Page 32 of Mafia Men Need Love Too
But while he might not be able to give her the love she deserved, he’d make damn good and sure she’d never want for anything else. Clothes, jewelry, an entire flock of foul-mouthed friends for her parrot, cars, as many orgasms as she could handle…he’d give her all of it.
All he could do was hope it’d be enough to ensure she didn’t end up a cold, miserable, asshole like him if he was never able to love her.
With his mood for the evening at an all-time low, he asked, “What about children, fiorellino?”
She blinked at him. “What about them?”
“Do you want children?”
He’d personally never wanted to be a father. Bringing children into his world seemed irresponsible. But if she did, he’d give her as many as she wanted. And at the same time, he wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to carry on his polluted gene pool.
River surprised him by letting out a laugh that ended in a delicate snort. “God, no. My key takeaway from my years of teaching is that children are not for me. I’m getting a little too old for that anyway. Does that create a problem for you? Do you need an heir?”
Now it was his turn to snort. “No. Definitely not. Whatever happens to the Italian mafia when I’m dead is none of my concern. I’ll make sure those loyal to me are taken care of, but that’s the extent of what I’m willing to do.”
She cocked her head to one side as she studied him. “Why do you do it if you don’t care?”
He shrugged. “Power. They had it; I wanted it. It was as simple as that.”
“But you don’t…enjoy it?”
“No.”
“So…what do you enjoy?”
You. Everything about you. “I can’t say that I know.”
“Maybe I can help you figure it out,” she said in such an earnest tone that his heart—the one he would’ve sworn was cold and dead in his chest—hurt just contemplating it.
“Perhaps you already have, fiorellino,” he murmured. “Perhaps you already have.”
Chapter 19
The conversation got a little lighter again after that. They discussed their favorite foods (shrimp fajita quesadillas for her, pasta ‘ncasciata for him, which, she’d learned, was oven-baked pasta, layered with eggplant, cheese, and salami) and colors (orange for her, black for him because, duh), as well as their childhood career aspirations (famous singer for her, even though she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, professional soccer player for him).
“What’s your most embarrassing childhood moment?” she asked. “Mine was in fourth grade when I forgot my line in the school holiday play, got nervous, and instead of asking the teacher what came next, confidently asked the audience if they knew octopuses have three hearts. The kids called me Professor Lame-o for the rest of the year.”
He chuckled. “I don’t get embarrassed.”
“Really? Never? Like, you never, I don’t know, got a hard-on in the middle of math class or something?”
“Why would a hard-on embarrass me? I have a hard-on right now just listening to you talk.” He shrugged, his smile suddenly looking all kinds of dirty. “I’m not embarrassed.”
She might’ve said something witty or flirty back, but she seemed to have swallowed her tongue.
That’s when she realized she’d consumed almost an entire bottle of wine on her own, and she should’ve stopped two glasses ago. Even though she’d practically eaten a loaf of bread, plus her entrée, plus dessert, she had definitely passed her alcohol limit.
She reached for her water, misjudged the distance, and somehow managed to nearly fall off her chair.
Shit. Now she had a new most embarrassing moment to discuss in the future.
Nico was kneeling at her side, propping her up before she even noticed he’d gotten out of his chair. “Are you alright?”
Phew. He looked really good kneeling at her feet like that. It was a little disorienting.
He smirked up at her. “Happy to kneel before you whenever you’d like. You need only ask. But I need to make sure you’re not ill first, yes?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
