Chapter 14
DANTE
Dinner is a tasteless necessity.
All I can taste is Frankie. The residue of her skin is full on my lips and tongue, and my mind is on a loop replaying the scene in the kitchen in excruciating detail, down to the way she felt in my arms, around my cock, the scent of her hair, her lustful moans.
Until today, I’d been haunted by the last time we slept together.
How she’d been wrapped up in my bed sheet like a Greek goddess, cheeks flushed with sex, her eyes glowing.
Thanks to her unexpected visit today, now all I can envision is her long legs in those tall riding boots, her curvy ass hugged by tight jodhpurs.
Her eyes flashing bright with anger. She’s always the best fuck when she’s angry…
God, I hadn’t been able to help myself. And when I’d slid my fingers into her hot—
“Dante?”
I look up to see Marco and Armani staring at me. That’s when I realize I’m holding my fork in a death grip, even though the table has been cleared and dinner is over.
Apparently, judging by the looks on my brothers’ faces, it’s time for serious discussion.
Alain makes a quick round at the table, pouring us all cups of coffee and setting out dishes of sugar and heavy cream.
I take a deep drink of mine, black and steaming, wishing it would scald Frankie right out of my memory.
But of course, it’s the perfect temperature. Our chef knows his trade well.
I’m on edge, with a restlessness I haven’t been able to shake for days. My interaction with Frankie has only made it worse. Might as well bring up the constant elephant in the room. The one none of us have been eager to face.
“What do we know about the man who killed our father?” I ask, pushing thoughts of my former wife to the corner of my mind and mentally begging her to stay there. “This…George Bregman.”
Just saying the name out loud puts me in a foul mood. Armani clears his throat and coolly reaches inside his breast pocket. He pulls out a piece of paper and slides it across the table to me.
“These are known associates for Bregman,” he tells me. “A couple of them are interesting.”
I unfold the paper and scan the list of handwritten names, some vaguely familiar.
Except—one of these names has my pulse picking up.
I find myself rubbing my finger over it.
A Bruno. This name came up a lot when my mother and sister went missing years ago, in the boating accident.
Not to mention, it’s the surname of a notorious rival crime family.
“Let me see that,” Marco says. “Please.”
I pass him the page and look back at Armani. “Have you contacted any of these?”
“Not yet,” he says. “I want to gather something concrete first. Bregman owes most of them money, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
Just having the name of the man who killed our father is enough for me. I’m ready to make a move.
He’s likely got protection, though. We’ll have to lay a trap, draw him to us.
The kind of game our father was well versed in playing.
Growing up, I remember men being led to our front room by his enforcers.
The captives would be crying. Pleading. Apologizing.
And all the while my father would just stare at them, expressionless.
Once he had what he wanted, they’d be taken away.
It took a long time before I realized that he probably hadn’t simply let them go.
Marco sits up straighter. “What about the Bruno family?” he asks, homing in on the same name I did. “You have to look at who stood to gain the most with Dad out of the picture.”
Armani hesitates but then shakes his head.
“It’s possible, but not likely. Dad and the Brunos went way back,” he muses.
“I won’t say they didn’t have their tensions, but they’re an old family like us.
They know how it works. It’d be too big of a risk to fuck with the Bellantis that way.
Retaliation from us could wipe them out completely, not to mention screw their relations with all the other families who respect us. ”
“Let’s keep an open mind regardless,” I suggest. “Even if they didn’t hire Bregman directly, we can’t assume they weren’t involved in some way. They’re a huge syndicate.”
“Understood,” Armani says. “I’ll keep up the investigations.”
Marco volunteers, “I’m gonna be looking into a few leads myself. I’ve got some things I want to check out.”
My coffee cup hits the table with a clatter. “Like what? You know something you’re not telling us, Marco?”
“Nothing like that,” he says. “Just due diligence.”
I give a nod of agreement and drum my fingers on the table.
“What have you come up with to deal with the Rico issue?” I ask Armani.
His lips pull into a thin line. “I’m still working on it, as you’re well aware. Unless you’d rather handle him the old school way? The way Dad would’ve handled it?”
It’s obvious what he’s asking me, and Marco looks between us almost eagerly as I think it over for a moment. Dad would have had Rico erased in a heartbeat. But I’m not trying to be my father. Enzo Bellanti I am not. Part of me is surprised Armani even made the suggestion.
Granted, we have an unspoken agreement whereby he has free rein to take care of select problems however he sees fit—but my brothers and I have been on the same page about keeping our family name clean ever since our father passed.
And as much as I want this Correa asshole out of our lives, I don’t want to cast any new shadows over our business or our family name.
Especially now that the winery is flourishing.
“No,” I tell him. “We’re staying clean. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
I see Armani’s shoulders relax as he lets out a breath. “All right. Agreed.”
Marco looks slightly disappointed but nods his agreement as well. Armani stands from his chair and excuses himself for the night. Marco finishes his coffee a few minutes later and heads to his room as well.
I’m left alone, brooding, my coffee now cold. Everything in my life is always so goddamned cold. Except for Frankie. She was warm and lively. She challenged me with her intelligence and her mulish stubbornness. A stubbornness I’d grown to grudgingly respect. And I wasn’t the only one, either.
Hell, she’d only worked in the tasting room for a short while, but I can tell that the staff miss her. Those genuine smiles I’d started seeing around on the Bellanti employees are long gone. It’s like a kind of light has gone out of my life. One I didn’t even realize had been there.
I push back from the table in disgust. What am I thinking? I want her back in my bed, that’s all. There are no finer feelings in the heart of Dante Bellanti, and there never will be. I can’t afford that luxury. Or that weakness.
As I stalk down the hall and make my way upstairs toward my rooms, I mull over the current issue with the Abbott vines.
We can’t afford to lose them. The Abbott-Bellanti chianti is already presold for a thousand bottles.
Not only that, but we did a big thing by combining the wineries.
Something like this hasn’t been done before around here, and it’s made quite a splash in the press.
Everyone is talking about it. There’s no way I can drop the ball now.
What would people think if they find out that my winery can’t make a claim on a single Abbott grape?
My brothers and I have worked too hard to let a bunch of gossip stain the Bellanti Vineyards name.
Which is why I need to focus on business. Not my dick.
Taking out my phone, I pull up Frankie’s contact, but then hesitate with my thumb over her name.
It’s late. She’s probably in bed with her husband right now.
All that warmth going to someone else. All that passion, wasted on a lowlife like Rico.
Just thinking about it makes me cringe. A man like him doesn’t know what to do with a woman like her.
Pacing the room, I realize I should’ve pressed Armani a little more deeply about his plans for Rico.
I need to know what we’re up against, and what our options are.
Beyond Armani, we have an entire team of lawyers at our beck and call, but Rico knows he’s got us over a barrel.
I doubt he’d be interested in simply selling to us. Not for any reasonable price, that is.
But Frankie can be reasonable. I just don’t know that she will be…fuck.
I detest texting, but for reasons I am not willing to examine at the moment, I can’t quite stomach the thought of hearing her voice right now.
For the first time, I tap out a text to Frankie.
Meeting tomorrow morning. We need to settle this once and for all.
Then I hit send and power down my phone without waiting for a response. I know it’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep tonight—otherwise I’ll be checking for her reply every five minutes.
I take a hot shower and then climb into bed, telling myself I’ll deal with Frankie in the morning.