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That was enough insight into my life. I set my napkin on the counter, then bent to throw her over my shoulder on my good side. I smacked her bare ass, causing her to squeal, and started walking toward the stairs. “There is nothing soft about me, diavoletta mia.”
eighteen
. . .
Maggie
The bed wascold when I woke up.
Slivers of light rimmed the edges of the blackout shades Vito had installed, so it was obviously daytime. Reaching, I grabbed my phone to check the time. Shit! It was almost nine. Why’d he let me sleep this late? I didn’t like to deviate from my routine, if I could help it.
Rolling out of bed, I found my laundry, clean and folded, on the nightstand. Damn, I’d missed watching Vito fold it.
I stretched the aches out of my muscles in the bathroom. That man had worn me out last night. After dinner he gave me superlative oral, then another orgasm as he fucked me in all the various positions. He should’ve been exhausted, considering his drive and injury and hand job, but his dick had been unstoppable.
After I brushed my teeth and got dressed, I grabbed my phone and started for the stairs. Was he drinking cappuccino and working? I hoped he was wearing his glasses. I might have to give him a blow job, if that were the case.
Multiple voices reached my ears when my foot hit the top step. Oh. Was someone here with him? I couldn’t tell what was being said. Then I heard a woman laugh. Loudly.
Who was that? Celeste? No, that wasn’t what Celeste’s laugh sounded like. I kept going, determined to find out what was happening.
As I descended the stairs, their words became clearer and I realized they were speaking Italian. When I finally reached the bottom I froze, my mind taking in the scene. A gorgeous dark-haired woman stood in the kitchen with Vito and Massimo, a cappuccino cup in her hand. She was tall, late twenties maybe, with flawless olive skin and eyebrows sculpted to perfection. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, which accented the hollows of her cheekbones, and her lips had to be cosmetically enhanced. No way they were naturally so full and lush.
Paloma. The sister.I’d totally forgotten about her.
“Hi,” I said as they all glanced over. “I’m Maggie. You must be Paloma.”
“Ciao, Maggie,” the would-be model said as she put out her hand. “It is nice to meet you. Maz has told me many nice things about you.”
Maz, not Vito.
I licked my boring, plain lips as I shook her hand. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you as well.”
Vito’s palm settled on my back and he rubbed me gently. “Would you like a cappuccino, bella?”
“Um, sure.”
He moved to the fancy machine and I stood there, not sure what to do or say. This wasn’t awkward. Nope, not at all. Vito and Maz had a sister—a beautiful, glamorous sister—who was now inside the cottage at my winery. I was surrounded by D’Agostinos.
And Paloma was everything Carlo said mafia women were like. Trophies, gorgeous enough to show off and make other men jealous. My jeans, hoodie and baseball hat weren’t exactly on par with her sleek, designer trousers and sweater. And she was wearing heels. In the snow.
This was the type of woman Vito would end up with.
I tried not to feel deflated.
No one spoke as Vito made the cappuccino.
“How was the food last night?” Massimo finally asked.
I latched onto the topic eagerly. “So good. Thank you for bringing it out to us.”
“Prego. I’m glad you were safe here with my brother during the storm.”
Vito handed me a cappuccino and I accepted it gratefully. “Thank you.” When he started to turn, I grabbed his arm. “How is your wound this morning?”
“Wound!” Massimo barked. “Che cazzo? You are hurt?”
Vito snapped something in Italian to his brother, and this caused both of his siblings to frown. Paloma put her cup down on the marble. She gestured to his shirt, clearly giving him orders of some kind. Vito argued, expression darkening, and I felt even more foolish. He clearly hadn’t wished for anyone to know about his wound and I’d inadvertently spilled the beans.