Page 149

I could admit that I missed him. I missed his cappuccinos and the dirty words whispered in my ear. I missed his glasses and quiet strength. I missed sitting in the hot tub with him. I missed the way he kissed me—like I was his air.
Losing both my parents tragically had taught me that life was short. Disaster could strike at any moment, so you had to live without fear. Without shame. And if there was a chance to have the life I wantedandhave Vito . . . .
“We’re not finished. I’m trying to tell you that I want a future with you.”
Maybe Enzo was right. Maybe Vito did love me.
“If you don’t want him,” Enzo said, “then you are out of his life permanently. Forever. You don’t deserve him.”
“I never said I didn’t want him,” I snapped. “I’m thinking. Jesus.”
His mouth twitched. Had I amused him?
Enzo stood and looked down at me. “Just don’t think too long. My brother and I will return here in three days for business. If you want him, tell him then.”
Vito was returning to Paesano? It couldn’t be related to the winery, because Vito had relinquished his rights. Then I knew. It was the motorcycle gang. Vengeance for the fire.
Straightening, I blinked up at Enzo. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”
Enzo let out a derisive sound that was almost a snort. “A few stronzi in fake leather are no match for us.” He turned andstarted walking toward the kitchen. “Now I must go and see my other brother. I hope you make the right decision, signorina.”
Vito
Mafia funerals were a pain in the ass. I stood outside the Mancini mausoleum, shaking hands, the cold stinging my skin. Limousines and dark SUVs lined the curves in the cemetery. The Mancini sisters, who’d wept openly during the interment, were now departing with their husbands. I wished to leave as well, but there were more bosses and underbosses to greet.
“Don D’Agostino,” an older man said as we shook hands. “I am Don Regilio. I knew your father. He was a great man.”
I nodded, though we definitely disagreed on this description.
“He was so proud when you boys were born,” Don Regilio continued. “We had a lot of fun together in the old days.” Then he launched into a story about how he and my father stole women from the Russians and sold them for profit. Thank fuck Paloma wasn’t standing next to me at the moment. She would very likely snap this misogynistic dinosaur in half.
“Thank you for coming, Don Regilio.” I looked up to find his guard—and my eyes caught on Maggie Fiorentino standing on the path, Paloma at her side.
I stopped breathing, unable to look away.
Maggie.
She was here. At the cemetery. Fuck, I’d missed her. The sight of her gorgeous face, now pink with cold, only reminded me of what I’d lost, and my chest pulled tight.
Don Regilio droned on, even though I was no longer paying attention. Instead, I was focused entirely on Maggie. She nodded at something Paloma said, then started toward me.
I had to get to her. I had to find out why she was here. Had she come alone? What was Paloma thinking, allowing Maggie here? Nearly all the men in the vicinity were murderers and criminals . . . .
I went into motion, hurrying down the line of men still waiting to greet me, shaking hands in a flash. When I reached the end, several of the men tried to corner me, but I ignored them.
I headed directly to Maggie.
Stopping when we were barely an arm’s length apart, I paused. I needed to get her someplace safe, to protect her from curious stares, but I was lost in the brownish-green depths of her eyes. There was no way to escape their pull, not when I’d been so desperate for her these past few days. I soaked in every bit of her face—the slope of her nose, the lashes framing her eyes. Her soft lips that I loved to kiss. The hint of freckles on her cheeks from working outside.
“Hi,” she said softly, squinting against the overcast sky.
I cleared my throat. Twice. “What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping we could talk and Paloma said this was the best time. I’m sorry if I interrupted.”
“It’s fine. I have a bit of time before the reception at the compound.” Then it hit me why she was here. This had to be about the winery. I dragged a deep, freezing cold dose of reality into my lungs. “I don’t want it back. And if you’re here to ask for more money?—”
“Vito.” She held up one gloved hand. “For the last time, I’m not interested in your money. And this isn’t about the winery.”