Page 7 of Mafia Heiress
“You got her a horse?” my father says, eyebrows raised. “Is it a racehorse?”
“No, Capo. It’s a trail riding horse. I couldn’t let Jack get on a racehorse and be hurt. They’re wily SOBs.”
“Then we must go find one of our own. There’s money in it, right?”
“Yes. I’d be honored to take you. I know a guy who breeds Arabians. Hard to train, but when they get going, fast as the wind.”
He beams. I’m glad I got to see this side of him. It’s something we can bond over. I used to ride when I was younger, but Dad never got me a horse of my own. Even though I asked him about a million times.
“Now that’s settled, let’s eat. Jack can you show the guys out to the table?” my mother says, before turning to the cabinet to get out a bowl for the polenta.
I place all the gifts on the table and make my way through the kitchen and into the screen room. All the guys follow me and take a seat, except for Dante. He holds out my chair like a gentleman.
My seat at the head of the table isn’t by chance. It’s a little tactic my father taught me. Make sure all eyes are on you and then they have to listen. I intend to make them listen.
Annette continues to bring out food while Dante pours me a glass of mimosa my mother made this morning. The tartness of the orange juice and the bubbles float down my throat making my ears warm.
“You look beautiful in that dress,” Marcello says, unfolding the napkin and placing it on his lap.
“Thank you. It’s a Valentino and it has pockets.”
He beams at me. “Pockets are important to girls?”
“Hell yes. Imagine having pants with no pockets. Where would you put your keys and wallet? Or your phone?”
“Good point,” Vito says, from down the table. “As men we take a lot for granted.”
“As men we shouldn’t have to think about pockets in dresses,” Ciro says, shoving a fork full of eggs in his mouth.
“At least I know where you stand with women’s rights,” I counter. He realizes his mistake and attempts to say something, but I hold up my hand. “I’m not interested in talking about politics and human rights. If you should end up being my choice, we can hash it out then.”
I give him an evil smile and pick up a muffin from the platter in front of me. The blueberries are bursted inside the cake like little pools of goodness. I may have moaned, making everyone in the room look at me.
“If you use me the way you use that muffin.Madre de Dio,” Ciro says, biting his bottom lip.
“Would you stop being an ass. This is brunch, not the strip club,” Marcello says, smacking Ciro’s arm.
“Sorry, it’s just, fuck you’re hot.”
My eyes go as big as saucers. Thank God my father hasn’t come out to investigate, because Ciro would have been a bug squished under his shoe.
“Where do you want to go on our date?” Vito asks, changing the subject. In part I was grateful, but on the other hand I didn’t want to choose a date. The whole point of this was so that they’d charm me.
“It’s not my job to pick a spot. You’re here to make me like you. Use your imagination.”
“If I used my imagination…”
“Don’t even go there. What is wrong with you guys? Didn’t get laid enough before you entered this competition?”
“Don’t worry,principessa. You already know what we’re going to do,” Marcello says, giving me a wink.
A chill rushes up my spine at the thought of Marcello in tight riding pants, or better yet, jeans and a cowboy hat. I can’t say the fantasy doesn’t flick through my mind making me pant a bit.
“I’m gonna take you for a steak dinner at Delmonico’s. I know the chef. He’s a friend. We’ll sit in a private area and enjoy each other’s company,” Ciro says, his face a mask of mischief.
“I love Delmonico’s, good choice.” I pop a bit more muffin in my mouth and look towards Dante.
“It’s a secret. I don’t want to play my hand before I see what these assholes are going to do. I’d like to go last.”
