Chapter Four
Leonardo
I cannot believe the guts of this girl. In my entire life, no one has dared to speak to me the way she just did.
My men respect and fear me, my staff tremble at my command, and my enemies quiver at the mere mention of my name. Yet, at this moment, as I loom over her, anger isn't the only sensation coursing through me. Instead, I feel myself getting harder.
I have never stood this close to Lorena before. Now that I am, I notice the delicate details of her face—the light dusting of freckles on her nose and how long her lashes truly are. Her faint vanilla scent wafts into my nostrils, mixed with the savory aroma of spices, intoxicating me.
Her breath catches as I advance, a primal urge awakening within me. I want to possess her, and it's anything but innocent.
Snap out of it , a voice growls inside my head.
“I asked you to repeat what you said,” I say in a low drawl. “Cat got your tongue?”
She remains silent, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. From my vantage point, I glimpse the outline of her cleavage, the unfastened buttons on her dress tempting me. Blood rushes into my dick, and I grind my teeth at the visceral reaction.
My fingers itch to grasp her and show her who's in control. But I know if I touch her, I may not be able to stop. For a fleeting moment, I imagine her in one of my playrooms, over my lap, as I deliver a firm spanking to her ass cheeks.
“Don’t you ever fucking disrespect me again.” My tone is low and dangerous, and I see something flash in her eyes as she continues to stare at me.
Throughout our confrontation, she remains eerily quiet, and I can't decide if I prefer her silence or hate it. I hate the way she talks back at me, but I think I hate her silence more. Her body language makes it seem like she’s scared, with the way she cowers away from me. But the look in her eyes tells me otherwise. Her green eyes burn with rage and restraint, like she’s trying her best to keep her cool. Suddenly, I'm consumed with the desire to push her to her limits and see how long it takes for her to snap.
I swiftly grab my half-eaten plate and empty it over her head. She makes no sound or reaction. She just stands there, glaring at me with nothing but hate in her eyes. I watch as the remnants of food cascades over her, decorating her chef's cap and staining her pristine apron.
“Clean up the mess,” I bite out before storming out of the dining room.
The morning sun beats down as I step outside. Heading towards the garage, my Lamborghini truck emits a confirming beep as I unlock it. Sliding into the driver's seat, I ignite the engine. The truck purrs to life with a smooth, deep rumble.
Exiting the estate, it takes me about fifteen minutes to reach the main town. Our estate is located on the outskirts of town. I love the location because of its seclusion and security, but getting into the town's metropolis takes longer than it should. I don’t usually mind sometimes. Long drives have a calming effect on me.
But today it’s the opposite. Throughout my drive, all I think about is how Lorena smells, and how she could probably taste. I imagine what her body would feel like against mine. I wonder what it would feel like to be buried deep inside her, to have her writhing underneath me, and to have her cry out my name.
My tires make a loud screeching sound as I make a left turn, swerving the steering wheel way too hard than normal. The car behind me honks loudly, and I slow down a little. The driver of the car shoves the middle finger at me from his driver's window before he speeds past me. On a normal day, I would get his plate number, find him, and teach him a lesson.
On a normal day, you wouldn’t let thoughts about a woman almost cause an accident, either , my inner voice mocks.
After what seems like hours, I finally arrive at Cafe Bellini. My Lamborghini looks out of place as I park it in between two small Sedans. Coming down from the car, I slip a pair of dark shades over my eyes before stepping into the small building.
All eyes turn towards me as I step into the cafe. I’m used to the attention, even though I hate it. Contrary to what most people think, I hate being in the spotlight. I love my privacy. That is why I don’t grace every TV interview I’m invited to. But even though I am a private person, my Vitale name precedes me. We are still known amongst Sicilians and even Italians as a whole. Ever since I took over the family business, my name has become more popular than ever before.
However, not many people recognize me in person. The attention I draw whenever I step into a room has everything to do with me being me. People are mostly intimidated and curious about the tall man in black suits and tattoos. They fear and respect me, even before realizing who I am.
And today, it doesn’t help that I am wearing all-black—including shades—in a breakfast cafe.
Josh, a familiar face, greets me as I approach the counter. “Good morning, sir,” he says, gesturing towards a door on the left. “He's inside.”
“Thanks,” I mutter before walking towards a door with the sign Employees Only .
Pushing it open, I enter the familiar hallway. The vibe here is different from the colorful and airy look of the cafe. The walls are painted grey, with brown doors lining the hallway. I get to the room I’m heading to and kick the door open, startling Giovanni.
“What the hell?” he yells angrily, his anger dissipating as he realizes it's me.
“Shouldn’t you be in your fancy little office signing documents and drinking dark coffee until you pass out of boredom?” he mocks, swirling in his revolving chair.
I chuckle deeply before grabbing one of the chairs in front of his desk.
“Hey. Shut my door!” he yells.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You seem to have forgotten who you’re talking to.”
“Oh, my bad. Please, boss, chief, Don, and Capo, could you close the door you just kicked open? It would be my honor,” he retorts sarcastically.
Ever since I took over as the CEO of my father’s companies and became the Don, my friends haven't stopped ribbing me about it. Working in an office has never been my thing, and they knew that. I was more inclined toward my mafia leader side. Unfortunately, to be the Don of the Sicilian Mafia, I also had to be the CEO of the companies that people thought we made our money from.
I make an effort to kick the door a little too harshly before taking the seat before him.
“See, wasn't so hard, was it? Next time, though, try to be gentle,” Giovanni quips.
I shake my head, regarding him fondly. Giovanni Lombardo is one of my closest friends. In fact, among my four best friends, he is the closest to me.
“How would your customers feel if they came in here and saw you smoking?” I ask as he blows a puff of smoke from his cigarette.
“They won’t feel anything, because no one comes in here. No one except you, apparently,” he says, taking another whiff. Running a hand through my hair, I suddenly crave a nicotine hit.
“So,” Gio drawls, “what brings you here? I know you didn’t come all the way here for chit-chat.”
I'm usually tight-lipped about my personal matters, but after driving out of the house earlier, I knew I didn't want to be stuck in my office, drowning in paperwork, and, as Gio jokingly puts it, drinking dark coffee without sugar until I pass out of boredom. Now that Gio's prodded, I spill the beans. I might keep things to myself, but lying to my friends? That's a no-go.
“I was fooling around with a housekeeper in my winery yesterday when someone walked in on us. She froze at the door for about ten seconds before bolting. Turns out, she's my new chef, and...”
“Hold on, hold on,” Gio interrupts, his laughter bubbling up. “You were fucking your housekeeper? I thought you had a strict ‘no fraternizing with employees’ policy?”
I grind my teeth in annoyance. “I fired her right after.”
“That’s brutal,” he hisses. “Anyway, your new chef saw you, so what? Since when have you become a prude?”
I suppress a groan, already second-guessing my decision to confide in him.
“It's different this time. She's not just insanely gorgeous; she's like the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and I haven't even seen her naked yet,” I admit, running a hand through my hair in frustration.
“Hmm,” Gio muses. “Go on.”
“When she was looking at me fucking another woman, yeah, that was so hot. I felt something, and I haven’t been able to act normal around her ever since.”
“I’ll agree, that sounds hot,” Gio agrees with a chuckle. “But women usually don't get under your skin like this...”
“Exactly,” I growl. “I don’t know what it is about this one. Ever since she arrived, I've been off my game. Mind you, she just moved in yesterday.”
“How off are we talking here?”
“Throwing tantrums,” I say. I feel embarrassed even saying it.
“What do you mean throwing tantrums?”
“I complained about things I never cared about before,” I grunt. “When Nina introduced us, I nitpicked her attire, for God's sake. Since when I care about how my employees dress?”
Gio leans forward on his desk, getting more interested in the story.
“And this morning, I complained about my orange juice being too sugary, and my cornetti being undercooked…”
“It doesn’t sound like tantrums to me. Isn’t that something valid to be mad about?”
“I made it all up!” I exclaim. “The juice didn’t have any artificial sugar in it, I’m sure. And the cornetti was delicious.”
“So, you're trying to provoke her?” Even though Gio can be annoying when he wants to, he just gets me.
“Yup. When I was yelling at her, a part of me wanted her to snap back at me, or cry, or just show any reaction!”
Gio's shoulders shake with laughter, and I realize he's enjoying this. “Sounds to me like you are sexually frustrated, my friend,” Gio mocks. Sexual frustration? Me? Preposterous.
“I am not sexually frustrated,” I growl.
“The fact you're here because of this woman says otherwise. But hey, it happens to the best of us,” he says, flashing a knowing grin.
I can’t help but chuckle. Giovanni and his antics.
Calling Giovanni a man-whore would be putting things lightly. He likes to say he’s sexually liberated, but it’s much more than that. He's a self-proclaimed man of pleasure, indulging in all sorts of escapades. From hosting to participating in all kinds of sexual activities, orgies, threesomes, foursomes—you name it.
“Whatever, man,” I say in an attempt to change the topic.
Gio smirks. “I know just the thing you need.”
Before I can ask what, he beats me to it.
“You need to take that edge off by visiting Sinz Swing tonight. There are plenty of women, hotter and more accommodating than your chef, to help you unwind,” he suggests.
Sinz Swing is our go-to spot, a sanctuary where I let loose and have fun. An exclusive club that caters to every manner of taste. But today, as I consider it, I know deep down that no other woman would be able to satisfy this newfound urge that I have.