Chapter Two
Leonardo
A grunt escapes my lips as I reach my climax.
“Take off the condom and come on me,” she moans, rolling her ass against me as I do as she requests. The housekeeper before me turns, meeting my gaze as I spill my seed across her backside.
“Next time, I want you to release your hot, wet cum inside me,” she purrs. My skin crawls at her words. Hastily, I snatch my pants from where they lay flung across a shelf, pulling them up and fastening my belt. As I do, she leans in, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“That was so hot. When should we do this again?”
I grit my jaw in annoyance, biting down on my tongue to stop myself from lashing out at her. “This will not happen again, Lacy,” I grind out as I button my shirt.
“Why not?” Her annoying voice rings out again. She sounds genuinely shocked that I don’t want to have sex with her again.
A bitter voice in my head echoes my sentiments. This is why you shouldn’t mess around with your employees, idiot.
“Because you are fired,” I say casually, running a hand through my messy hair.
“What?” she chokes as I grab the file I came here for. “You can’t fire me, Leo,” she says, holding my hand as I try to leave. When I turn to glare at her, she stammers.
“I-I mean Don,” she corrects herself, but there is no need for that anymore.
The annoyance I tried so hard to push down flares up as I roughly snatch my hand from her grip. “I don’t have sex with my employees. It is wrong and improper,” I say in annoyance.
I don’t even know why I’m explaining myself to her. Maybe it is because my head is somewhere else. The green-eyed woman.
I have never seen her before, and even though I don’t exactly know all my workers, I can recognize when I have never seen a face before in my house. I should have asked who she was, or why she was wandering around my house. Instead, I continued to look at her as I took another woman against the wine shelf.
“Does this mean you want to keep having sex with me?”
The annoying voice of the girl I just fucked brings me back to the present. I look at her, and I feel sorry for her. The girl has no ounce of respect for herself. It’s appalling.
“Is that genuinely what you think will happen?” I ask, turning to face her.
When she doesn’t say anything immediately, I chuckle humorlessly.
“Let me guess, you think that whenever I have the steam to release, I’ll give you a booty call and you’ll come rushing, huh?”
The embarrassed flush on her face tells me that I am right. I scoff bitterly. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have done this in the first place.
I have always had a strict rule of not having sex with my workers. However, Lacy, or whatever her name is, has been making advances at me for almost a month now. When I came into the wine cellar, where I'd cleverly hidden my secret safe, to fetch a crucial file for a client, who do I find waiting for me? Lacy, stark naked, like some sort of bold apparition.
I was shocked to see a naked woman waiting for me when I came out of the inner room. She strutted towards me, swaying seductively. I decided to put the girl out of her misery and fuck her. I was getting tired of seeing her all day anyway.
I pull out a wad of cash from my pocket, tossing it toward her.
“That should compensate for any inconvenience,” I grunt.
She struggles between picking the money up, torn between dignity and greed, before hastily pulling on her dress. After she tugs her dress down to an appropriate length, she grabs the wad of cash and spares me one last look before she begins to walk out of the room.
As she makes to leave, I halt her with a commanding tone.
“And one more thing,” I add, ensuring she understands the gravity of discretion. “There should be no mention of this to anyone.”
I don’t threaten her because I don’t need to. Everyone knows what happens to people who disobey me. She nods before scampering out of the room.
With the image of the captivating green-eyed woman still in mind, I opt to also grab a limited-edition bottle of wine, before finally exiting the room. My office is located on the second floor of the left wing of the house. The only way to get to my office is through the library, and at the end of the hallway is the library’s back door.
Upon entering the library, I make a beeline for the private elevator nestled in the dimly lit expanse. It whisks me directly to the floor housing my office. Returning to my workspace, I find Giulio still sitting there.
“My apologies for the delay,” I offer as I settle behind my desk.
“No worries, boss,” Giulio responds, rubbing his hands together as I drop the file onto the desk.
“I've received word that the operation went smoothly,” I say.
Giulio nods affirmatively. “Clean as a whistle. No hitches.”
“And you're certain no one saw you…” I begin, but he shakes his head before I finish.
“You know me, boss. I always leave no trace,” Giulio affirms with a grin, flashing a hint of gold amidst his teeth.
He's right. Giulio is one of my trusted men and arguably one of the most adept gunmen in all of Sicily. That's precisely why I enlist his services for swift jobs.
“Good,” I grunt, pushing the brown file toward him. “This contains all the intel you'll need to go after The Gromov Mafia.”
The Gromov Mafia, a small yet notorious Russian gang, had crossed Giulio in a personal deal, disappearing with his goods. Fuming with anger and seeking revenge, he sought me out for more information on them. In exchange for my help, he offered to take care of someone who had been quite a bother to me, someone I preferred not to handle myself to keep my hands clean.
In this line of work, I've learned that you don't always have to be the one to get your hands dirty. When you have enough resources at your disposal, it's about leveraging them efficiently. It saves time, minimizes stress, and provides a solid alibi if things were to go south. But it also comes with a set of strict rules—no online transactions that could be traced back to you, strictly cash transactions, and absolutely no incriminating text messages. All communication happens either face-to-face or over burner phones.
Rules are the backbone of this chaotic business. When followed accurately, they serve to bring order to the chaos, keeping us one step ahead of trouble.
“And here's a bottle of the finest Sicilian wine for one of my finest men,” I add.
Giulio beams fully this time, showcasing his full set of gold teeth. “Thank you, boss. Always at your service,” he declares, accepting the bottle from me.
Once he departs, I sink back into my seat, the enigmatic green-eyed woman dominating my thoughts once more. I don’t know why I have been unable to stop thinking about her. Who is she, and what business did she have in the wine cellar?
Just as I reach for my desk phone to contact security, it rings. I answer, greeted by the brisk voice of my head maid.
“Good day, Don. Just a reminder about your meeting with the new chef,” she reminds me. Ah, I'd completely forgotten about that.
“I'll be down in two minutes. Wait for me in the living room,” I instruct before ending the call.
I step into the elevator, descend to the library, and proceed through the front door, emerging into the living room.
Nina rises from the sofa the moment she spies me. “Hello, Don. The chef awaits you in the adjoining room,” she announces, leading the way.
As we enter, a woman springs to her feet, her gaze locking with mine.
Green eyes.
She looks shocked to see me, while I ignore the thrill that travels up my spine at the sight of her flawless face under the bright light.
“Don, this is Lorena Romano, the new Chef,” Nina introduces.
Lorena. The green-eyed woman finally has a name.
“Lorena, this is Mr. Leonardo Vitale, the head of the Vitale household,” Nina continues.
Lorena blinks in response to the introduction. Undoubtedly struggling to come to terms with the fact that she just saw her new boss having sex with one of the workers in the house.
My irritation simmers, threatening to boil over. I'm poised to speak when Lorena finds her voice. “It is an honor to meet you, sir,” she says, dipping her head.
Either she’s trying to be polite or looking into my eyes reminds her of what she saw a few moments ago, I can't say. But I'd wager it's the latter.
“You are to refer to me as Don,” I say, my voice thicker than usual.
“Yes, Don,” she says, her head still bent low.
Clasping my hands into fists, I try to contain myself. There's a subtle, alluring rasp to her voice that stirs something within me. She’s making me hot and bothered, even without trying.
“You don't interrupt me until I'm finished speaking,” I snap sharply. She appears as though she wants to interject, but instead, she presses her lips together.
“It's rude to stare at your feet while I'm addressing you,” I reiterate.
She lifts her gaze, meeting my eyes with a strength that surprises me. Her eyes are strong and unwavering. I have the sudden urge to break her resolve.
With my hands folded behind me, I begin to circle her slowly.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.” She looks younger. Maybe it’s because of her hair—blonde, long, and curly.
“You don't have an accent,” I observe, more a statement than a question. “You weren't born here.”
“No, I wasn't,” she responds coolly. “I moved here five years ago.”
“Where were you born?” I probe.
Something flickers in her eyes momentarily, but it vanishes as swiftly as it appears.
“California,” she answers.
“Why did you decide to move here, then?”
A faint smile graces her lips. “I've always been intrigued by the rich culture of the Italian people, particularly their cuisine. I came here for culinary school five years ago, and I decided to stay.”
She looks even more beautiful when she smiles. She also seems passionate and genuine. However, I don’t stop.
“And is this how you people dress in California?” I bite out, my eyes trailing over her plain, brown dress. “You look like you wait tables for a living.”
I hate the way I can see the outline of her soft curves through the dress. I hate the way my eyes undress her, and the way my mind wonders what she would look like without the dress.
“This is a simple, practical dress for a chef,” she says, her voice still carrying the same cool rasp do it.
Beside me, Nina inhales sharply, reminding me of her presence in the room.
“You can be simple without appearing destitute,” I say simply, intentionally keeping the bite out of my tone.
“I mean, the housemaids here are better dressed than you. Ordinarily, I wouldn't concern myself with my staff's attire, but I have stringent standards to uphold. I won't tolerate any semblance of sloppiness in my presence.”
She tries so hard to keep her expression formal and unbothered, but I know my words have their intended effect on her.
“I will keep that in mind,” she says, her voice low.
“It makes no difference whether you do or not. You're just a chef, after all. You'll wear the apron provided and confine yourself to the kitchen, out of sight,” I declare before storming out of the room and returning to my office.
My shirt suddenly feels suffocating and tight. I undo the first two buttons before relaxing in my seat. I attempt to focus on work, but I'm unable to shake the disquieting presence of Lorena somewhere under the same roof.
I dial my second-in-command, Vito.
“Boss,” he drawls as he answers the call. “To what do I owe this impromptu call?”
“I need you to conduct a thorough background check on my new chef,” I instruct.
“Chef?” Vito chuckles. “Don’t you have a very strict hiring process? Your tech guy must have done some checks on the person before they were hired.”
I rub my eyebrows in annoyance.
“I’m not talking about a normal check, Vito,” I bite out. “There’s something about her. I can’t put my finger on it. I need you to investigate whether she has any ties to the mafia.”
“Consider it done, boss,” Vito assures me before I end the call.
Throughout the remainder of the day, I attempt to distract myself with various tasks. Yet it’s still useless because, no matter what I do, I can’t get the green-eyed woman out of my head. I'll be keeping a close eye on her from now on. In this world, you can't be too careful.