Page 33 of Mafia Darling

I scrutinized his expression. A man in my position learns quickly to tell when he’s being lied to. Vic was nervous but I expected that. Was he lying? I wasn’t sure.

With Francesca back under my roof, I wasn’t going to take any chances. Everyone in my organization would now be under suspicion. “Finish up and go home for the day,” I told him. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Sì, Don Ravazzani.” Vic got up and nodded at me and Marco.

When we were alone, Marco said, “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.” I tapped my finger on the top of the desk. “Giulio is close with these young men. Have him do some digging. He can take them drinking, to the clubs. Someone will say something they shouldn’t. No one can hide this big of a secret from me.”

“And in the meantime? Are you going to let Benito and the others work in the castello?”

“Yes, except for Vic. Transfer him off site for now.”

“No problem.”

“Let’s start some digging. If someone is working with Enzo or the GDF, there is going to be money changing hands somewhere. And I want Francesca watched carefully.”

“All right.” Marco didn’t move, his mouth turned into a heavy frown.

My cousin clearly wished to say something. “Out with it.”

“This could bring down everything we’ve built. Is she worth it, Rav? Is she worth losing the entire empire over?”

“She is worth ten empires—and don’t fucking ask me again.”

Rising, Marco pursed his lips and held up his hands. “Ask yourself what happens the next time the GDF approaches her, because there will be a next time. Are you so certain she wants this life for herself and her child?”

He left after that, and I could feel doubt creeping like poisonous vines in my veins. I pushed it away. Francesca had the chance to betray me with Agent Rinaldo and she didn’t. While she might still wish to leave here, she wasn’t a rat. She’d stab me right in the heart where I could watch her do it, before she’d ever stab me in the back.

No, she was still mine and soon she would admit it.

* * *

I found Francesca reclining on the patio, reading on her tablet, early one afternoon. When I sat on the end of the chaise, she slid her feet over, making sure not to touch me. A flush brightened her cheeks, color that had nothing to do with the Italian sun. “What do you want, Fausto?”

My eyes drank in her long sculpted legs and golden skin. For the last few days, I’d kept my distance, giving her time to readjust to life at the estate while I tried to find out if I had a traitor in our midst. I knew her trust would take time, but I was a patient man. She would require proof of my feelings, irrefutable evidence of my devotion to her, which I was perfectly willing to demonstrate for however long it took. I had no more pride when it came to this woman.

I leaned on the chaise, drawing closer to her. “I have a surprise for you.”

“No, thank you.”

“You will like this one, I promise.”

“Let me guess? Your dick in my mouth? Hard pass.”

Madonna, this woman. I craved her fire and spirit. Those qualities were some of the reasons she was such an extraordinary fuck. “No, but that offer is open anytime.”

“I bet,” she muttered, eyes locked on her tablet.

“Do you know what happens in September?”

“The leaves change color?”

“La vendemmia,” I said. “The grape harvest.”

Her gaze flicked to mine, and I could see the curiosity there. Before I sent her away she spent a lot of time in the winery and the vineyard. It was only natural she would be interested in seeing more. “What, machines go out and harvest the grapes, bring them back, and workers stomp on them?”

I shook my head. “Wrong and wrong. The grapes must be harvested by hand. It is the Italian way. And no feet in the wine anymore. That part is done by machines.”

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