Page 5

P iotr

I f I were any other patron, the wait staff would have asked me to vacate my table by now.

It’s been a half hour since I first sat down in my favorite spot at the back of the restaurant and Olivia still hasn’t arrived.

The servers, sensibly, haven’t pressured me to place an order.

They’ve brought me a complimentary bottle of Beluga Gold Line, an acceptable vodka, and some olives to graze on, but haven’t pestered me beyond that.

They know me well at Gianetta’s. I come here whenever I’m in Florence.

Lorenzo Volante introduced me to the place when he was trying to add it to his property portfolio.

The pretty young owner, Lucia Lazaro, refused to sell.

The restaurant is her inheritance from her grandmother and I suspect she would rather die than hand it over to a Volante.

It won’t come to that. Lorenzo has employed none of his usual strong-arm tactics to force her out.

He respected her decision. I think he’s impressed by Lucia’s backbone.

I certainly admire her integrity. It’s one of the reasons I choose to dine here.

I also enjoy the bistecca alla fiorentina , which is the best I’ve ever eaten.

I glance at the time on my cellphone, which is sitting on the white cloth-covered table in front of me.

Most men would give up on their date after this long of a wait, but I know the lovely Olivia will show.

She’s just indulging in one of her little rebellions.

I’ve watched her closely since she first got on my radar. I’ve seen how she operates.

With five brothers keeping her in check when she’s home in New York and her cousins doing the same here in Italy, she pushes back in whatever small ways she can.

Usually, she makes her displeasure known by wearing clothes her family will disapprove of.

She picks dresses that are sinfully short or that show too much cleavage.

At other times, she’ll protest by adopting the persona of an ice princess and refusing to engage with the people around her.

I’ve seen her snub billionaires and film stars just to show her brothers she’s pissed.

I swear she’d thumb her nose at the Pope if she thought it would send a message to Antonio.

It all stems from boredom, of course. A woman like Olivia wasn’t made to be a mere accessory. She’s not some ornament to be brought out to dazzle friends and rivals alike. I’ve seen her academic transcripts. She has a GPA of 4.0 that she may never put to good use. That must be frustrating.

The Volante brothers don’t know what to do with her most of the time.

I’m guessing that’s why Antonio sent her away.

He’d run out of options for keeping her in line.

It’s not a problem I’ll face. Once Olivia is my wife, there are many ways I can deal with her if she misbehaves.

She may enjoy some of my punishments. Others won’t be so pleasant.

I might not wait until my ring is on her finger to teach her a lesson.

Her lateness shows a lack of respect that can’t go unpunished.

While I might forgive a couple of minutes, she’s pushed it too far.

I’m a busy man. I have better things to do with my time than hang around like some loser, hoping my date will turn up.

As I’m contemplating whether to spank her ass or make her crawl on hands and knees to beg for forgiveness, an awed hush falls over the room.

I don’t need to look up to know that Olivia has caused the lull in conversation.

Though she often slips into a room quietly, determined to go unnoticed, when she wants to make an entrance, she commands everyone’s attention.

She strides into the room with her shoulders back and head held high.

Tall and slender, she wouldn’t look out of place on a high fashion runway.

Brunette hair tumbles over her shoulder in loose waves.

A red dress clings to her curves. It plunges low to reveal the swell of her breasts, and falls to mid-thigh to reveal long, toned legs.

Her lips are painted in an arresting crimson shade that complements her dress.

It’s armor, I realize as she waves off the hostess’s attempt to greet her and heads straight for me. Olivia has come here to do battle. She looks like a warrior, but when she reaches me a crack forms in the facade. Her lip wobbles just once, and fear glistens in her eye.

As I rise to greet her, she stiffens. Before I can step around the table to pull out the chair for her, she denies me the chance to be a gentleman and drops onto the seat.

Regaining her composure, she glares at me in challenge.

Good. I don’t want a woman who cowers in my presence.

Olivia will be my queen in public, ruling by my side.

Behind closed doors, she’ll be my wanton whore, begging desperately for my cock. I’ll ruin her for any other man.

“Olivia.” I retake my seat. “You’re late.”

“Sorry about that.” Her tone drips with insincerity. “Wardrobe issues.”

That, I believe. Damiano probably gave her a hard time about what she was going to wear tonight.

If this is the dress he approved, I can’t imagine what the others looked like.

My friend expects the women in his family to display modesty, as do I.

There’s little of that on display, but Olivia will soon learn.

My wife will not expose herself to other men’s gazes.

“Damiano didn’t accompany you?” I had expected him to bring her to me and make threats about ensuring her virtue remained intact. He needn’t worry about that. I don’t intend to fuck Olivia until she’s legally mine.

“He dropped me off outside.” Olivia’s tone drips with practiced disdain. “I told him not to bother walking me in.”

I respect that. Olivia could have tried to use her cousin as a shield, but she didn’t need anyone to hold her hand. She’s scared of me. I can see it in her eyes, but she doesn’t let fear rule her. In fact, she channels it into a fierceness most men would cower from.

“Are you hungry?” I ask solicitously. This is supposed to be a date, after all. The aim is to make a pleasurable experience where we get to know each other a little. There are so many things I wish to learn from the woman opposite me.

“I am, yes.”

Raising my hand, I call the server over.

Angelina is a young woman who’s waited on me before.

She’s studying at the Universita di Firenze .

I make it my business to learn something about everyone I encounter.

Information is power, after all, and even the most insignificant fact about a person can prove useful at some point.

If I recall, Angelina is taking art history.

I guess she wants to make a career out of persuading rich idiots to part with their cash for abstract blobs of color.

“Mr. Reznov.” Angelina bobs her head respectfully and waits for me to speak.

“We’ll take the bistecca alla fiorentina with whatever accompaniments Ms. Lazaro recommends.” Normally, I wouldn’t put my food choices in someone else’s hands, but Lucia never gets it wrong. “And can you recommend some wine for my companion?”

“I’ll take the Tenuta San Vuido Sassicaia, the 2021,” Olivia says. “And bring the bottle.”

Angelina looks at me for confirmation and I nod. Let the Italian princess drink whatever she wants. It will lower her inhibitions and allow me to find out more about her.

“You didn’t argue about the food, but wanted to choose the wine,” I note as Angelina walks off.

“I know more about wine than you do.” There’s no point in arguing since she’s right. As a man who never touches the stuff, I have no clue what’s good. “And the steak is always amazing here.”

“You’ve been before?” I ask.

“A few times. Lorenzo brings me here whenever he wants to torment the owner.”

“He’s still interested in her, then?”

“Yes, until she spreads her legs for him. Then he’ll forget all about her.”

“You have a low opinion of your cousin.”

“I have a low opinion of men.”

Considering the pictures of her I now possess, I’m not surprised by the bitterness dripping from her words.

“You speak from experience?” I doubt she’ll confide in me about the man who took those photographs, but I ask anyway.

Olivia purses her lips. “I have five asshole brothers, countless asshole cousins, and one asshole…” She waves her hand in my direction as she decides what to label me. “Suitor.”

“Just one? I’m glad to hear I don’t have any competition.” Not that it would matter if I did. Anyone who stands between me and my chosen bride will end up in an unmarked grave.

“I didn’t say you were my only suitor. I said you were the only asshole suitor.”

“Ah, I see. You’ve got prospective husbands lined up around the block, do you?”

Olivia’s face falls. “I’m sure they would be if it wasn’t for my brothers.” She snorts in irritation. “I’m surprised they don’t just slap a chastity belt on me and be done with it.”

The thought of Olivia in a chastity belt, waiting for me to unlock it on our wedding night, turns me on more than it should. Perhaps I could have her wear one beneath her gown.

Before I can get any deeper into that fantasy, Angelina returns to the table with the wine.

She dribbles a little into Olivia’s wineglass and waits for her to taste it.

At Olivia’s nod of approval, she pours a more generous measure.

I help myself to another vodka. As I lift it to my lips, I watch Olivia draining her glass, gulping the expensive wine down like it’s water. She sets the glass down and refills it.

“Do you have a drinking problem, Olivia?” The information I’ve gathered on her over the last few months suggests that’s not the case, but I want to see how she reacts.

“No, Piotr. I have a Russian-who-won’t-leave-me-alone problem.” She glares at me. “Why are we here?”