Page 24 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince
We make small talk about the island until the food arrives. Then, as she adjusts her napkin, Marcela says, “I’m very impressedwith you, Siena. Your boss has taken ill… but you’ve risen to the challenge. Do you want to have your own event management business one day?”
It’s hard to focus on her words with her son’s leg pressed against mine, but I spat out an answer.
“I’d definitely pursue that, but mainly because it would give me the financial freedom to help my mom.”
“Help her how?”
All three of them watch me keenly, Dario most of all.
“She had a catering business when I was a kid. It was her passion, her life, her dream come true. And she workedhard. But sometimes, it doesn’t matter how hard a person works. Sometimes, fate has ideas of its own. The wrong people got their claws into her business. They took advantage of her. She thought they were helping her make it big… but they ran the business into the ground. I saw how she struggled… and I thought, even at that young age,I’m going to make this right.”
I stop, taking a breath. “Sorry–I didn’t mean to go on a rant.”
“Don’t apologize,” Dario says fiercely, his leg pressing harder against mine.
“He’s right.” Marcela smiles. “That’s fascinating. And I know you’ll make it happen.”
“Thank you.”
We go on with our meal, Vittorio and Dario talking about a football game they recently watched. It’s difficult to focus when Dario puts his hand under the table and rests it against my knee.
It’s not like he’s feeling me up in front of his parents. He doesn’t slide his hand up my thigh. He just rests it on my knee. It’s innocent. But it’s also enough to make my body ache with the closeness, with the implication of what could come next.
By the time we’ve finished our meals, my heart is racing and a hot flush has covered my body.
Marcela yawns, stretching her arms over her head.
I stand, taking that as my cue to leave. “Thank you for this lovely meal,” I say.
Dario stands. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Actually, I do–Mother would never forgive me if I didn’t.”
“He’s right.” Vittorio laughs. “She keeps trying to make Dario into a gentleman. And I keep telling her it’s a losing battle.”
“Not funny,” Marcela says, tapping her husband’s hand. “Dario is a fantastic man.”
“She doesn’t need the sales pitch, Mother. She already knows that.”
I roll my eyes and smile. When I immediately try to wipe away the smile, Dario gives me a look. I remember what he said about smiling with guilt, and something about the heat and the closeness and his ability to read me makes me continue to smile…
No guilt. No grumpiness. At least for now.
“Are you ready?” Dario says, offering me his arm.
“Sure.”
I take his arm, noticing the way Marcela grins. We leave the hut and walk down the beach together, the soft sand warm through my sandals.
“Any plans for the rest of the day?” he asks.
“I’ve got a meeting with Veronica to fill her in on how I’ve been doing.”
“Tell her you’ve been knocking it out of the park.”
I squeeze onto his arm.
