. I’m always wary of new places.

A bell dings when Stefano opens the door for me. The restaurant isn’t crowded. I blink in surprise when I notice Antonio’s bodyguards. Is he here?

I turn to the new bodyguard. “Find out where the Don is.”

The man nods and walks toward a guy lounging in a chair, smoking. He instantly straightens up at the sight of the bodyguard.

“~Dov’è il capo~?” Stefano asks.

The stranger glances at me. His eyes don’t stray before he turns back to Stefano. “~È dentro, ma ha degli ospiti~.”

I don’t need Stefano to translate. “Stefano,” I call out. He turns to me. “Tell him I’m here, please.”

“Yes, Donna.” He nods at the man to do as I’ve asked while he stays to guard me.

I feel their eyes on me. Half of these men are from Italy and the other half are from America and came with us. I avoid making eye contact.

It’s not that I’m scared of them anymore. Antonio is here. But they make me wary.

While he leaves to deliver my message, I look around. The restaurant isn’t big. I see the owners behind the counter, watching us timidly.

The waiters are all lined up, heads down. There aren’t any customers inside. They all seem to have been ushered out.

The bodyguard steps out. “~L’ha chiamata lui~.”

I give him a nod, signaling him to wait outside as I make my way into a more secluded room. The first thing that catches my eye is a blonde woman. She’s sitting across from my husband at a square table, her attention focused on her nails.

I linger in the shadows, watching as his gaze shifts to me. He motions for me to join him. I hesitate, a sudden unease settling in my stomach.

As I approach, he reaches out, pulling me closer until I’m standing right next to him.

The blonde woman glances at me before turning her attention back to my husband. “Deal?” she asks.

“You have my word, Ava,” he replies, nodding at her.

She stands to leave, but not before giving me a once-over. “I hope this is the Donna and not some side chick,” she says, gesturing towards me.

Her accent is distinctly Italian-American, a clear sign that she’s part of the Mafia and from America. But who is she? And why is she being so rude?

I look at Antonio, hoping for some explanation, but he doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he addresses the tall woman standing before us.

“She is the one investing in your company, Ava,” he says.

~Wait, what?~

Ava nods at me, extending her hand for a handshake. I shake her hand, playing it safe.

“I look forward to dealing with you,” she says, smiling.

I return her smile. “Likewise,” I reply, pretending to understand what’s happening.

“I’ll take my leave if that’s all right?” she asks my husband.

He nods, and she exits, closing the door behind her.

I immediately tap his shoulder to get his attention. He looks at me, his eyes half-closed, as he gently pulls me onto his lap and rests his head on my chest.

His fingers intertwine with mine as I swallow.

“Baby, what was that?” I ask. “And who was she?”

“Ava Mancino,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my neck.

“Elaborate, please,” I request, running my hand through his hair.

He places his hand on my thigh, tracing circles with his finger. I know what he’s after, and I roll my eyes playfully.

“She’s short of money, and I’m just helping her.”

“Oh,” I say, fully aware that helping her means lending her money that she’ll have to repay eventually. If not, she’ll face harassment. “How am I involved?”

“I’ll be investing in her company under your name. We have the feds on our tails right now. Ava is connected with high-profile people, so she’ll attract a lot of attention.

If I invest in her company, it would raise eyebrows. People know I’m Mafia. You have a clean record. It’s just to be safe.” He sighs, pushing my hair back.

My body heats up, and I’m not sure whether to be grateful for my jumpsuit or not.

“You draw amazingly,” he mumbles after a moment of silence.

“What?” I frown.

He chuckles, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. His laugh is husky and just the right amount of deep. It’s incredibly sexy.

“In the library, you left your sketch there,” he explains. “It was from your first day there.”

~Ohh.~ “How’d you find it?” I ask.

“Omero was removing the guns from there. He found it.”

That makes sense. Alessia couldn’t see the guns. She’s not exactly aware of the criminal world.

“When are we going to tell Alessia about us?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer. I guess he doesn’t know himself.

He taps my leg, signaling me to get up. I do, and he stands as well.

“For now…” He grips my neck, pulling me closer. I tilt my head up as he leans down. His breath fans my face lightly as he continues, “just let me worry about the illicit stuff.”

And then his lips meet mine.