21. Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty One
Vincenzo
I walk into my building later that evening and am greeted by my security team. Mauricio eyes my grocery bags and smirks at me.
“Need some help, Boss?” He asks, reaching for the bags. I cock an eyebrow at him, which only increases his amusement.
“What's with the face, Mauricio?” I question, handing him the bags of groceries. He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. "You're going all out, aren't you?" he asks, a knowing smirk on his face.
"It's just dinner," I say dismissively, he laughs again knowing I'm full of shit.
“Sure, Boss. Whatever you say.” The lift doors open and we both step inside.
“Have you guys managed to find out anything else about the worksite? I’m trying to keep it from my father. The last thing I need is him finding out about the damages.” Mauricio raises an eyebrow, "We've got some leads, but it's going to take some time. Don't worry, we're on it."
I nod, "Good. Keep me updated." The doors of the lift open, and I step out into my penthouse apartment.
My housekeeper did a wonderful job setting up the table for my date with Emilia.
The opulent dining table is set for two with a dark linen cloth, the napkins pulled through clear crystal holders that twinkle in the low lighting each place setting has the best fine bone china and crystal glasses that I own, while two tapered candles in crystal holders sit unlit on either side of a beautiful crystal vase in the middle that holds a perfect bunch of red roses.
She really out did herself. Mauricio lets out a long whistle.
“Damn, Boss. You need to give Alice a raise. She did well.”
I give Mauricio a nod, "Agreed. She deserves it." He gives me a knowing smile before leaving, and I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the evening ahead.
I quickly get to work, chopping onions and mushrooms while allowing my worries to drift away and get lost in the rhythm of cooking.
I've been so preoccupied with the business and my personal life that I haven't taken a moment to enjoy the small things and as the aroma of garlic and olive oil fills the kitchen, I can't help but smile.
My passion for cooking has always been able to calm my nerves, a skill I learnt from my Nonna.
While my mother and father were busy running an empire, my sweet Sicilian grandmother taught me everything I know.
“Vincenzo, eating is a pleasure when we cook from the heart.” She would say. I have never cooked for anyone outside of my family before because I believe those words down in my soul. But there is just something about Emilia.
I wonder briefly if she likes lemons. My Nonna taught me her secret recipe for Catucci, or lemon biscotti.
She made me swear never to write it down, like she swore to her mother.
I’ve never made it for anyone, and it isn’t on my planned menu, but I always keep the ingredients on hand.
It’s my personal favourite too. We could also have some with my homemade limoncello after dinner.
My Nonna always insisted it helps with digestion, I can’t help but smile at the memory.
Determined to make the best impression on Emilia, I get to work on the biscotti dough, so it can go through the first bake while I have my shower.
After all the food prep is done, I light the candles and place the wine on the table, making sure everything is just right before I check my phone for the time. I have just enough time to shower and get ready for Emilia’s arrival.
I quickly finish my shower, dry off, and get dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and dark jeans; taking one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is perfect.
As I come down from my room, I hear the lift doors open. I watch as Emilia’s eyes open wide in awe as she takes in the views from my penthouse windows.
“Nice to see you again, Emilia,” I say as she steps further into my home.
“You look stunning.” I mean every word of it as I watch her walk towards the windows.
Her hair done up in a messy bun and a simple yet elegant dress that hugs her curves perfectly.
She looks like a delicious snack that I’d love to unwrap.
“This place is beautiful, Vincenzo,” she says as I wrap an arm around her waist, allowing her to come to a stop before the view from the window. I kiss her neck lightly, feeling her breath shudder.
“Nothing is as beautiful as you,” my voice is husky with need, as I reluctantly pull back from her. I want to feel her body pressed up against mine again, but I don't want to push her too far, too fast.
Emilia turns to face me; a blush lightly stains her cheeks. She places a hand on my chest, a soft smile playing on her lips.
"You really didn't have to go through all this trouble, Vincenzo," she says, gesturing towards the beautifully set table and the aroma wafting from the kitchen.
“I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to.” I take her hand in mine and lead her to the table, pulling out her chair for her. As she gets comfortable in her seat, I pour her a glass of wine. She smiles and thanks me before taking a sip.Watching as she closes her eyes and savours the taste of the wine, I resist the need to kiss her, quickly making my way to the kitchen to collect the appetisers I’ve created for the evening.
“Bruschetta is one of my favourites,” Emilia says, as I place a plate in front of her.
"Me too, I'm glad you like it." I sit across from her, watching as she takes a bite, her eyes closing with sheer pleasure. I pour myself a glass of wine and take a sip, watching Emilia for just a moment.
“This is delicious,” she mutters.
I chuckle at her. “It’s quite simple to make.”
She smiles sadly at me. “I haven’t cooked much, not since…” Her words trail off, before I can ask, her phone begins to ring. She checks the caller ID and her brows furrow. She quickly rejects the call and as she places it on the table it begins to ring again.
“I’m so sorry, I thought I’d put it on silent.”
“No, it’s okay. It sounds urgent. Please take the call if you need to.” She shakes her head, switching the phone to silent and placing it back on the table.
“Where were we?” she asks, trying to get our conversation back on track.
As I'm about to reply, her phone begins to vibrate on the table.
I smirk at her as she mutters a curse word under her breath, finally getting annoyed with whoever is calling her, she switches off her phone.
“There now we can talk in peace,” she says, placing her phone back on the table.
“It’s okay. How about I grab the next course?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood. She nods eagerly.
She follows me to the kitchen, and I dip a spoon into the pasta sauce. “Here, taste this.” She moans in pleasure, as she tastes the sauce. My cock twitches in response.
“Keep making those sounds, Emilia, and we won’t make it to dessert,” I growl but before she can respond, my phone begins to ring. I look down at the caller ID and see it's my father.
I huff in annoyance, an interruption that I can’t ignore. “I’m so sorry, Emilia. I have to take this.”
“Of course, no problem.”
I excuse myself from the table, leaving Emilia to enjoy her meal. "Hello, Father," I answer, my tone slightly frustrated at being interrupted on such an important night.
"Vincenzo, I need you to come down to the office immediately," my father's voice is tense, indicating that this is something serious. “When were you going to tell me about the work site vandalism?” I was going to fucking kill Martin.
I look over my shoulder to make sure Emilia doesn’t overhear my conversation, watching as she sprinkles something over the pot on the stove and tilting my head in confusion, but the sound of my father’s voice pulls my attention back to the conversation I am having with him.
“I have it under control,” I say sternly, cutting him off from his sentence.
He sputters, trying to form a sentence but I continue.
“I will not be coming down to the office, I am busy, and this conversation can wait. We are investigating the situation, and you don’t need to step in.
I have this well in hand,” before he can respond I hang up my phone.
Placing my phone back in my pocket, I return to the kitchen, trying to hide the anger that’s still lingering from my conversation with my father.
I dish out our bowls of pasta and we return to the table.
Emilia brings a fork full to her mouth, closing her eyes as she hums her approval.
Seeing Emilia enjoying her meal brings a small smile to my face, and I take a moment to appreciate the sight.
"Is something wrong, Vincenzo?" Emilia questions, noticing the change in my demeanour.
"Just a work issue," I reply dismissively, not wanting to burden her with my problems. "Now, let's enjoy our meal. What do you say?" I ask, hoping to change the topic and concentrate on our time together.
Emilia nods in understanding, and we continue with our dinner. I pour us both another glass of wine, and she takes a quick sip. The silence is almost deafening.
“So, you like art?” I ask, mentally kicking myself for the way it comes out.
It’s a worse pick-up line than her ‘you come here often’ one from the night at the club.
Emilia places her glass back down on the table, her eyes twinkling with humour as a genuine smile graces her delicious lips. I want nothing more than to kiss her.
“I’ve always been drawn to art. The way it makes me feel as my brush moves across a canvas.
Being able to pour every emotion into it and create a piece that might make others feel something, gives me such a thrill.
” Her smile fades as if remembering something.
“I haven’t been able to paint for a while; my heart hasn’t really been in it. ”
I lean in, trying to understand her better. "Why's that?" I ask, I know that the loss of her father is affecting her, and I want to help her realise it.
Emilia takes a deep breath, looking down at her plate for a moment before looking back up at me, her eyes echoing her pain. "It's been tough," she says quietly. “Losing my father and taking over the gallery. It’s a lot to take in.” I nod in understanding.
“Let me show you something,” I say, getting to my feet, I reach my hand out for her to take. She eyes my hand suspiciously for a moment, before placing her hand in mine. I led her out of the dining area and into a dimly lit hallway.
"Trust me," I say softly.