Page 4 of Empire of Seduction (New York State of Mafia #2)

three

. . .

Now

Vito

Fiorentino Winery, New York

I watched the brother’s face, flush with embarrassment, his mouth unable to form the words. Delivering bad news was a specialty of mine, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.

“What he is trying to tell you,” I told her calmly, “is that he has lost your winery. To me.”

I watched her struggle with that information, comprehension slow to dawn on her face. I could wait. Patience was also a specialty of mine.

It also gave me time to wrap myself around her presence at the winery.

Have a plan. Then have a backup plan . It was how I functioned, how I survived, but this—her being here—hadn’t been part of either plan.

I like women a lot, but unwanted attachments and expectations were not ideal for men in my world. I learned that as a teen when I fell for the wrong woman. Now I did everything possible to avoid repeat performances.

Except Maggie was here, in my new winery. If her shock wasn’t completely genuine, I might’ve suspected she and her brother had dreamed up this scheme to trap me. But she hadn’t known. I’m very good at reading people and her surprise was one-hundred-percent real.

As if to prove my point, she balled up her fist and punched her brother in the stomach.

Michael doubled over, holding himself as he groaned. Maggie whirled toward me. She was no longer stunned. She was furious.

And beautiful. I shouldn’t have noticed, especially now, but it was unavoidable.

She was a fantastic lay, one of the best I’ve ever had, and I liked the t-shirt and jeans she now wore, showing a woman comfortable in her own skin.

It reminded me of her confidence that night, how she wasn’t afraid to ask for exactly what she wanted.

Fuck me hard, Vito. I want to feel it tomorrow.

But there was no lust in her expression now. Instead, she was taught as a wire, her eyes snapping green fire. A tiny dragon ready to eat her enemy—me—alive.

“You can’t have it.”

I remained cool, logical. There was no place for emotion when it came to business. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, signorina.”

“I don’t give a shit how it works, signore . I’m telling you that you can’t have my— our winery.”

Normally, I wouldn’t explain myself. But after our night together, I figured Maggie deserved an explanation. “Fair is fair, no? I put my money into the pot and your brother put his—and my—money in the pot. He lost. Therefore, everything in the pot is now mine.”

“No, it’s not. And nothing about this is fair.”

I sighed. I had hoped this would go smoother. “I assure you the game was fair. It is not my fault that your brother wagered an amount he couldn’t afford to lose.” I shrugged. “But he did.”

“We’ll give you money,” she said. “We’ll pay the debt.”

“Maggie.” Michael’s voice sounded tired. “You know we can’t.”

“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.”

I was tired of arguing with her. I owned the majority of the winery, period. There was no doubt about it, and I wasn’t giving it back. “Michael, you’ll have the paperwork prepared. Sixty percent.”

“Sixty!” Maggie cried. “No way. Ten, max.”

Smothering a sigh, I walked over to where she stood. She didn’t retreat a single step, which was both foolish and impressive. Instead, she sliced me to ribbons with her eyes. Again, foolish. I didn’t mind bold women with a bit of attitude, but not when it interfered with my plans.

I loomed over her and pushed a few loose strands of dark hair behind her ear. “Maggie, this is not a negotiation. You do not want to test me. Capisce?”

“This is my vineyard.” Her voice wavered, giving away her doubts. Her fear. “ Our vineyard. You’re not taking it, Vito.”

“I already have, so accept it.”

“I can’t.”

I rolled my lips together, prayed for calm. Enzo was the hot-tempered, violent one in the family. I was cool and thoughtful, able to see a problem from all sides.

But this girl was testing my patience.

“Ask around,” I told her. “Look into me and my family. You will learn a D’Agostino is not to be fucked with. And when I don’t get what I want, people get hurt.”

“You’re threatening me.”

“Maybe I am threatening your brother.”

She paled, the implication working, just as I knew it would. Maggie obviously cared about her family, their legacy. And I could use that against her. D’Agostinos were conditioned to prey on weakness. It was one of the first lessons my father taught me.

“Maggie, please,” her brother said. “You’re making it worse.”

She whirled on him, her shoulders stiff and angry. “Oh, I am making it worse? You lost our winery, Mikey! Granddad started this place in 1963—and you lost it in a game of poker! Sorry if I’m not willing to accept it.”

“We don’t have a choice! Do you think I’m happy about this? I love this place as much as you do. But I fucked up!”

I stroked my jaw. This was tedious and I had better things to do. “I expect to sign the paperwork tomorrow.”

Maggie turned toward me, defiance etched in her expression. Then her gaze locked in on my hand—and her complexion went as white as flour. Her mouth fell open. “You’re married? ”

Ah. The meaningless piece of silver that had become a habit. Before I could confirm or deny my marital status, her fist connected with my stomach. Hard.

Pain exploded in my middle and I doubled over.

Madre di dio! She’d punched me.

“You cheating piece of shit!” she yelled.

“Oh, my god,” I heard her brother say as I struggled to catch my breath.

My body grew hot, like a match had been set to my blood, every part of me aflame. Very slowly, I straightened to my full height, violence rising under the surface of my skin. I would never hit a woman—I wasn’t my father, after all—but I couldn’t remember the last time I was this angry.

Before I could decide what to do or say, Michael began shoving Maggie toward the door. “I’ll get that paperwork, Mr. D’Agostino,” he blurted as they passed me. “No problem at all.”