Page 113 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

Comparedto Alessandro’s stoic white villa surrounded by lush green landscapes and the blue waters of Sardinia … Catania, Sicily is grey. It’s because the buildings are made of Mount Etna’s lava rock, the active volcano spitting steam off in the distance.

We travel in silence, Alessandro deep in thought while I’m unwilling to interrupt it, fearful of breaking the fragile bond between us. The moody scenery mirrors our relationship, doesn’t it? A constant navigation through shades of grey, where the soul-crushing darkness is balanced by beautiful blinding light? Alessandro and I walk an endless tightrope between the two, don’t we?

But as we travel Sicily’s roads in a black rented Ferrari, heading out of the city into the rolling hills surrounding it, life bustles around us. Giving me hope that we, too, can break through tumultuous times.

And holy hell was yesterday a strong step forward.

I touch the hickey on my neck. A second one marks my right breast. A third, my inner thigh. “Reminders of who owns you,” he growled against my breast in a sleepy, satisfied tone.As if making love to me over and over again wasn’t enough to convince me.

He was relentless.

Gentle.

Everything I’ve ever wanted him to be.

For twelve hours on a yacht, in his arms, himinside me, we lived in a bubble.

Is it better not knowing he could be a tender lover?

Is it better not imagining he might care?

My thoughts might be loud, but I dread the moment things go pop, so I keep quiet and wait for him to speak.

Nearly a half hour later, we turn off the road and down a gravel driveway flanked by cypresses. Alessandro drives around a large ornate fountain set before an old yet charming farmhouse. An older man waits on the porch to greet us.

I hesitate, unsure what to do.

“You like pistachios?” Alessandro demands.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re in fucking luck. Come on, let’s go. Speak when he addresses you, capisci?” His eyes meet mine, and then rake over me. Hungrily, and not for nuts.

A familiar warmth settles over me.

“Don Gallo’s a business associate.”

“Mafiosi?” I blurt out.

He arches an eyebrow. “You’re part of my world now, baby.”

My heart climbs into my throat.Part of his world?

He exits the car before I fully recover, paralyzed by hope. Does he see a future with me? Because it sounds like he does.

He embraces the older man, and then turns and waves at me. The second I draw near, he grabs my hand and tugs me along as we enter the farmhouse.

Don Gallo was expecting us, evident in the farm-size table set with enough food to feed an army.

“La tua fidanzata è bellissima, Alessandro.”

Alessandro’s hand tightens around mine, while I string together the Italian words I know.“Beautiful girlfriend.”I flash Don Gallo a smile for the compliment, then wait for Alessandro to correct the assumption.

“È stupenda, vero?” he smoothly replies. “She’s gorgeous.”

I tremble beneath his scorching look.

“Only English?” Don Gallo interrupts, before I combust into ashes.