Page 17 of Empire of Seduction (New York State of Mafia #2)

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.

I wasn’t one for religion, so I didn’t spend a lot of time in places like this. But my brother found a Gambler’s Anonymous meeting this afternoon in a town an hour away and asked me to drive over with him. I wanted to encourage him, so I agreed. As a bonus, this trip got me away from the winery.

I crossed my legs and killed time on my phone. The meeting was closed today, which meant only those with addiction issues could attend and participate. So I was sitting in the hallway, waiting for it to finish. With time on my hands, I did something I’d resisted doing before now.

I looked Vito D’Agostino up online.

Except . . . there was nothing.

Not a word, not a whisper. No photographs or links that mentioned his name. I added “Toronto” to the search, but that didn’t help. Then I added “mafia.” Nothing. It was like the man was a ghost.

Then I searched for Massimo D’Agostino. There were mentions at a few various restaurants, all in Italian, but no pictures. What was the older brother’s name? Something with an E. Enrico? No, Enzo.

I typed out his name.

A photo of a very handsome older man popped up. Expression flat and almost angry, he was standing next to his wife, Gianna Mancini, who was a men’s fashion designer. Damn. Those two looked good together. I couldn’t see much of a resemblance between Enzo and Vito, though.

The doors to the meeting room abruptly opened and I hid my screen quickly, even though I had nothing to be ashamed about.

People, almost all young men, filtered through the doors and into the hall.

Mikey finally emerged, chatting and laughing with a guy his age.

The two of them slapped hands and made a promise to keep in touch.

When we were alone, I asked, “How did it go? It looks like you made a friend.”

“Yeah, he’s cool. And the meeting wasn’t as bad as I expected.”

Thank god. This gave me hope that he’d stick with it for the long haul. “Should we get pancakes? I saw a diner around the corner.”

Our parents used to make pancakes for dinner whenever Mikey or I had a bad day. My mom claimed they were the ultimate comfort food, and she hadn’t been proven wrong yet.

“Good idea.”

“Cool.” We started walking toward the stairs. “Then you can tell me about the meeting.”

“It’s anonymous, dummy. That means I can’t tell you anything.”

“Even if I don’t know who you’re talking about?”

“Yes. People need to know what they say in the room will stay in the room.”

I guess I knew this—I did watch TV, after all—but I hadn’t expected Mikey to be such a stickler for the rules. “You know I won’t tell anyone.”

We climbed the steps, me going up first. “That’s not the point,” my brother said. “And don’t make this harder on me than it already is.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”

Once we sat and ordered pancakes, I studied him. He looked . . . better today. Less tired. “Do you think these meetings will help?” I asked.

He sipped his water. “I do, yeah. It was weird, talking about mom and dad and the winery. But hearing the other stories made it easier. And it’s helped me to see that I’m not alone, if that makes sense.”

“Good. I’m really glad, Mikey.”

“Listen, I have to tell you something else.”

I paused in the process of folding the paper straw wrapper. Oh, god. What now? “Please, don’t. Because I honestly can’t handle any more bad news.”

“This is something you should know. I’ve been keeping it from you because he asked me to, but it’s not right. You should know.”

“He, who?”

“Vito.”

I dropped the paper wrapper and folded my hands tightly. That motherfucker. He was taking Mikey into his confidence, trying to keep me on the outside. Well, I wasn’t about to let that happen. “Let’s hear it.”

“He’s not married.”

My brain stumbled and tripped over itself to make sense of the words I was hearing. “Wait. You’re saying that Vito isn’t married?”

“Correct.”

I dragged in a deep breath and tried not to toss a table or two. I couldn’t lose my shit in here. “Is he divorced? A widower? Why else would he wear the ring?”

Mikey winced and rubbed the back of his neck, a quirk when he had something he didn’t want to tell me. “Spit it out,” I said. “It’s obvious you know.”

Slowly, my brother reached across the table and started to slide my butter knife out of reach. I frowned and grabbed the piece of cutlery. “You’re not funny. Just tell me already.”

“He wears the ring as a defense against women who might want relationships with him.”

I huffed indignantly. “And he thinks I want a relationship with him? God, that man’s ego. What an asshole.”

Mikey lifted his palms out toward me. “No, he doesn’t. I told him you were as anti-relationship as they come. But he didn’t want you to know about the ring because he said it made it easier if things were strictly business between you.”

Strictly business . Did that include subtly flirting with me? Making me eat breakfast with him?

Jesus Christ, how I hated that man.

Now that I thought about it, Vito hadn’t been wearing the ring when he first opened the door this morning. But he must’ve put it on when he went upstairs to change his shirt, because I definitely remembered seeing the ring as he dried his hands on a towel.

Interesting. Had he put the fake wedding band on to ward me off . . . or to remind himself to keep it in his pants? Because his reaction after the staff meeting, when I’d touched his collar and whispered in his ear? It was not the response of a man who was interested in “strictly business.”

Vito isn’t married . Wow. I stared through the front glass of the diner and let this sink in. At least the guilt of being the other woman was gone.

“Are you mad?” Mikey asked as our pancakes arrived.

“No. I already knew he was full of shit. This just confirmed it.”

“Here you go, honey,” our waitress said as she sat a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of me. “And all men are full of shit.”

“Hey!” my brother said as she walked away. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Yeah, but you’re full of shit, too,” I told him. “Any other secrets you’re holding onto?”

“No, that’s the last one.” Mikey began cutting his pancakes vigorously. “You won’t tell him I told you, will you?”

“Nope.”

“Really? You won’t throw it in his face the next time you see him?”

I ate a piece of buttery, fluffy pancake. “No, we’re strictly business, remember? And I don’t want Vito thinking I’m pining away for him. He wants to pretend he’s married? Fine. More power to him.”

“You really don’t care?”

“I really don’t care. I have better reasons to hate Vito than this.”

Mikey chuckled. “No doubt. But I say we bleed him for every penny he’s willing to spend on the winery. We should ask for everything, you know? The irrigation you wanted to do, the solar panels, another guest cottage. Let’s see how far he’s willing to invest.”

More money meant more strings. I didn’t want to burst Mikey’s bubble, though, so I changed topics. “Did you know he’s bringing in an oenologist to consult with us?”

Mikey drizzled more syrup onto his half-eaten stack. “No, but is that a bad thing?”

“No idea what an expert from Italy can tell us about our regional wines, but sure. Why not?”

“Don’t get all worked up. I think Vito means well. And he does want to improve things.”

“Well, maybe the winery doesn’t need his kinds of improvements,” I grumbled.

“Or maybe you can’t be unbiased to anything he suggests.”

I ripped a piece of bacon in half and threw it across the booth at him.

Vito

I wasn’t used to the quiet.

I stood on the deck, sipping my cappuccino and looking out over the vineyard. There were a few birds up in the early dawn, but there were no other sounds. No traffic, no horns. Just peace and quiet. It was like the yacht in that way, except I wasn’t constantly rocking back and forth.

Maz and I stayed up late last night, drinking and catching up.

I was surprised at how much I’d missed my brother.

Strange to spend four years trapped together on a boat, then not see him except once or twice a year.

Enzo traveled quite a bit with Gia, so I met with him more often.

And we frequently touched base on business matters.

Maz was more distant, in another world from mine.

My sister was the same. She was living her own life in London, though we texted back and forth a lot.

But there was no use in growing sentimental over things I couldn’t change, so I shoved it all aside. I had a lot to get through today before meeting with Carlo and Bruce this afternoon. I didn’t have time to?—

Tommaso suddenly appeared around a group of bushes, his expression grim. He was disheveled, hair wild like he just rolled out of bed, as he hurried toward the cottage. I was instantly on alert. “What is it?”

“Gaetano went out last night.” He climbed the deck steps and paused in front of me, breathing heavily. “He didn’t come back.”

I waved him inside, then closed the door behind us. “What the fuck do you mean, he didn’t come back?”

“He left around ten. Said he was going to a bar just outside of town. We didn’t think anything of it and went to bed. But the car is still gone and he isn’t answering his mobile.”

I picked up my phone off the marble island and unlocked it. I tried to reach Gaetano twice, but each time it went to voicemail. “Maybe he went home with a woman,” I suggested, my mind racing.

“No.” Tommaso shook his head. “Even if he did, he wouldn’t stay out all night. We never do, Don D’Agostino.”

This was true. Men in my world knew better than to fall asleep in a strange woman’s bed. It left you vulnerable. “Why the fuck did you let him go out alone?”

“We didn’t think anyone knew us here. Why would anything bad happen in this tiny town?”

I rubbed my eyes under my glasses. “We need to find this bar. Do you know where it is?”

“I didn’t ask the name or where it was located.”

Fuck me. Immediately, I dialed Michael and he picked up on the fourth ring. “Hey, Vito. Everything okay?”

“Come to the cottage. I need your help.”