Page 41 of Empire of Seduction (New York State of Mafia #2)

“Does your house have a fireplace?”

“No. But your brother will be warm, if that’s what you’re worried about. The heat won’t go out.”

I took a swig from my water. “I’m not worried about Maz. He can take care of himself.”

“Where is your sister staying?”

“With Maz. At your house.”

Her lips parted on a swift intake of breath as she whipped around to face me. “Excuse me?”

“Is this a problem?”

“Well, it would’ve been nice if you’d asked me. Considering it’s my house and everything.”

My brain tripped over her words. I wasn’t used to asking anyone’s permission, but this woman deserved my respect. Blood rushed in my ears, embarrassment coursing through me. “You are right, of course. Perdonami, bella. I hope you don’t mind.”

She shook her head, clearly exasperated. “Start eating. You don’t need to wait on me.”

I had manners, so I didn’t touch my silverware. When she finished reheating the other plate, she sat next to me and kissed my cheek. “Eat, baby.”

I placed one hand on her thigh and started eating with the other. Maz had cooked one of my favorite dishes, a monkfish piccata in a lemony butter sauce. There was also crab carbonara spaghetti. I was in heaven. Even reheated, both were delicious.

“I didn’t think I’d like crab pasta, but your brother knows what he’s doing,” Maggie said. “I’ll be sad when he leaves.”

I would also hate to see Maz go. Though we hadn’t spent much time together here, it was nice having him around. But I knew he wanted to return to his ragazza, so I wouldn’t push him to stay. “Has Michael started looking for a new chef?”

She chewed and swallowed. “I’m not sure. I’ve been so busy these past few days that I haven’t asked. Do you know when Massimo intends to leave?”

“No, but I can ask him tomorrow.”

“It would be great if he could stay at least through Valentine’s Day. That’s one of our busiest nights of the year.”

“I’m sure he would be amenable, if you’re willing to put him up a little longer at your house.”

“Oh, right. This place is booked.” She twirled pasta on her fork. “Are you?—?”

When she didn’t finish her thought, I squeezed her leg. “Am I, what?”

“Are you going back to Toronto before then?”

“Yes.”

“Cool, cool.” The way she said it implied anything but cool .

“Would you like for me to stay longer?” I couldn’t, but it would be nice to know what she was thinking.

“That’s up to you,” she hedged, not meeting my eye as she brought a bite of monkfish to her mouth.

“I’m asking what you want.”

“Well, I want a billion dollars and world peace. But we don’t always get what we want.”

I didn’t push it. The conversation was pointless because I couldn’t stay. My life was there. Unless she was interested in moving, there wasn’t anything I could do.

Wait, did I want her to move?

The fork fell from my hand, clattering against the porcelain. “Perdonami,” I said, and used my napkin to clean up the sauce that splattered onto the marble.

“You okay? Is it your wound?”

“No, no. I’m fine.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes, then she reached for her sparkling water. “Why is your sister here? Just for a visit?”

“I asked her to move to Toronto for a little bit.”

“Oh.” She attacked her monkfish with renewed vigor. “Tell me about Toronto. What do you like about it?”

“Have you been?”

She shook her head as she chewed. “I haven’t gone anywhere except for a school trip once to New York City. There hasn’t been time or the money for travel after my parents died.”

“Allora, let’s say you had the time and the money. Where would you go?”

“I don’t know.” She lifted her shoulders. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Cazzata.” When she looked at me curiously, I said it in English. “Bullshit.”

“It’s not cazzata. When you know you can’t have something it’s pointless to dream about it.”

“If that were true then no one would have aspirations or goals. No one would set their sights on something and achieve it.”

She considered this, her brow furrowed. “Well, I don’t think that way. My dreams are about making the winery a success, putting Fiorentino wines on the map. Maybe I’d take a trip to Napa Valley or to Washington State to see how they do things out there. A research trip.”

“Then why do you wear t-shirts for bands you’ve never seen and act envious when my brother tells you he’s been to one of their concerts?” She blinked a few times, like she was surprised I knew this. “Yes, he told me about that.”

She concentrated on her plate. “Just because I like a band doesn’t mean I’m dying to see them live.”

“But you’d like to.”

“I mean, sure. Most of them, I guess. But it’s like saying you wear a wedding ring because you are secretly jealous of married people or dreaming of getting married. And we both know that isn’t true. Sometimes we wear things and don’t ascribe any meaning to them.”

Again, bullshit. That might be true for some people, but I sensed it wasn’t the case with Maggie. I let it go. “Toronto is great. It’s a city that is walkable and filled with shops and culture. Bars, nightlife, restaurants. And it’s clean. Other than the winters, it’s perfect.”

“Where do you live? In a tall skyscraper overlooking the city, I bet.”

I did have a penthouse in the city that I sometimes used, but mostly I lived on the Mancini compound. “The previous don gifted me his estate. It’s secure and in a prime location. He’s been moved to a facility where he can get round-the-clock care.”

She pushed the pasta around on her plate. “You’ve probably traveled all over. While you guys were having your yacht orgies, I mean.”

I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Do not think those four years spent on a yacht were glamorous. The so-called orgies Maz told you about were rare. A way to stay sane when the isolation out on the ocean grew to be too much.”

“Where did you sail to?”

I thought about it. “Greece, Turkey, France, Spain, Portugal. Morocco. Croatia. Monaco. I’m sure I’m forgetting some.”

“Wow. Which is your favorite?”

“None of them.” When she appeared ready to argue, I held up my hand. “My favorite place on earth is Napoli. Nothing else compares to my home.”

She poked my thigh. “You don’t fool me, Vito D’Agostino. You’re soft and squishy inside.”

That was enough insight into my life. I set my napkin on the counter, then bent to throw her over my shoulder on my good side. I smacked her bare ass, causing her to squeal, and started walking toward the stairs. “There is nothing soft about me, diavoletta mia.”