Page 47 of Empire of Seduction (New York State of Mafia #2)

twenty

. . .

Maggie

Not going to lie, the landing scared the shit out of me.

I held onto Vito’s hand like the world was ending, which seemed entirely possible as the wheels bounced along the runway. Then we jerked to a halt and I let out the breath I’d been holding the whole time.

Vito was his usual calm and steady self, rock-solid and confident. Once again, his presence leveled me out when I thought I might spiral. It was a disturbing habit, but I wasn’t about to question it now.

He looked so fucking good tonight. With his black trousers and black sweater, along with a fancy belt and expensive shoes, he dripped with sophisticated elegance.

The tight fabric of his sweater clung to his shoulders like moss on a tree, and I was very much anticipating peeling it off him.

I could smell the Italian body wash on him, a scent I now associated with his naked body.

Sitting next to him for almost forty-five minutes was pure torture.

“What city is this?” I asked him as we unbuckled our seat belts. I knew it was a city—the skyscrapers had been a dead giveaway as the plane approached the airport.

“Toronto.”

“Oh, nice.” He brought me to his home. Because he’d wanted to show it off? Or because he had work to do here? I shook off those thoughts. Who cared why we were here? I was on a date with a handsome man in another country. Who knew when this would ever happen again?

“I think you’ll like it.” He offered his hand and helped me to stand. Whew, all this chivalry. It was seriously addicting. And hot.

“Thanks, baby,” I whispered as he let me slide past him into the aisle.

One of his arms suddenly snaked around my front and he pulled me into his chest. I heard him growl softly before he inhaled in the vicinity of my neck. “I can’t wait to get you naked tonight,” he rasped in a low seductive tone.

My body, weak and single-minded, softened against him. “I thought you wanted to show me your city.”

“I do. Get moving.”

Guards surrounded three SUVs waiting on the tarmac. There were so many of them, and I thought back to what Vito had said about the motorcycle gang. Was he worried there might be trouble?

Quickly, he loaded me into one of the SUVs and we drove away from the airport. “Is this normally how many men you travel with here? Because it seems like a lot more than what you had in Paesano. Should I be worried?”

“You are safe with me, bella,” he murmured. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

A non-answer. “Does this have anything to do with motorcycle club you were?—”

“Maggie.” He squeezed my hand. “Relax. There’s no threat. But I am taking no chances with your safety, capisce?”

Oh, that was sweet. I shifted as close as the seat belt allowed, resting my legs against his. “So, where are we going?” I watched the scenery and wished I could see it in the daylight. Although I had to admit there was something nice about all the lights twinkling around us.

“To dinner. I thought you might like to try one of my favorite spots.”

“Vito, I’m not dressed for a fancy restaurant.”

He didn’t reply, just held my hand in his, and I decided to let it go. If we were denied our dinner reservation, then it was on him—not me. As we drove, he explained Toronto, the different areas and sights we were passing. I liked seeing it through his eyes. I could tell he was fond of the city.

Vito chatted with the guards in Italian, but I didn’t pay attention to them. I wanted to see everything and commit it to memory. Someday I’d be able to tell my grandkids about the time a mobster flew me to Toronto for a date.

We drove from the more industrial part into downtown.

The streets bustled with cars and people, surrounded by big lights and tall buildings.

Not as busy as New York, which I remembered as chaotic and loud, but a world away from Paesano.

Restaurants with every cuisine imaginable joined business, diverse architecture, and plenty of green spaces.

It was like commercialism exploded here, but somehow it still felt balanced.

The people seemed happy, either chatting with friends as they walked or listening to music through earbuds. And the streets were so clean.

“What do you think?” he asked beside me.

“It’s a lot.”

“Bad?”

“No, but I’m not sure where to look. It’s sensory overload.”

He didn’t respond, just gave my hand another squeeze. I probably sounded lame and unsophisticated, but it was true. And I was lame and unsophisticated. If he expected anything else from me tonight, he’d be disappointed.

The car slowed and turned onto a side street, then pulled over to the curb. I peered through the window. “Where are we going?”

“Wait there,” he said and got out of the car, along with his guards.

Vito opened my door and extended his hand.

I slid out and stood, and I was secretly pleased when he didn’t let go of me, his fingers clasped with mine.

A wooden sign hanging above a door read Dark Horse Tavern.

“I think you’ll like this place,” he murmured as he yanked on the handle. “They have amazing burgers.”

I couldn’t contain my grin as I went in.

He brought me to a burger place. Relief filled me as I went in and discovered booths and tables, a long bar.

The walls were covered with hockey photos and beer signs, and the tables and chairs appeared well used.

It wasn't fancy or pretentious and it was perfect.

His arm slid around my waist as he chatted with the older woman at the front. She recognized him, so maybe he hadn’t been lying about this being one of his usual spots. We were quickly seated at a booth and she left us menus. “I love this place already,” I told him.

“You haven’t tasted the food yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can tell it’s going to be good.”

His leg found mine under the table and he pressed tight to me, not moving away. Then he handed me a menu. “You have to try the poutine.”

“Those are gravy fries, right?”

“With cheese curds, yes. It sounds strange, but most people find it delicious.” He shrugged.

“Oh, they have chicken pot pie!”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what is that?”

My menu dropped from my hands with a slap. “You’ve never had chicken pot pie?” When he shook his head, I said, “It is the cure for all of life’s ills. Carrots, onions and celery in a gravy with chicken, topped with either biscuits or pastry dough. I like biscuits.”

Vito’s expression told me everything I needed to know about what he thought of this dish. “Don’t make that face,” I said. “It’s delicious.”

“I will take your word for it.”

The server came for our drink order, and Vito bumped my leg with his. “Do you want to try the wine here?”

This was easy. “I want a beer.”

The server recommended one of the local IPAs, so I went with that. Vito ordered an Italian beer. It felt nice to be out with him. We both stared at each other, neither of us speaking. A quiet moment of companionable silence. Even still, I could see amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

“Are you going to order chicken pot pie?” I teased.

“Only if I can toss it in the trash bin.”

“You’re a food snob.”

For a second, I thought I might get a full-fledged grin out of him. He draped his arm across the back of the booth. “Did you like your meatball sub and chocolate cake the other night?”

“Of course I did. It was very nice of you to have Maz make it for me.”

“It was when I thought you had your—” he gestured to my stomach “—troubles.”

Happiness bubbled in my chest, drowning me in affection for this man. “Can’t you even say the word?”

“What word?”

“ Menstruation ,” I drawled dramatically like I was on the stage. Vito just shook his head, but I caught his lips twitching. “Well, I’m not on my period right now. I lied.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“How?”

“Because it’s clear you were hiding from me over what my sister said. And I also have Google. I looked it up after our conversation on the plane. You don’t get a period when you have an IUD.”

Smart man. “You can stop looking so smug. You don’t know all my tricks.”

“Not yet. But I will.”

I bit my lip against the rush of giddy energy that circulated through me. The server arrived with our beers. “Here you go.” He set the glasses down on the table. “Are you ready to order?”

I handed him my menu. “I’d love a cheeseburger with Swiss. Medium well. And I’m told I need to try poutine.”

“If you’ve never had it, then you definitely should. The usual, Mr. D’Agostino?”

“Yes, thank you.”

When we were alone, I sipped my beer. It was very good. “So, you come here a lot.”

Vito nodded. “About once a week.”

“Hmm. This place doesn’t seem your speed.”

“And what is my speed , bella?”

“A fancy steakhouse with cloth napkins and a glass wine cellar where you can watch the sommelier find your exact bottle.”

“That is a very precise image.” He took a drink, the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed. I was mesmerized by his Adam’s Apple, which was a weird thing to admit. “I frequent those restaurants, but I’d rather eat here. Some people enjoy eating foam and tiny bites, but that isn’t me.”

“I see those pretentious places online. I bet half the diners go out for pizza afterward.” I twisted my glass on the wooden table top. “How far do you live from here?”

“The penthouse is a few blocks away.” Vito stretched his arm out along the back of the booth, drawing attention to his chest and shoulders.

“And your other place?”

“The compound is twenty, twenty-five minutes away.”

“So the penthouse is where you hold your yacht-type model parties.”

The beer bottle was almost to his lips when I said it, and Vito paused to frown at me. “Maz never should have told you about those.”

“Yet, he did.” I sipped my beer, my shoulders lifting as if to say what-are-ya-gonna-do?

“I own several luxury high-rise developments in the city. In this particular one, I kept the top floor for myself. I often come into the city for business. And yes, I sometimes bring a woman there.”