Chapter 28
KARINA
Dinner in Sicily is nothing like dinner at an Italian restaurant in Napa.
Marco and I are sitting in the candlelit courtyard of an old stucco building with a red tile roof, the cobblestones under our feet worn smooth over the centuries.
A stone fountain burbles nearby, obscuring the murmur of conversations, and fragrant flowering vines arch over our heads.
Our table is small enough that our knees touch underneath, adding to the intimacy.
“I think this is the most romantic place I’ve ever been,” I tell him dreamily.
With a smile, Marco drops a hand under the table and smooths it over my knee, up my skirt, then wedges it between my thighs.
Arching a brow, I cross my legs tightly, trapping his hand. “It’s too early for dessert, Mr. Bellanti.”
He leans across the table to kiss my cheek, lingering so his lips brush my ear. “That doesn’t mean I can’t have a little taste.”
At his words, I feel my core tighten with instant lust. I relax my thighs just enough to give him the space he needs to stroke me through my underwear. As his strong fingers start to move in delicious little circles over my clit, I bite my lip and look him in the eye.
“Maybe we should get our food to go,” I say, my voice husky.
My husband just laughs. “I’d love to. But I want you to enjoy this place. It’s supposed to be the best non-tourist restaurant in Palermo,” he says, gesturing to our picturesque surroundings. “Plus, it’s your first trip to Italy. You gotta soak it all in.”
I stick out my lower lip in a pout, but I know he’s right. The past week has gone by in a blur, and it’s our final night in Palermo. I’m trying to get better at holding on to the memories as we make them.
We’ve strolled white sand beaches and splashed in their crystalline waters, eaten gelato under the palm trees outside the Royal Palace, toured the opera house, visited the archaeological museum and seen all the Etruscan urns, the painted Greek pottery, the bronze and marble statues.
We’ve shopped at the loud, colorful street markets to load up on oranges, pomegranates, capers, and olives, plus cheeses and bread and arancini and cannoli for an afternoon picnic.
It’s been a whirlwind, but a good one.
And despite the marathon sightseeing, we’ve still had plenty of time for sex.
Lots of it. I didn’t realize our lovemaking could get any better, but now that we’re both finally able to relax and go about our days without looking over our shoulders, we’re connecting on a whole new level.
We laugh more, talk more, bond more. We enjoy each other more.
Our problems are behind us, and with no baggage to get in the way, we’ve leveled up. We’re closer than ever.
“How’s the menu looking?” Marco asks, refilling my water glass from the carafe on the table. “Or did you fill up on bread and olives already?”
“Hmm…” I study the Italian words detailing the nuances of each dish, grateful that I grew up in a bilingual household.
This trip has been a breeze for me in terms of interacting with the locals and making sure that Marco and I eat well no matter where we go.
“Pasta with pistachios, of course. We’ve tried it every place we’ve gone, so we need to see how it is here. ”
“Naturally,” he says with a smile.
“Ooh, and the caviar bruschetta. And gnocchi sounds good, doesn’t it? With sausage and cream sauce. Divine. Maybe the tuna steak as well, to help balance all the carbs…”
“That’s my little foodie,” Marco teases.
I order for us when the waiter comes by, and after Marco tells him that we’re stepping out for a few minutes (which is news to me), he gets up and reaches out a hand.
“Where are we going?” I ask suspiciously.
“Outside.”
“But…we just ordered.”
“We won’t be gone for long. Come on.”
Giving in to my curiosity, I take his hand. He leads me out of the courtyard and down the street. Lamp posts spill warm light as we stroll to the corner, coming upon a quaint town square where a marble fountain held up by cherubs splashes water into an octagonal central pool.
“This is lovely,” I murmur. “The angels are so detailed. Look, their faces are all different. And those look like sea serpents under there. Or are they dragons?”
Marco and I get closer, and I see the bottom of the fountain glittering with coins from all around the world. Digging around in the bottom of my mini crossbody bag, I find a Euro coin and toss it in. Then I give Marco a long, slow kiss.
After we separate, he asks, “Did you wish for something good?”
“Don’t need to,” I tell him. “I already have everything I could wish for.”
He kisses the top of my head. “There are more good things to come. I promise.”
On our way back to the restaurant, we stop at a few different street vendors to buy small bags of pistachios, coral and lava bead jewelry, and some painted ceramic items. By the time we sit down at our table again, we have four small bags between us.
The waiter appears almost immediately with our food, then returns to pour our wine and ask if we need anything else. Once he’s gone, Marco lifts his wineglass to me in a toast.
“Amore mio,” he says. “To us.”
“To us,” I repeat, sipping my wine slowly. It’s a red, a very good one. I never used to know the difference, but living at the Bellanti estate has made me a wine snob.
Under the table, Marco’s hand finds my knee again. He smiles devilishly at me as he hooks his fingers around the crotch of my underwear and tugs lightly.
“Marco,” I whisper. “Behave.”
“I am.”
Still holding on to my panties, he uses his knuckles to stroke my wet slit, up and down, up and down, sending a shiver of desire down my spine.
Huffing out a breath, I take a shallow drink of wine and attempt to ignore him.
But my hand trembles as his fingertips glide up over my clit and then back down, pulsing at my opening.
“Open your legs wider,” he croons in my ear.
“Someone will see,” I protest weakly.
He looks pointedly at the linen tablecloth covering my entire lower half. No one is going to see a thing unless they’re hiding under our table. Tapping his finger against my clit, knowing he’s driving me mad, he nibbles on my earlobe. My entire body lights up.
I narrow my eyes at him. Two can play this game.
Spreading my legs first to distract him, I drag my nails up his inner thigh, slow enough to give him goosebumps.
His brows arch as I go straight for the kill and palm his cock.
As expected, Marco is rock hard under his jeans, his cock bulging against the zipper as if begging to be let out.
“Now you’re playing dirty,” he says, his voice taut with desire.
I love that I have that effect on him.
Giving him a firm squeeze, I point out, “You started it.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to finish it as soon as we get back to the hotel.”
Picking up my fork, I hunt for a thick piece of sausage and then bring it up to my lips, running my tongue around it in a slow circle while he watches.
“Promises, promises,” I say.
Wrapping my mouth around the sausage as sensually as I can without making myself laugh, I slide it off the fork and then chew with a grin.
He takes it as a challenge, of course, and slides his finger almost all the way inside me, taking my breath away.
I’m gripping my fork hard as he pumps in and out, the friction so good I almost moan out loud.
Instead, I grab the side of the table with my free hand and clear my throat.
“Maybe we should stop before we get arrested for public indecency.”
I say this while I have his dick literally in the palm of my hand. Marco thrusts lightly into my hand as if reminding me that I’m still playing along, too.
“I’ll let go when you do,” he says. “Or else you can sit back and let me do this—”
He fingers me again and I’m instantly gasping for air.
The waiter starts to make his way toward us, but then bypasses our table with a hint of a grin. Oh, God. He saw.
I pull my hand out of Marco’s lap reluctantly. “I think we just scandalized our waiter.”
Marco just laughs. “He probably liked it.”
We return to our food, but the sexual tension is so high that it takes a few sips of wine before my blood cools and I’m finally feeling more in control.
Meanwhile, Marco sits with his leg pressed against mine, telling me all about Catania, our next stop.
He’s excited to take me to see Mt. Etna, an active volcano, and the village of Taormina.
“If you want we can do snorkeling, paragliding, and of course we’ll rent a boat…”
“Let’s just do it all,” I say. His enthusiasm is contagious.
God, this is so amazing.
I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation that was just about us and our calendar and not about some new threat or drama going down. I listen and nod along, chiming in when I’m not stuffing myself with gnocchi that’s so good it almost brings a tear to my eye.
But even as I laugh and eat and ask questions about paragliding, I still burn for Marco through the entire meal. The fire he started is impossible to put out, and being so close to him only makes my want stronger.
“Il conto, per favore!” I call out when I see our waiter pass by.
In Italy, they won’t bring you the check unless you ask for it. And I’m more than ready to race back to the hotel room and pick up where Marco and I left off.
Once the check gets dropped off, I pounce on it and insist that Marco let me pay, even though it’s technically his credit card that’s in my wallet.
“I have to go back inside to visit the ladies’ room anyway,” I tell him, rising from my chair. “When I get back, we should—” Leaning down, I whisper the rest in his ear.
He grins. “I like that idea very much, Signora Bellanti.”
I’m just turning to head inside when a shadow abruptly blocks my path. I see Marco bristle from the corner of my eye. My brain is slow to register the person in front of me, but the cruel gaze of the man staring down at me clears my confusion instantly.
Uncle Sergio is standing in front of me.
How the fuck—
“Karina, my favorite niece! What luck, running into you here,” he says smugly.
He spreads his arms as if I’m going to walk into them for a reunion hug, but I’m frozen to the spot, my dinner threatening to come back up. When I don’t move, he leans in to wrap me in his arms. I brace myself on instinct, choking on his cologne, waiting for a knife in my back.
Marco bursts from his seat. Uncle Sergio ignores him.
“Are you here to celebrate your honeymoon, finally?” He pulls back, hands gripping my hunched shoulders as he looks me over. “I never congratulated you on your wedding. Colpa mia. Congratulations!”
“What are you doing here, Bruno?”
My uncle’s hands fall away as my husband maneuvers himself between us. Uncle Sergio’s expression goes dark, but he quickly recovers.
“I’m on holiday,” he tells Marco. “Some of my old associates invited me for a visit.”
With a grunt, Marco says, “So you’ve been summoned by the higher-ups to answer for what went down in Napa. They want to know how you lost your hold there. You gonna beg for your life, or go down shooting instead?”
There’s that dark expression again. Uncle Sergio spreads his hands. “Ideally, neither. I plan to strike a bargain of my own. But I’m pleased to have run into you both, and I wish you many blessings for a long and happy life together.”
“I wish you meant that,” I say coldly.
My uncle never drops his smile. “Our treaty has changed things, Karina. And Marco—you’re a free man now. Enjoy it.”
He offers Marco his hand, and to my absolute shock, Marco doesn’t hesitate before he takes it for a firm shake. I can barely believe what I’m seeing. Is this really happening right now?
Uncle Sergio pulls me in for another hug and pats me on the back while he whispers in my ear, “Your husband is a fool if he thinks this war ended with the Bruno clan. There are men higher up than me. This isn’t over.”
I can’t tell if it’s a well-intentioned warning or just a threat. Before I can ask what the hell he means, he gives Marco a heavy clap on the shoulder and then leaves without another word.
My knees are trembling. I collapse back into my chair and shakily explain to Marco what my uncle just said. But my husband only shrugs, as if it’s no big deal.
“How can you be so nonchalant about this?” I ask, panicked. “Shouldn’t we be afraid?”
“Karina.” He sighs and gives my shoulders a gentle squeeze. “You’ve seen what my family is capable of. You know what we can do. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t know. It didn’t sound like an empty threat.”
Marco crouches in front of me, looking into my eyes. “Bellantis protect their own, amore mio. You’re mine, for always, and I swear on my life, I will never let anything happen to you.”
My body is on fire again.
“Then you’d better take me back to the hotel and prove it to me,” I say.
His gaze intensifies. He wants me just as badly as I want him, and he’s using all his willpower to keep himself from bending me over the table, pulling my skirt down, and taking me right here and now. I can see it in his eyes. But he behaves himself, of course. As he should.
Pulling me to my feet, he tucks an arm around my waist and leads me away from the table like a civilized man.
Yet all I can think of the entire time we’re paying, waiting for a taxi, and driving back to the hotel is how delectably uncivilized and perfectly alpha he’s going to be the second I get him into bed.
I can hardly wait.