Page 13 of Mafia Heiress
Fire snorts. We’re wasting her time.
“Ok, I hear you,” I chuckle, pushing her out toward the fencing. She takes to it quickly, trotting at first and then adding in her cantor. I twirl the rope behind her, always keeping my body moving with her. Walking toward her when she moves in and backing up when she’s running the rail.
Her cantor quickly becomes a gallop and she huffs out a breath, long and strong. Her face is incredibly relaxed as she does a little dance for us before slowing down.
I can’t help the smile on my face. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.
Twirling the rope some more and clicking my tongue, I get her moving again, but this time in the opposite direction moving her with my body. Everything I do is calm and assertive, letting her know I have her back regardless of what comes at us.
Horses are prey animals and they are always hesitant, so they need a rider to comfort them, allow them to think everything will be okay because they’re cared for.
She comes to a trot, foam coating her lips, a happy trance settles over both of us and when I turn my back on her and wait, she walks over to me and bumps my shoulder.
Laughter bubbles out of me and I turn to lean into her. Marcello pats her neck and we both stare at each other. This is a moment I’ll never forget.
Chapter Five
VITO
I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s all about tricking this girl into marrying me. Nothing is for real. And then I can go back to my life as a hacker, and my father will get off my back.
I hate this city, with it’s cold weather and grimy sidewalks. Vegas has so much life and vibrance. Always somewhere to seek excitement. New York is the bottom of a shoe; sticky and coated in dirt.
I ring the doorbell and an older woman answers the door. I hit her with a smile. She doesn’t seem phased at all.
“Buona notte, I’m here to pick up Giacomina.”
She gives me the once over and stands back granting me entrance into the room. Since this isn’t the first time I’ve been here, I walk in toward the kitchen. Voices float down the hall, and I catch Jack in a moment of laughter. Her head is thrown back and her father says something to make her laugh harder.
At this moment, I can see what the fuss is about. All of her glorious energy is pouring out of her. When I did my background check she seemed dull, another princess that needed everything given to her. Not the kind of woman I’m used to. I like mine raw, tough, and capable of being thrown around, if you know what I mean.
As soon as she sees me a scowl sets on her face and she stops laughing. Her father turns to me with more of a look of acceptance instead of happiness. I shouldn’t have grabbed her on the first night. It set things off on the wrong foot, but I didn’t care then and I shouldn’t care now.
“Ciao, everyone,” I say, hands in my pockets, walking into the kitchen. For some reason I feel more exposed than anything.
“Ciao, Vito. I hope you’ve come with some manners tonight,” Arturo says. Her father is one of the most notorious gangsters in all of New York. He’s ruthless and cruel, but he puts family before anyone. I’ve seen what he can do, and being on his bad side isn’t a good thing.
“Si, mi dispiace. I should have never touched Giacomina without her permission. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t. There are no third chances.”
He kisses Jack on the top of her head and leaves through the other doorway of the kitchen, leaving us alone. He must trust Jack impeccably because not having a chaperone is a big thing.
“I’m almost ready to go. I need to make sure the pie doesn’t burn.”
She turns to the oven and bends down to open up the door. Her ass looks magnificent in tight jeans. She has on a sheer white top, but unfortunately has a tank underneath. White flats add to the look and I have myself wondering what her ass would look like if she had on a pair of stilettos, with nothing else, and was bent over in front of me.
I clear my throat. “What kind of pie?”
“Pumpkin,” she replies, straightening up and closing the door.
“Isn’t that a Thanksgiving thing?” I ask, not sure how they celebrate out here. Usually my father and I have dinner at one of the casino hotels. We don’t bother with family, there's no one left to celebrate with.
“Yes, but my brothers are addicted to it, so I make it for them twice a month.”
“You’re a good sister,” I respond, meaning it. No one has ever cared enough to give me a pie, let alone to make one.
“Thanks. They’re a bunch of fuckers, but I love them. Calogero is the real bastard. His mouth is like a trash can.”
