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“How much?” Her head swiveled between us. “We might be able to raise it.”
“Trust me,” her brother said. “We can’t.”
The grand total he owed me was four-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t want the cash. I wanted the winery. Back home in Toronto, I was branching out into real estate. It helped to hide and launder money, and was a good investment for the future. Also, I liked the idea of owning a winery. Fausto Ravazzani was one of the most powerful men in Europe and he owned a vineyard in Siderno, with Ravazzani wines known the world over.
That could be me one day.
“This makes no sense.” Maggie put her palms out and took a few deep breaths. “This winery is valued at millions of dollars. Mikey, there’s no way you lost that much in a poker game.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “My hand was so good.”
“How much did you put into the pot?”
“I lost what I brought with me. Then I borrowed some money to keep playing.”
“God, Mikey! That is the first rule of gambling! You leave when you can’t afford to lose any more.”
“He borrowed two-hundred-thousand dollars,” I interjected.
The volume of her voice rocketed skyward. “Two-hundred-thousand?Mikey!”
“But I was winning it back,” he said. “Then I went all in on that last hand. I thought I’d be able to help us make improvements around here. I was doing this for us, for the winery.”
“Okay, okay.” She rubbed her forehead. “Let me think. So, we just need to pay Vito two-hundred-thousand and whatever you lost in that last hand.”
“Two-hundred-fifty-thousand.” Calmly, I folded my arms. “Plus interest for every day you don’t pay. Can you pay me four-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars in cash today?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then I’ll take the winery.”
“You can’t ‘take’ the winery,” she snapped. “That isn’t how this works.”
This was growing tedious. It was the time for the truth. “When you approached me in the casino bar, I purposely did not tell you my last name. It tends to have an effect on people.”
She interrupted, not letting me finish. “I didn’t tell you my last name either. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter, bella, because it’s clear you think I am someone to be manipulated. Someone to be cheated. I promise you that I’m not.” I paused. “My name is Vito D’Agostino. Does that mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“What if I tell you that I am a partner with Luca Benetti in that casino. He and I are . . . associates of a certain kind.”
“Motherfucker,” she muttered, her mouth twisting in disgust. “You’re a mobster.”
I didn’t care for the term. It sounded cartoonish. “I am the head of a family in Toronto, yes.”
“My god, I’m an idiot.” She stared down at her shoes for a beat, then lifted her head. “Putting my bad taste in men aside, did this poker game have anything to do with our night together?You know, some sort of revenge because I left before you woke up?”
I hadn’t minded that, actually. Not saying goodbye ensured my encounters remained less messy. “I wasn’t aware that the two of you were related until five minutes ago.”
“I don’t know whether that makes me feel better or worse.” She bit her lip and studied me. “Vito, look. I know you’re a mafia don and all, but we had fun, right? And you were . . . sweet. I’m begging you, pleading with you from the bottom of my heart. Please let this go. This place is everything to us. Please, let us repay the debt over time and you go back to Toronto.”
I admit I felt a twinge of something in my chest—softness? Fond memories of our night together?—but I wasn’t running a charity.
I pushed aside any hint of feeling. Flatly, I told her, “I’m taking a principal stake in the winery. You need to accept it. And I checked its value before coming here today. It’s not valued at millions, not any longer. What I’m offering you is a fair deal. In fact, your only deal.”
“Come on,” she continued. “I understand you are trying to make a point to my brother, but this winery has belonged to the Fiorentino family for three generations. It’s ours.”