The Don's Legal Eagle's Baby: An Enemies to Lovers Mafia Romance

17. Emilio

In the wake of my revelation to Griselda, the dynamics between us subtly shifted. A cool distance crept into our interactions, a space that didn”t exist when we’d first met.

Days turned into weeks, and as we continued to coexist in this forced proximity, another shift took place. The initial anger and frustration Griselda held towards me seemed to fade slowly, making way for a kind of understanding—perhaps even friendship.

I saw it in the small gestures she began to offer—a smile, a shared joke, a conversation that didn”t revolve around the complex world I was a part of. There was a genuine interest, and it was a welcome change.

Our conversations grew more candid, and we shared snippets of our lives that weren”t shrouded in secrecy. Griselda spoke of her dreams, her ambitions, and her love for music. I, too, began to open up about my past, about the struggles that had shaped me and my family.

During these moments, I found myself being drawn to Griselda. She was a breath of fresh air. However, I was cautious. I didn”t want to impose my feelings or intentions on her. I had done enough of that already.

There were instances where our hands would brush, or our eyes would meet, and in those fleeting moments, it was as if the universe was hinting at something more, something beyond the quandary of our respective lives.

Yet, I knew better than to rush it. Building a genuine connection requires time, patience, and, most importantly, trust. Trust was something I had to earn, not demand.

Griselda”s curiosity about my world seemed to grow with each passing day. One evening, as we sat in my penthouse overlooking the city, the skyline lit up by the breathtaking display of lights, she broached the topic.

”Emilio,” she began cautiously, ”I”ve been wondering. Since your brother is the heir, then what about your future in the mafia.”

I sighed, having expected this conversation to happen sooner or later.

”My older brother will likely take over as Don,” I explained, ”which would normally position me as his right hand.”

”Right hand?” she repeated, catching onto my hesitant phrasing.

I leaned back in my chair, trying to find the right words. ”Traditionally, yes, but it”s not something I aspire to be a part of.”

”You don”t want to be part of the mafia,” she probed.

I shook my head. ”No, I want nothing to do with the mafia,” I stated firmly, my tone leaving no room for doubt. “It”s not where I see my future, not where my passion lies.”

”So, Emilio, what do you want then, if not the mafia?” The question was direct, unvarnished curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

”That”s precisely why I”ve built my business, striving for its success. It’s not an easy journey, but giving up isn”t an option.”

Griselda looked relieved but still concerned. ”It”s just you have so many men working for you. It”s hard to distinguish between business and... other matters.”

I understood her concern.

”I have a business empire to run,” I clarified. ”The people working for me are part of various legitimate ventures. I ensure that they”re not dragged into the darker aspects of my family”s history.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful as if digesting my words.

She delved deeper, seeking clarity. ”Do any of your family members know about your business, your aspirations?”

I shook my head in response, my expression serious and resolute. ”No, they don”t. It”s important to keep it hidden, especially from my family. My role as the CEO of Royalty Rentals is a well-guarded secret, known only to those I trust implicitly.”

Griselda”s brow furrowed with concern, her next question laced with worry. ”What happens if they find out, particularly your father?”

Leaning back, I considered the hypothetical scenario, acknowledging the risks. ”I honestly don”t know. And to be frank, I”d rather not find out.”

We both fell into a contemplative silence.

Griselda”s curiosity was insatiable, a trait I admired. It reflected in her eyes, bright with interest, as she leaned forward. ”Your passion for cars, what drives that?”

I paused, reflecting on my affinity for automobiles. ”Cars, for me, are an epitome of engineering marvels and human creativity. To be able to enhance their capabilities their performance and incorporate cutting-edge technology is an art in itself. It”s about pushing boundaries and achieving what others may deem impossible.”

She nodded, absorbing my response, and followed up with more questions. ”And these modifications, how do they tie into your business at Royalty Rentals?”

”Ah, good question,” I replied with a smile. ”The modifications align with our business strategy. It allows us to offer unique and customized vehicles to our clients, setting us apart in a competitive market. The tech integration, safety features, and performance enhancements ensure our customers have an exceptional experience. Of course, not every modification we add to the cars is for sale.”

Her inquisitive nature drove the conversation deeper. ”And your men, the people you work with—did you handpick them for a specific reason?”

A serious tone set in as I explained, ”Absolutely. In this line of work, trust is paramount. The people I”ve surrounded myself with are not just employees. They are individuals I trust implicitly. It”s like having a family that you can rely on, especially in challenging times.”

She considered my words, then asked, ”In case things turn south?”

”Exactly,” I confirmed, leaning back and reflecting on my choices. ”Unfortunately, in the world I navigate, there are potential dangers. Having a loyal team ensures we”re prepared for anything.”

Day by day, our conversations chipped away at the invisible ice wall that had initially stood tall between us. Griselda”s demeanor started shifting, and I could sense a gradual change in how she perceived me. Her expressions had softened, and she engaged more freely in our talks.

The skepticism and caution that she held at the beginning seemed to be replaced by understanding and, perhaps, a hint of empathy.

The more I shared about my true aspirations and ambitions, the more accepting she seemed to become.

A turning point came when she realized that my goals had nothing to do with the criminal life my family was deeply entrenched in. The disbelief in her eyes slowly faded, giving room to a new understanding. It was a revelation that seemed to reshape her view of me, a transformation I had hoped for.

Our conversations delved into the depths of my dreams and convictions, shedding an old skin, so to speak. Griselda”s questions were thoughtful and insightful, reflecting a genuine attempt to understand the person I was. Her inquiries no longer carried a hint of judgment.

Through those dialogues, I witnessed the growth of her trust. It was a slow and delicate process, akin to a tender bloom unfurling its petals to the sun. She was beginning to see Emilio—the person, the dreamer, and the aspiring businessman.

The trust she was starting to place in me was a precious gift, one I valued immensely.

As the invisible barriers of misunderstanding and prejudice crumbled away, a sense of mutual respect began to take root. Griselda was no longer just a person fate had brought into my life; she was turning into a friend.

It was a tranquil evening. The aroma of Italian spices wafted through the kitchen. The simmering pot on the stove held the promise of a delicious meal.

Griselda sauntered into the kitchen, her presence instantly adding a touch of warmth to the room. She settled on a stool by the counter, propping her head on her palm, her lips forming an adorable pout as she gazed at the culinary scene.

Trying not to be distracted by her charm, I continued the cooking process. I stirred the ingredients in the pot, letting the flavors meld.

”I”ve been meaning to ask,” she started, her curiosity evident, ”who taught you how to cook?”

I smiled, momentarily setting the spoon aside.

”I taught myself,” I confessed. ”Once I was able to leave my father’s house, I realized I needed to learn. Despite having the means to order food forever, there”s something satisfying about creating a dish with your own hands.”

She looked slightly surprised, prompting her to inquire, ”How did you learn?”

I proceeded to explain, recounting my journey into the culinary world.

”I used cookbooks and watched countless videos,” I confessed.

The stove crackled softly as I spoke, the flickering flames reflecting the motivation that had driven me to master the art of cooking. I had practiced tirelessly, experimenting and tweaking recipes until I could craft a satisfying dish.

Griselda leaned on the counter, watching me intently as I bustled around the kitchen, and the savory aroma of sautéing vegetables filled the air.

”What”s cooking?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

With a smile, I glanced at the simmering pot and then back at her.

”Osso Buco,” I said, twirling a wooden spoon.

Osso Buco was a traditional Italian stew made with braised veal shanks, simmered to achieve tender, melt-in-your-mouth perfection. The combination of tender meat, white wine, aromatic vegetables, and a hint of citrus zest creates a rich, savory flavor that tantalizes the taste buds.

Griselda”s eyes widened in genuine surprise. ”Osso Buco? That”s quite complicated, isn”t it?”

I shook my head, the corners of my lips tugging upward. ”It”s not as complicated as it seems. I”ll prove it to you. Come here.”

I motioned for her to join me, inviting her to take over the cooking process. I smiled at seeing her so eager to learn. Her presence beside me was comforting.

When the stew was ready, she tasted it, and her eyes lit up with genuine delight. ”Wow, it tastes amazing!”

Pleased with her reaction, I was caught in the moment, and before I fully registered my actions, I found myself tasting the spoon she held out. It was an innocent gesture, one that seemed natural in the culinary atmosphere we were enveloped in.

But as Griselda turned to put the spoon aside, her face just inches away from mine, I could feel the warmth of her breath on my skin. Time seemed to slow, and for a moment, we were suspended in an unspoken connection.

She gently cleared her throat, breaking the trance that had befallen us. ”How was the stew?”

I didn”t answer immediately, my gaze fixated on her lips. She must have noticed, too, because a nervous look flitted across her features—she lightly licked her lips. It was an innocent action, but it had a profound effect on me. Unable to resist the magnetic pull, I leaned forward, our lips meeting in a harsh kiss.

Her body was warm and soft against mine. The two of us weren’t supposed to be doing this right now, but I couldn’t resist the temptation. One casual kiss had led to another and then another, and then my arm was snaking around her waist to pull her closer before I could register what I was doing.

Her little grunt as her back hit the counter made my stomach flutter. Her hands slid over my chest and over my shoulders to curl into the hair at the base of my neck. My hands cupped her face as I nipped on her bottom lip, and then my tongue slipped into her mouth. She whimpered, body arching to press herself closer to me, and I found myself responding in kind.

It was dizzying, the knowledge that she wanted me as much as I wanted her. My hands dropped to her waist, and eager fingers dipped under the hem of her shirt to stroke across the soft skin of her hips. It must have surprised her because she jolted in my arms, her hips grinding forward on my thigh and then back again.

I held back a laugh, the desire to tease her for being so easily startled turning into a strangled choking noise as I realized the movement was deliberate, as she rocked forward along my thigh again. I huffed into her mouth as my fingers dug harder into her hips, pushing me to grind against her a little quicker.

“Emilio,” She moaned, low and quiet, into my mouth, and it was perfect, so fucking perfect, and any chance I had of regaining control and stopping myself evaporated entirely.

“You like that?” I whispered, my breath tickling the side of her face in between kisses.

I nipped hard at the skin just under her ear and then soothed my tongue over the forming mark on her neck.

Her moan was one of the hottest things I had ever heard.

One of my hands slid up under her shirt, tickling across her stomach and up over her ribs to cup her breast through her bra. I opened my mouth to ask, but her hand closed around mine, forcing me to squeeze her breast again.

I took the hint, my fingers flexing into her skin and fluttering across her nipple, which elicited another delicious moan from her.

It was a sound that had my cock twitching hard in my trousers. I knew that feeling, warmth pooling low and hot in my abdomen with every jerk of my hips. I was going to cum, and I was going to cum soon. I was tempted to pull away, to stop before I embarrassed myself by making a mess.

“Fuck! More...” Her plea morphed into a low moan as I lifted my knee higher to press harder against her core.

“Fuck, Emilio,” Her voice became thick with want, she threw her head back, and I sank my teeth into the junction between her neck and shoulder.

My hand on her hip reached up to tangle into her hair, pulling her forward until I could press my mouth back to hers, stopping any further words falling from her lips. My thumb stroked over her clothed nipple at the same time she started to grind against me in earnest. I couldn’t believe we were doing this in the kitchen.

“Emilio I-, I”m-,”

“Me too.” I hissed in pleasure.

Suddenly, cumming in my trousers no longer struck me as embarrassing.

Just as I was about to reach my peak, my phone, perched on the counter beside us, began to ring.

“Ignore…it,” She moaned.

I planned on doing exactly that until I glanced at the screen and saw the caller”s name.

It was my father.

Fuck!

I didn’t know why he was calling, but I already felt the cold claws of dread on my neck.

Despite Griselda”s soft protest, I immediately stopped and picked up the call.

”Emilio,” his voice rang through, cold and serious.

”Vieni adesso. (Come over now.)”