Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Valentina
S itting next to Luca in the car was torture. Smelling his fancy cologne, watching his strong and capable hand work the gear shift . . . Everything about this man was sexy. Even the way he scowled at the other drivers was incredibly hot.
I was in big trouble. Not only was he dangerous and a criminal, he had this weird ability to rob me of my free will.
The reasons for that would need to be examined later when I was alone. For now I would just enjoy whatever the day brought. Luca said he wanted to spoil me and I was ready for spoiling. I couldn’t remember when I last took any extended time away from the restaurant. My mother’s funeral, maybe? And I hadn’t been to the city since sophomore year of high school, when we took a class trip to Lincoln Center. It was right before my mother’s diagnosis, before we knew how sick she was.
Right before everything changed.
Once we were through the tunnel, Luca navigated the streets with ease, almost as if he were a New Yorker. He waited impatiently for pedestrians and dodged taxi cabs. Finally, we eased into a parking garage. The daily price made my head spin, but Luca didn’t blink as he turned over the car’s fob. Then he took my hand and led me onto the sidewalk. “How do you know where you’re going?” I asked, trying to keep up with his long legs.
“It isn’t difficult. Most of Manhattan is a grid—north, south, east, west.”
“How many times have you been here?”
“Twice.”
That was as many times as I’d been here, and I wasn’t nearly as familiar with the streets.
We passed an old building with people milling about out front taking photos. A red canopy hung over the door and a black carpet spread out on the ground. Luca continued past the entrance, though. “Was that it?”
“We’re going in a different way.”
Oh. Was he trying to avoid the crowd? He led me to a steel door farther up the block, where he pressed a buzzer. When the door opened Luca gave his name and we were admitted into a long hallway.
“Stairs are at the end of the hall. Go right and you’ll see them. At the top, go left.” the security guard said.
We followed his instructions and soon found ourselves backstage. There was no way it was anything else, with the number of people rushing about, hair and makeup chairs, and half-naked gorgeous men. I’d expected female models, but clearly the show was for menswear.
Hooray for me.
“I think I’m going to like this show,” I said to Luca with a wide grin.
He wrapped his arm around my waist. “I thought you might. Try not to drool, bambina.”
There was so much activity, it reminded me of the kitchen during the dinner rush. Controlled chaos was what my mother always called it. Everyone was busy, focused on their responsibilities yet working as a team, and I found it soothing in a way.
“Ah, there they are,” Luca said, looking above the crowd. “Come with me.”
Luca took my hand and led me through the chairs and racks of clothing. We finally arrived at an area with more space, where a gorgeous woman was adjusting a pair of trousers. The wearer of said trousers, a beautiful male model with caramel skin and lean muscles, stood perfectly still while the woman worked, and I noticed another man lounging in a chair nearby. He was also handsome, a bit older, and power radiated off him in waves. No one spoke to him and he watched the woman fiddling with the pants with an intense concentration that bordered on creepy.
This had to be the other don.
He wasn’t what I expected, but then I hadn’t thought Luca was a don either. These two could’ve passed for wealthy businessmen, not international criminals.
Luca edged around the woman and the model, walking directly toward the man in the chair. At our approach, the don glanced over, his eyes wary and sharp. He looked at Luca carefully, then gave me a quick once over.
“D’Agostino,” Luca said in a friendly but soft tone. “Come stai?”
D’Agostino stood, expression unchanging, and the two men shook hands. Then Luca placed his hand on the small of my back. “Signore D’Agostino, this is Signorina Montella.”
When he went to shake my hand, I said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. D’Agostino.”
His grip was firm. “Signorina. Glad you could make it.” His voice was deep and thickly accented, the sounds slightly different than the way Luca spoke. A different dialect, which meant he wasn’t from where Luca lived.
“Hi.” The woman who’d been adjusting the pants joined us. She edged in between D’Agostino and Luca, her gaze locked on Luca’s face. “Who’s this, babe? ”
D’Agostino softened considerably, pulling the woman close to his side and kissing the top of her head. She was unbelievably gorgeous, tall and thin, with her makeup done to perfection. I was instantly jealous of her superior eye liner skills. She wore a low-cut, loose, patterned dress that was tighter on top and flowed around her legs, paired with a cool pair of low boots and funky jewelry on her wrists and around her neck. Her style was both elegant and edgy, and I couldn’t help but admire her.
“Gianna,” D’Agostino said. “This is Signore Benetti and Signorina Montella.”
Gianna continued to stare at Luca, then her smile dropped as she whirled toward D’Agostino. “You promised. Goddamn it, Enzo.”
I moved closer to Luca’s side, not sure what was happening. He ran his hand up and down my back, and I arched into his simple, soothing touch, seeking more. It was bizarre how my body responded to him.
D’Agostino bent and began whispering to Gianna. She pushed at his chest, interrupting him. “Stop. I don’t have time for this. We’ll discuss it later. Go away.” She returned to her model, bent down, and ignored us.
D’Agostino sighed and shook his head. “I am not leaving.”
Gianna said nothing, just continued to work on the trousers. Someone came over and told her of a problem with one of the jackets, and Gianna gave instructions to an assistant on what to do with the trousers. Then she stood up and darted off into the crowd.
“We’ll find our seats,” Luca said to D’Agostino, who was watching the spot where Gianna disappeared.
D’Agostino responded in Italian and Luca nodded. Then he led me away, following the signs marked for the stage. We went out into the main area, but I was surprised not to find a runway or stage. Instead chairs were lined up around the perimeter of the white room, with big black boxes scattered throughout the middle, sort of like a maze. Nearly all the seats were taken, with more people filtering in from the back, but Luca led me to a reserved section.
We sat and Luca draped his arm around the back of my chair and crossed his legs. I leaned into him, which I seemed to be doing a lot lately. I wasn’t sure why, but I’d think about it later. For now I just wanted to enjoy the day with this incredibly handsome man. “What did Mr. D’Agostino say in Italian before we left?”
“Nothing important.”
Which meant he didn’t want to tell me. “Was he pissed?”
“That is one way of putting it,” Luca drawled. “It’s nothing you should worry about.” He picked up my hand, kissed it, then brought it over to his thigh and curled our fingers together.
We fell into silence and I watched the crowd settle. There were several celebrities I recognized, a few actors and sports stars. I tried not to stare, but it was hard. Almost everyone in the room was incredibly good-looking. And the women my age seemed so together and sophisticated—not like they’d been dealing with plumbing problems earlier today.
If mom hadn’t died, maybe that could’ve been me. I might’ve gone away to school, traveled and become cultured, experienced the world. Instead, I was stuck in Paesano, running the family restaurant and trying to keep my head above water.
Luca put his lips near my ear. “What is it? Why do you keep looking at that group of young girls?”
They were around my age, but I didn’t bother correcting him. “No reason. Just curious.”
“Valentina, there is nothing wrong with staying home, close to family.”
“I know,” I snapped, annoyed that he’d read me so easily.
“Good.” He kissed my hand again. “And so we are clear, you are more beautiful than all of them put together.”
He was being very generous, but I took the compliment anyway. “Thank you.”
The entire room went dark and music filled the space. I sat straighter, eager to see what Gianna’s designs looked like. Lights flickered overhead, illuminating a pathway between the giant boxes on the floor. Models began appearing from backstage one after the other, their walk smooth and steady, and their flat, almost angry gazes focused straight ahead. The clothes were so cool, more androgynous than traditional men’s clothing. I would definitely wear some of the shirts and sweaters.
At the end Gianna emerged and everyone clapped wildly. She waved and smiled, following the models in a long train around the room once more. Then it was over and the house lights came up, and the crowd began talking and moving toward the exits. Luca didn’t stand. He kept hold of my hand and remained seated.
“Should we go?” I asked.
“No, we will wait here for a moment. What did you think of the show?”
“It was so good. She’s mad talented.”
He smiled at me in a strange way—soft and affectionate, yet also amused. He tucked my hair behind my ear. “Yes, I think so too.”
I shivered at his gentle touch. “You’re laughing at me.”
“No, I promise I’m not. I think you are adorable. And also mad sexy.” Then he lowered his head and gave me a deep kiss that was definitely not appropriate in public.
I couldn’t bring myself to complain, though.
When he pulled away I was dizzy and breathing hard. “Was that really necessary?”
“Of course. I want you ready for later tonight.”
My nipples tightened in my bra just thinking about it. Thanks to what happened in the car, I still wore no panties and if he kept kissing me like that, I was going to have problems. As it was, I could already feel sticky wetness on my thighs.
Luca’s phone buzzed. He read the screen, then typed something back quickly. Then he put his phone away and pulled me to my feet. “Come.”
I stood and straightened my dress. “Are we going backstage again?”
“No. We are going to dinner with them.”
We arrived first.
Luca held a chair out for me as we sat down. The restaurant was Italian, naturally, and smack in the middle of Mulberry Street’s Little Italy. The place was quaint and on the small side, not as touristy as the others we’d passed, and the staff spoke to Luca in Italian when we walked in, which he returned in kind. I struggled for classy nonchalance, but hearing him speak his own language was hotter than hell. No doubt my lust was written all over my face.
Needing a distraction, I looked around. I rarely ate out, especially at other Italian restaurants, so I took it all in. A white tablecloth covered the table, a small vase of flowers in the middle. Oil plates and wine glasses were already down, which Roberto hated. He maintained the less on the table to start, the better. I had to admit, the setting did feel cluttered.
The black and white photographs on the walls were reminiscent of my restaurant before the remodel. Roberto had insisted we find local Hudson Valley artists and use their art instead of the photographs. It had worked nicely to brighten the space and the artists were grateful for the exposure. These photographs were dark and dated.
The menu was an eight-page heavy book with plastic sheets. Exactly the menus Roberto had tossed in the trash his first day at Trattoria Rustica. He said simpler was better and Giovanni agreed. The new menu would have limited choices, all fresh ingredients, and printed daily depending on what was in season.
I could see now what they meant, but this was what I knew. What I had grown up with. Cluttered tables, photographs, and plastic menus. The new restaurant was a big change from the old way. What if the valley wasn’t ready for it?
Luca ordered a bottle of wine from the server, gaining my attention. When we were alone I said, “Maybe I didn’t want wine.”
He reached over and placed a hand on my thigh. The warm weight of it was possessive and delicious, like he had the right to touch me. I didn’t hate it. At all.
“You will like this wine,” he said. “It’s produced in Calabria by a man I know. Besides, we have already established that your taste in wine is terrible.”
“No, you’re just a wine snob.”
Luca moved closer, his lips near my ear as he said huskily, “Are you even old enough to drink wine, piccolina?”
“Barely.” I grabbed his dark blue tie and turned to face him. “Does that make you feel like a dirty old man?”
He hummed in the back of his throat, then angled his head to meld his lips with mine. When he parted my lips, I opened for him eagerly, desperate to feel his tongue once more. I lost all sense of time and space when Luca kissed me, like my mind was a sieve, incapable of holding onto the simplest thought.
“I see the party has already started.”
The dry female voice startled me and I broke off, letting go of Luca’s tie. Gianna and D’Agostino had arrived. We said hello and the mob boss settled the designer in the seat next to me. As D’Agostino lowered himself into a chair, the hostess tried to hand him a menu, only to have D’Agostino sneer at it. He snapped something in Italian and the hostess scurried off.
Gianna bent toward me and whispered, “I force him to eat in Little Italy every time we’re in New York.” She snickered. “It makes him crazy. ”
“He doesn’t appreciate the reminders of home?”
“This is nothing like my home,” D’Agostino said. “It’s an affront to my country. And she does this merely to irritate me.”
Gianna shook out her napkin and placed it on her lap. “How can I resist? You make it so easy, il pazzo.”
D’Agostino picked up Gianna’s free hand and brought it to his mouth. I expected him to kiss her hand, but he bit her fingers instead. She just laughed and flipped open her menu. “What are we ordering? I’ m fucking starving.”
The server returned with the wine and presented the bottle to Luca. D’Agostino’s brows lowered menacingly and he said something in Italian to Luca. I didn’t understand it, but D’Agostino was not happy. Luca merely smiled and directed the server to pour for the table.
“Oh, good choice,” Gianna said. “I love the Ravazzani wines. It’s nice to support the family business.”
“Your family has a winery?” I asked her.
“My sister’s husband.” Then she asked the server to bring an Italian beer for D’Agostino. “Enzo would rather die of thirst than drink this wine,” she explained to me.
“Your show was amazing,” I blurted when the server left. “I know nothing about fashion, but I loved every piece.”
“Aw, thank you. That is nice of you to say.” Gianna smiled wistfully, her eyes a bit sad. “It’s always a letdown when the show is over, like I’m letting go of my little babies. Meanwhile, I’m already designing three shows ahead. The fun never stops.”
“Yet you’re doing very well,” Luca said. “I saw you were picked up by several stores recently.”
“Yes, and I’ve been asked by a European chain to design some pieces. So I’m definitely busy.” She picked up her wine and regarded Luca. “I’m sorry I was so rude before, Mr. Benetti. But I have a clear No Work policy when it comes to Fashion Week, which Enzo is more than aware of.”
“Mi dispiace, signorina,” Luca said, hand on his heart like he was making a pledge. “If this were not an urgent matter, I never would’ve intruded.”
“How did you know?” I couldn’t help but ask her. “We could’ve been at the show for a totally different reason.”
Gianna rolled her eyes. “Girl, when you grow up in the life, you learn how to spot these guys a mile away.”
“And yet,” Enzo said smoothly, leaning over to kiss her temple. “You did not spot me, micina.”
Gianna’s olive skin flushed as she pushed Enzo back to his side of the table. “I’m still mad at you. Go away.” Enzo smirked and sat back, his hand resting on Gianna’s forearm on the tablecloth.
The server returned and I couldn’t help myself. I had to order chicken parmigiana to see if it was better than mine. Luca asked the server a bunch of questions about the fish—where it had been caught, how long ago, was it ever frozen? He then ordered a pasta dish, apparently not liking the news regarding the fish. I couldn’t blame him. Getting decent fish was tricky in the restaurant business.
Enzo and Gianna ordered, then we were alone again.
“So, what’s your story?” Gianna angled toward me. “Let me guess? You’re a student at NYU and you met this one—” she gestured to Luca “—in a coffee shop while you were doing homework.”
“Not even close. I own a restaurant in the Hudson Valley. It’s been in my family forever. Luca came in to eat one night.” I shrugged. “That’s pretty much it.”
“You own a restaurant? Damn, I wouldn’t have guessed it. Is it Italian?” She blew out a breath. “What am I saying? Of course it’s Italian.”
I laughed. “Yes, it’s Italian. Best chicken parm in the state.”
“Which is not Italian,” Luca muttered under his breath.
I considered kicking him under the table. “Stop. Our Italian-American culture has become something that is ours, not yours. I’m sorry if that offends you, but take it up with the millions of immigrants who moved to this country in the 19 th and 20 th centuries.”
Gianna began chuckling. “Oh, I like her. I have to remember that the next time I get a craving for spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Also not Italian,” I mimicked in a deep Italian-accented voice.
Gianna laughed loudly and even Enzo cracked a smile. Luca didn’t smile, but the warmth in his eyes wrapped around me like a soft blanket. I tried not to blush under his attention and wished that I could kiss him again.
The conversation flowed easily from there. I learned that Gianna was from Toronto, but split her time between Naples and New York. She had a sister who lived in Sicily and another in Siderno, and a pack of nieces and nephews. And there was now a large diamond ring and wedding band on her ring finger, which I hadn’t noticed before.
“Were you wearing your rings earlier? I feel like I would have noticed them.”
She wiggled her fingers, admiring the giant stone. “No, I never wear them when I’m working. The stone gets caught on the fabric.”
“It’s absolutely gorgeous. But aren’t you worried you’ll, I don’t know, lose them or something?” I kept all my mom’s jewelry in a safety deposit box at the bank. My house was way too messy and I was never home to organize it.
Gianna shrugged. “If I did, I’d make him buy me another one, I guess. I never really worry about it.”
Oh. Wow, I felt stupid. Of course she wouldn’t worry. A man like Enzo could no doubt afford a hundred diamonds just like that one. This was a woman who definitely didn’t buy her clothes from social media ads or live off ramen so she could afford to pay her staff during a lean week. She was gorgeous and stylish and rich—the complete opposite of me. What the hell was I even doing here?
Our food arrived, thank god, so at least I could focus on chicken parm instead of me. The portion was decent, though I could’ve used a bit more melted cheese on top. I tasted the sauce first. It was good, but a little sweet. I cut up a bit of chicken and ate it. It was the right thickness, but the breading was a tad soggy. My next bite I put all the components together and it wasn’t bad. Nowhere near as good as my grandfather’s recipe, though.
“Allora, Valentina,” Luca said, gesturing to my plate. “What is the verdict?”
I realized everyone was watching me and I tried for a careless shrug I definitely didn’t feel. “Nice. I wouldn’t order it again, but it’s not terrible. Mine is better.”
That made Gianna and Luca laugh, then Luca forked up a bite of pasta and held it up to me. “Try this.”
I opened my mouth and eased forward, scraping the tines with my teeth. Heat and spices exploded on my tongue. “Wow, that’s really good.”
“Of course it is.”
“Not as good as the pasta dish you make, though.”
Gianna set down her wine glass with a thud. “Wait a minute. Luca cooks? ” She glanced over at D’Agostino. “Wow. You better step up your game, marito.”
“My game ,” D’Agostino replied smugly, “seemed to satisfy you enough on the ride down.”
Gianna laughed, then leaned over to kiss his cheek. These two were adorable, in a weird enemies-to-lovers kind of way. They probably fought all the time, but made up just as passionately.
I gave all my attention to my dinner. Gianna did the same, which made sense after the rings conversation. She probably thought I was a small-town bumpkin with no business on the arm of a man like Luca. The opinion wasn’t altogether wrong, either.
When I couldn’t eat any more, I decided to escape to the ladies’ room. I scooted my chair back. “Excuse me.”
Luca, because he was classy and older, also stood and helped me out of my chair. “Everything all right?”
“Yes. I just need to visit the ladies’ room.”
“Oh, good idea.” Gianna eased out of her chair, as well. “I’ll come with.”
I couldn’t very well refuse, so I started toward the back of the restaurant. I found the ladies’ room and went inside, then held the door for Gianna. We both used the toilet, flushed, and came out to wash our hands. Then she leaned against one of the sinks. “Okay, spill.”
“About what?”
“You and Luca. I need details. How long have you been together?”
I paused, paper towel in my hand. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to tell anyone the truth, but Luca hadn’t told me to lie, either. Besides, my lying skills were terrible. If Luca didn’t like it, too bad. “ We’re not together. It’s true what I said. He came into the restaurant to eat a few nights ago. I’ve seen him a few times, but it’s not serious.”
Gianna’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. “Please. That kiss when we first walked in? That was a we-are-very-serious type kiss.”
Heat crawled across the back of my neck. “Still, it’s true. He brought me today to pose as his girlfriend so you wouldn’t think this was business. He said I was his manten-something.”
“Mantenuta?”
“Yes, that.”
She blew out a breath and leaned in like we were having a heart-to-heart. “Valentina. Honey. Mantenuta does not mean girlfriend. It means mistress. Kept woman, specifically.” She shook her head. “Girl, you’ve been mafiosoed.”
I blinked a few times, my brain scrambling to catch up. This was the second time the word mistress had popped out of Luca’s mouth. “Mafiosoed? What does that mean?”
Lipstick in hand, Gianna angled to the mirror, our eyes meeting in the reflection. “These men, these mafiosos. They are crafty sons of bitches. They’ll lie to get what they want from you. You have to keep on your toes with them—or next thing you know you’ll find yourself kidnapped and trapped on a yacht with one. Don’t believe a goddamn word he says.”
All of this hit way too close to home. Luca’s lies and evasions, the fact that he’d dragged me out of the restaurant this morning with no notice whatsoever. Gianna was right—I did need to be careful. No matter how many orgasms Luca gave me, he was a dangerous man.
Exactly like my father.
“Oh, shit.” Gianna capped her lipstick and whirled to grab my shoulders. “I can tell you’re spiraling. I’m sorry if I’ve scared you. My sisters always say I’m too blunt.”
“No, I’m glad you told me. I needed to hear this.”
She let me go but didn’t move away. “Look, you seem like a sweet girl. And I get it. Men like this? They fuck like gods. Charisma off the fucking charts. Believe me, I tried to resist, but that crazy, sexy man out there pulled me in and didn’t let go. So if you want Luca, then sleep with him. Be a mantenuta or not. But do it with your eyes wide open. Have it be on your terms instead of his, you know?”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Good. Now, you are slaying in that dress, girl. Where did you buy it from?”
No way was I telling this fashion designer where I found this dress. “Oh, it’s nowhere fancy.” Undeterred, Gianna wiggled her fingers at me, ordering me to give up my source, so I said, “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”
“Doubtful. I’ve shopped everywhere. Thrift stores, department stores, warehouse clubs. I once pulled a jacket out of a trash bin in Barcelona. Tell me.”
“A social media app,” I whispered the words like they were dirty. “You know, they show those ads and?—”
She was already unlocking her phone. “Oh my god, yes. Which one was it?”