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This worried me.
“He’s not a viticulturist,” I quickly added. “Carlo isn’t going to step on your toes.”
Turning toward the windows, she swallowed hard. “A lot of big words you’ve learned there. Good for you, Vito.”
“You are welcome to join us, of course.”
“Wow, thanks.” Her voice sounded small.
The back of my neck tightened and I didn’t care for the sudden pressure in my chest. I fought the urge to wrap my arms around her and hold her close, tell her everything was going to be okay. Reassure her I wasn’t the villain she painted me to be, at least not when it came to the winery. I was successful for a reason, and I could make her life so much easier if she would only trust me. No matter the cost I would ensure the best for this place, for her.
Most of all, I didn’t want her defeated. I wanted her to fight me, to drive me crazy with the things that came out of her mouth. I wanted her fire and her spirit, the confident vixen who bought me a drink and let me take her to my room. The woman who nearly broke my dick with her stellar pussy and greedy mouth.
“Maggie.” I started toward her.
“I need to go.” She spoke quickly, like she was eager to get away from me. “What time is the meeting with Carlo tomorrow?”
“One o’clock.”
“Great. See you then.” She practically lunged for the door handle.
“Maggie, wait.”
“Things to do, boss man.” And she was out the door.
I let her leave.
She’d come around once she met Carlo. A certified genius, he was credited with saving many of the wineries in my country and his services were highly sought after. I paid a goddamn fortune to get him here on such short notice, and he was coming to offer advice on how to improve things here, not take anyone’s job away. He’d visit now and again for a few months, studying and learning before he offered recommendations. This was a good thing.
I returned to the cappuccino machine and busied myself by making another drink. I needed to get to work. I had a long list of things to do today, and I couldn’t worry about Maggie’s feelings regarding my decisions.
“He’s so cold. Like a robot.”
My one and only girlfriend, Simona, said this about me when I was seventeen. She was talking to her friends about me, assuming no one was listening, but my father had her mobile tapped. He hadn’t liked Simona or her family, and knew she was just using me for my last name. I argued that we were in love, but he’d gleefully proven me wrong.
But I couldn’t change the way I was, even if I wanted to. I’ve been like this—remote and cautious—almost since birth. Growing up, Enzo had taken much of our father’s abuse to spare me, leaving me to watch and live in fear. Terrified that one day it might be me instead.
Enzo was prone to outbursts and fighting back, so I quickly learned to act in the opposite manner—to keep my emotionslocked up and hidden. This meant my father ignored me, which was what I preferred. Until Simona.
“Never show a woman you care,”my father had said.“They will only use it against you. They’re like poison, Vito.”
Deep down, I knew this wasn’t true. My mother wasn’t a poison. She’d been sweet and kind, too kind for a world with my father in it. He’d forced her to suffer for that sweetness until she couldn’t withstand the pain any longer.
Leaning against the counter, I shoved all this away and began to read my email. Being away from Toronto was slowing down my construction projects. There was a bid for a government building that needed to be massaged, and two contracts for new properties to review. I paid a team of lawyers back home and they were sharp as fuck, but I always had the final say.
A knock on the back door caused me to glance up. A group of men were on the back porch, carrying toolboxes and drop cloths. This was John, the contractor, who I met briefly yesterday. I texted Tommaso to bring the boys over to supervise. I had a few guns stashed in the cottage for safety, but I wouldn’t take any chances.
Then I went over and opened the door, letting them in. Three men, all wearing construction boots and tool belts, walked inside and I assessed them carefully as John shook my hand. Each man was big and muscular, covered with tattoos, but nothing that seemed suspicious or threatening.
“We built this place, Mr. D’Agostino,” John said. “So removing that wall won’t take long. Then we’ll patch everything up and be out of your hair before you know it.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
Silently, the three went up the steps and got to work. My men arrived a few seconds later and I decided to get to work, as well.
Maggie
The church basement smelled like mildew and burnt coffee.