Page 19 of Empire of Seduction (New York State of Mafia #2)

“This is a courtesy call.”

Benetti grew serious. “Oh?”

“Found one of my men in the woods behind a strip club, executed. I’m dealing with whoever is responsible.”

He was silent for a beat. “Which club?”

“Sparkles.”

“I know it. Harmless owner. Treats the girls well, customers like him. I can’t imagine he’d take out one of your men.”

If he had, I was going to burn the place to the ground. With him in it. And Benetti couldn’t stop me. “That may be so, but I mean to find out.”

“Any enemies follow you when you came from Toronto?”

I stared through the window at the passing streets. I didn’t like to speculate, I preferred facts. “Seems unlikely. Anyone here pissed at you?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, but I’ll ring the boys and tell them to do some digging around.”

“Thank you.”

“D’Agostino.” He paused. “I’ve tried to keep a low profile there. Do not lay waste to that town.”

“I can’t make any promises.” I disconnected and tapped my mobile on my knee. More men meant more housing. Looking over at Maggie’s brother, I said, “Michael, I need?—”

He was bent over at the waist, breathing hard, nearly hyperventilating.

I frowned. This was no time for dramatics. He needed to pull himself together. “Michael,” I snapped, putting some force behind the single word. “Focus.”

Nodding, he straightened and clasped his knees with both hands, still breathing erratically. “I-I’m sorry. I-I’ve never s-seen a dead body like that before.”

“I told you to stay in the fucking car.”

“I-I know, and I really, really wish that I’d l-listened to you.”

“Count your breath. Inhale through your nose for four, exhale through your mouth for four.” It was a technique that my sister-in-law taught Enzo to help keep him calm.

Michael closed his eyes and concentrated, breathing as I said. Cesare met my gaze in the rear-view mirror. We were too jaded and too old to remember seeing our first dead body. I did vividly remember my first kill, however. I was twelve, with my father handing me the pistol.

When Michael regained some of his color, I said, “I need a place for a large group of my men to stay. I’m assuming the winery is out of cottages.” The young man nodded, so I unlocked my phone. “Then I’m going to need the name of a realtor.”

Maggie

I debated not going.

Vito was using a sledgehammer to destroy over sixty years of Fiorentino legacy in a matter of days and I couldn’t catch my breath. It was like I was being buried alive and Vito was shoveling more and more dirt on top of me.

But after pancakes and a good night’s sleep, I felt refortified. I was stronger than Vito could even imagine. He would not break me. And no one would take this land and this responsibility away from me without a fight.

This Carlo Leoni person? He didn’t know New York’s climate or the irrigation issues we faced. He wasn’t familiar with the mineral composition of the soil or the variation in the local insect population.

But I knew all those things.

So I wouldn’t hide and sulk today. Instead, I would support my vintner, my staff, and my family by showing up. Vito wouldn’t win this round.

Even if the image of him in glasses, a t-shirt and pajama bottoms was now burned into my brain.

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

I should hate him. Correction, I did hate him. So why was I still attracted to him? It made no sense.

Hormones were the absolute worst.

Around noon, I went home to shower and change.

I didn’t know how long this meeting with Carlo would take and I promised Mikey that I’d help with the party prep starting at four o’clock.

So I threw on the black dress I wore for events, a short jacket, and heels.

I slicked back my hair and put on concealer, mascara, and lip stain.

Looking in the mirror, I conceded that I looked pretty damn professional.

At one I headed for the cellar. Bruce texted a few minutes ago that they were waiting for me, so I gathered my courage and descended the steps. If this Carlo guy thought he would roll over me like Vito had, he was sorely mistaken.

I charged in, ready for battle.

Two men were already there—and neither of them were Vito. Mr. Mafia Boss must be running late. Or maybe I got lucky and he’d decided to skip this meeting.

I approached Bruce and the bald-headed man chatting at the tasting table. “Hi. I’m Maggie Fiorentino.”

Both men stood and I got my first look at Carlo Leoni.

Oh. Wow, he was very handsome. And younger than I’d expected.

He was maybe a little older than Vito, but not by much, and had smooth olive skin and the most startling blue eyes I’ve ever seen on a man.

A neat, short beard, and a kind smile. He was dressed expensively, but not formally, which I appreciated.

Despite my annoyance at his presence here, I found myself smiling in return.

“Signorina Fiorentino.” Carlo put his hands on my arms and kissed each of my cheeks. He smelled good—not from an overpowering cologne or soap, but a hint of sandalwood. “It is nice to finally meet you,” he said with a light accent. “Signore D’Agostino has told me many wonderful things about you.”

I sincerely doubted that was true. “Welcome to Fiorentino Winery, Signore Leoni.”

“Call me Carlo, please. Let’s sit. I was chatting with Bruce and learning about your winery.”

Bruce gestured to me. “Maggie is probably the best person to give you the full history.”

“How much do you want to hear?” I lowered myself into the chair next to Carlo. “Because I could talk about this place for hours.”

The upstairs door clanged shut and I expected to see Vito’s long legs carry him down the steps.

Instead, three members of the kitchen staff brought a few bottles of wine, glasses and a charcuterie board.

I must’ve appeared confused because Bruce said, “Thought we might be here awhile and everyone should be comfortable.”

Oof. I should’ve thought of refreshments. If I weren’t so distracted and angry at Vito, I’m sure I would have. “Good idea, Bruce.”

There were four different wines to choose from and Carlo examined each bottle before setting on the Cayuga White.

“I am curious about this one,” he said, pouring the wine into a glass.

He gave it a generous swirl and held the glass to the light.

Then he tasted it. “I like that. Nice tang of citrus on the tongue. Smooth finish.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, pouring the same for both me and him. “It’s our most popular wine in the summer months, though the rosé is inching closer.”

“I can see why. Signorina, you were interrupted. Tell me everything.”

My animosity toward Carlo receded the more we talked. He was attentive, asked good questions, and didn’t turn his nose up at our wines. The charcuterie board was delicious. Best of all? Vito wasn’t around.

“When was your last soil survey?” Carlo asked me.

“My father had the last official soil test done six years ago.” I was embarrassed to admit it. Soil tests should be completed regularly, but they were expensive.

Carlo reached for a piece of bread and dipped it in the burrata and pesto mixture. “I would like to have one done as quickly as possible, if you have no objections, signorina.”

“Please, call me Maggie.” I popped a green olive into my mouth. “And I have no objections. As you may have heard, we’ve been tight on budget these last few years, which is why we always postponed doing one.”

“Of course, I understand.”

We moved on from the white wine to the red Marquette blend, and Carlo tasted it carefully. “Is that pink grapefruit at the end? This is quite lovely.” He took another sip. “Black cherry, raspberry. Herbal tea?”

“Yes,” Bruce said with a small smile. “It’s a hardy grape, suitable for cold climates. Gives us medium body wines with a little punch at the finish.”

“You’ve done a nice job with it. How long is it aged?”

“Around eight months.”

As we settled in with a glass of the Cabernet Franc, Carlo regaled us with stories from some of the wineries he’d worked in.

He was personable and expressive, humorous, talked with his hands, and could hold command of a room.

I could see why he was so successful. I liked him quite a bit, even though I’d been prepared to hate him.

“Have you visited a lot of American wineries?” I asked.

Carlo leaned back in his chair and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I spent three years in California and Washington, so I’ve seen quite a large number. This is my first trip to the East Coast, though.”

“Where are you staying?” Bruce asked,

“At the B&B.”

I reached for a bite of spicy soppressata, parm and fig jam. I had to hand it to Massimo—he could really rock a charcuterie board. “Fair warning, Salvatore will talk your ear off if you let him.”

Carlo chuckled. “I don’t mind. I have a big family and we like to talk.”

Did he mean his own family? He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but as I’d learned the hard way, not all married men wore theirs. “Do you have a lot of kids?”

“No kids. But I have a lot of siblings and cousins.”

“You never married?” Bruce asked.

“My job keeps me on the road. Perhaps in the future.” He slid me a curious look, his blue eyes searching my face. “And you, Maggie? Are you married?”

“Me? Oh, no. I hardly have time for dating, let alone anything serious.”

Carlo lifted his nearly empty glass. “This is why we have wine to keep us warm at night, no?”

I heard myself giggle, which was strange, but I was feeling pretty good. I hadn’t eaten anything since the pancakes, and this wine was delicious.

The upstairs door banged. Maybe Massimo was sending more snacks.

Did he take requests? Because a meatball sub sounded really fucking good right now.

I popped a stuffed pepper in my mouth and chewed, then heat exploded in my mouth, the burn working its way over my tongue and stealing my breath.

Coughing, I lunged for my wine and took a sip, hoping to dull the sensation, but I ended up wheezing harder.