Page 15 of Empire of Seduction (New York State of Mafia #2)

I didn’t bother responding. My brothers each knew the best way to get under my skin, and I learned a long time ago that an argument wasn’t worth it. Especially because Maz was doing me a favor. “See you in the morning,” I said on my way out the door.

“Tell your girl I can’t wait to meet her,” he called after me, still sorting the mound of utensils.

Which meant he never saw the middle finger I held up.

Maggie

“Don’t go in there.”

My brother’s voice caught me off guard. It was six-thirty in the morning and I was on my way to the kitchen for a pre-work snack. Mikey sat at the bar, a cup of coffee in front of him. I looked him over carefully. “What are you doing out of bed this early?”

“I didn’t have a choice. They started making a racket about an hour ago.”

“Who’s they?”

“Our new chef and the kitchen staff.”

I leaned against the bar. “Vito’s brother is here.”

Mikey nodded. “And he’s nothing like Vito, so be prepared.”

“What does that mean?”

“Vito’s cool and in control at all times. This guy is . . . not.”

I heard a loud voice through the walls. “Is that him?”

“Yes. He’s done nothing but yell at the kitchen staff since they arrived twenty minutes ago. He’s also rearranged everything in there.”

“That’s not good. We can’t afford to lose any more staff. Why haven’t you put a stop to it?”

My brother grimaced. “I’m terrified of him. And what if he tells Vito?” He drew a line across his throat. “I don’t want to get whacked.”

“Vito isn’t going to whack you. Jesus, Mikey.” I straightened off the bar and started for the kitchen. “And I’m not afraid of either D’Agostino brother.”

“You’ll be sorry!” Mikey said behind me.

I pushed through the swinging door and into the kitchen.

I drew to a halt, my eyes taking it all in.

The place was . . . spotless. The surfaces gleamed, the walls free of grease and smudges.

Everything was stacked neatly, not the haphazard chaos of before.

This looked like a real restaurant kitchen, like Giovanni’s kitchen at Val’s trattoria.

I was impressed. It hadn’t been this nice since my dad renovated it.

“That is not how you chiffonade!” A bearded man was pointing at a cutting board. The sleeves of his white chef coat were rolled up, revealing tattooed olive skin. “Gentle, gentle. You are mangling those herbs!”

“I’m sorry, chef,” said Hannah, one of our prep cooks. She was three years older than me, but I remembered the parties she used to throw in high school. Right now, she looked terrified.

“Hi.” I hurried over to stand next to them. To the man, I stuck out my hand. “You must be Vito’s brother, Massimo. I’m Maggie.”

With a frown, he shook my hand. “Nice to meet you, Maggie.”

“Can I have a word?”

His frown deepened. “I’m busy right now, signorina. Maybe later.”

“No, chef. I think we should talk right now. In fact, I insist.”

He stared at me, silent. I could see the resemblance to his brother in his nose and jawline, though his eyes were brown, not dark blue, and his lips were a little fuller than Vito’s.

Massimo was handsome in a different way, like if you took Vito and blended him with a rock star.

Still, that didn’t give him the right to act like a dick to the staff.

“Va bene,” he said with a nod. “I can spare a few minutes.”

On our way out of the kitchen, Massimo gave orders to the kitchen staff on what to do in his absence. I couldn’t believe this guy. Was he trying to get everyone to hate him on his first day?

I pushed outside and he followed. When we were alone, I decided to start with something nice. That was an old management trick when you had to deliver bad news. “Thank you for coming at the last minute to help us. We’re very appreciative.”

He folded his arms. “You are welcome. A great band,” he dipped his head toward my chest.

I glanced down. It was unusually warm this morning so I hadn’t bothered to zip up my coat, which meant my Raveonettes t-shirt was visible. “Thanks. I’m surprised you know who they are.”

“I saw them in Copenhagen last year,” Massimo said.

“Wow, that’s cool. I’ve never seen them live.” I hadn’t seen any bands live, actually. I didn’t get away from the winery much and it was hard to buy tickets to a show when I wasn’t sure I could attend.

“It was. But you didn’t bring me out here to talk about bands.”

No, I hadn’t. “Listen, you have to go easy on the staff. I don’t think they’ll be receptive to someone yelling in their face all the time right off the bat.”

He pressed his lips together like he was struggling for patience. “Signorina, a chef is like a general. I must lead them through the preparations and through the dinner service. I’m the one responsible for the food put on the plate. And the pieces must be prepared correctly.”

“I understand, but they’ll quit if you’re too strict with them.”

“I promise you, they won’t. They will learn, they will get better, and we will become a team.” He threaded his fingers together to clasp his hands. “And you can’t interfere or second guess me.”

“But—”

“There is no but. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve worked in enough kitchens to understand this. If I’m their friend, they will slack on their responsibilities. I need to earn their respect first.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“No, you don’t. My brother has given me the kitchen and I will lead it as I choose.”

The back of my neck started to itch at the words “has given me the kitchen.” Because Vito now had the right.

“Maggie.” Massimo put his hands on my shoulders to regain my attention. “I can call you Maggie, no?” When I nodded, he said, “I’m not my brother and I don’t wish to fight with you.” He dropped his hands. “The staff will like me when this is over, te lo prometto. I’m the fun brother.”

Somehow, I believed him. “Okay, chef. I’ll stay out of it.”

“Good. Now, I need to get back inside. Was there a reason you came to visit the kitchen this morning?”

He held the door open for me and I went through. “I was going to grab a quick snack before heading out to the vineyards.”

“I made a frittata this morning for the staff. Would you like some?”

I glanced over my shoulder as we walked into the kitchen. “You made a frittata? How long have you been awake?”

“I slept on the plane. Ivan!” He lifted his chin toward the young man stirring something in a stock pot on the stove. “Cut Signorina Fiorentino a piece of frittata.”

“Yes, chef,” Ivan said dutifully and set down his spoon.

Massimo regarded me. “Would you also do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Would you take a piece to Vito?”

Instantly, my body recoiled, a curtain of resentment and dislike falling around me, smothering me. “I really need to get to work?—”

“Two pieces!” he called to Ivan without looking away from me. “Per favore, Maggie? As a favor to me? It’s one of his favorites.”

I didn’t want to see Vito. I was still reeling from our interaction at the employee meeting yesterday.

“Your mouth, bella. It will get you into all kinds of trouble with me.”

Massimo stared at me like he was carefully evaluating my reaction. Was he matchmaking? If so, it was a wasted effort. I wiped my expression clear. I wasn’t giving either D’Agostino brother any intel on my feelings. “Sure. I’ll have Mikey take it over.”

“Do you not like my brother?”

“Your married brother who stole my winery from me. Is this the brother we are discussing?”

“Well, I’m not talking about Enzo. You would definitely hate him.”

“Here, chef.” Ivan held a pair of carryout boxes out to Massimo.

Not bothering to thank Ivan, Massimo took the boxes and handed them to me. “He’s a good man, my brother. But he’s not perfect, Maggie.”

“Oh, I’m totally aware. Thanks for the breakfast. See you later.” I started for the dining room. “Have a great day, everyone!”

A chorus of voices told me to have a nice day as I pushed through the swinging door. The dining room was empty. Mikey had deserted me and no one else was around to handle this errand for Massimo. Fuck my life .

The carryout boxes felt heavy in my hands. Was I really doing this? Taking Vito his breakfast like a . . . like a little wife? Ugh.

Hi, honey. Here’s your breakfast. I hope you choke on it.

To be fair, I hit on him that night in the casino.

But he should’ve said no—or at least admitted he was married and asked if I was okay with it.

Part of me wanted to find his wife and apologize.

The sisterhood mattered, after all. She deserved to know what a douche canoe she’d married. And they probably had kids together?—

Kids. Oh, my god.

Was Vito a father?

I shook myself. What did it matter? I needed to focus on getting him to leave rather than wondering over his life back in Toronto. Whatever his sins, they were on his head. Not mine.

But I did want to discuss these changes he was planning to make to the cottage.

Espresso machine and blinds, my ass. He wanted to tear down walls!

Going from a two-bedroom to a one-bedroom decreased the cottage’s appeal to renters.

Shouldn’t Mr. Investment already know this?

My brother might not want to tell Vito no, but I sure as shit didn’t mind.

Now on a mission, I walked faster in the direction of the guest cottage, the frozen ground crunching beneath my soles. Stomping up the steps, I crossed the deck and raised my hand to knock on the back door.

Just as my knuckles were about to make contact, the wood opened. Vito stared down at me, his hair disheveled. He wore a plain t-shirt and striped pajama bottoms, and on his face was a pair of stylish eyeglasses. He looked smart and sexy and undone—and I absolutely hated myself for noticing.

His brows lowered in confusion. “Maggie? What are you doing here?”

I held up the to-go containers. “Your brother sent breakfast.”

He eyed the containers carefully. “Did you poison it?”

“No, though I definitely considered it. Can I come in?”

More confusion flashed across his expression, but he stepped aside. “Of course.”

I walked inside the cottage—and stopped in my tracks.

The bottom floor had been redecorated. Gone were the outdoorsy, winery touches. In their place was a sleek, modern look more suited to a Wall Street penthouse, with manly furniture and bold art on the walls.

“What the fuck?” I blurted as my head swiveled. “When was all this done?”

“Yesterday. I called in a few favors.”

“One of those favors had better not be about knocking out the wall between the bedrooms.”

He strode toward the open kitchen. “It was, actually. They’re coming today to finish the work.”

I followed him and slammed the containers on the marble island, the urge to yell at him burning my tongue. I desperately longed to shout that he didn’t have the right to make changes like this. But he did have the right—and that was infuriating.

I wanted to throw this frittata at his head. But Mikey begged me not to cause trouble and I told him I’d try to try to be a team again. I didn’t know what that meant, but stabbing Vito with a fork probably wasn’t it.

For my brother, I would try to act civilly. Professional. A mature twenty-three-year-old woman. I could reason with a mobster and keep my cool.

Pressing my lips together, I exhaled through my nose. By the time Vito turned around with forks and napkins, I was slightly calmer. “I get it. You want to be comfortable here. No doubt your digs in Toronto are lush.”

One dark eyebrow shot up over the top of his glasses as he set the forks and napkins on the island. “I sense there is a but coming.”

“But,” I emphasized. “You told me you were only putting in blinds and an espresso machine. Not knocking down walls. You lied. Again.”

“I changed my mind. And even though I didn’t need to, I informed your brother about what I was planning. This hardly feels like a conspiracy, Maggie. Would you like a cappuccino or juice?”

The abrupt switch in topic made my head spin. He thought I was staying for breakfast? “I have to go. I’m going to eat this as I work.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sit and have breakfast with me.”

His eyes bored into mine from behind those stupidly sexy glasses and I felt my resistance crumble like dry dirt. “Okay. I guess water and a cappuccino, then. Please.”

Slipping out of my coat, I tried not to watch his wide shoulders as he worked at the espresso machine.

It wasn’t easy. As good as he looked in his clothes, I had first-hand knowledge of how good he looked without his clothes, too.

But I didn’t allow my eyes to move any lower.

The memory of his ass—a muscular masterpiece—was already burned into my brain, and I couldn’t lust after another woman’s man. That meant no checking him out.

After he finished the cappuccinos, he poured me a glass of water and came around to the seat beside mine. He flicked open the container. “Maz’s frittata. I have died and gone to heaven.”

I picked up my fork. “Maz? That’s cute. What nickname does he use for you?”

“Nothing fit for a lady’s ears,” he said dryly.

He started eating, so I did the same. We ate in silence for a few minutes, and I had to admit the frittata was delicious. Leeks, prosciutto, spinach and cheese wrapped in fluffy eggs. Nice to see that Massimo really did know how to cook.

“Fuck, that’s good.” He reached for his cappuccino, cradling it in his hands. “Should we talk more about the cottage? Or was there something else you wished to discuss?”

“Do you have kids?” I blurted.

Vito’s entire body jolted and the cappuccino splattered all over the front of his shirt.