Chapter 8
Sebastian
Whoever said children are a blessing might rethink that statement if they had to pretend to be Mia’s father. This is not the ideal situation. It’s not something I would have suggested if there was any other option. Unfortunately, there’s not.
That leg-cross thing she just did has my dick hardening in the worst of ways.
Fuck. She’s been staring at me nonstop.
Is she picturing what I could do to that tight little body of hers?
Is she imagining all the wicked things I could do with my tongue?
I need to stop these rampant thoughts. I can’t ever let it go there with Mia. Mainly because she’s my best friend’s daughter, and now for the next few days, I have to pretend she’s my daughter.
Daughter.
“Ready?” I ask when we pull up to the airport.
“As I’ll ever be,” she says, getting out of the car.
I toss some bills to the cabbie and grab our suitcases from the trunk.
Getting out of Shanghai will be a cinch. It’s Italy I’m worried about. Everyone knows everyone. And worse, they talk.
Pretending to be Donovan Sabatini will be a lot harder than it looks. We talked him up and gave him a whole backstory. Sabatini is a boss. He runs an outfit in Sicily.
We made him ruthless, and people will expect me to be a man who doesn’t take shit from anyone. Not that I do, but what’s happening with the Four Families is screwing with my head. I know once I step foot in Italy, I’ll have a target on my back. I’m just hoping I can find Oliver and get the info I need and get out undetected.
Inside the airport, Mia sticks close to my side. We pass a souvenir shop and I stop. “I want to see if they have something here.”
Mia follows me into the store and lags while I scan the shelves.
“What are you looking for?”
“A gift for the Grotto family.”
“Why?”
“We shouldn’t show up empty-handed.”
Mia touches my arm, and I tense at the action. “No, you can’t bring a gift because you’re above all that. Remember you’re the one who should expect a gift from them .”
“You’re right.”
Mia smiles. “I usually am.”
I laugh. She’s cute. It’s refreshing being around someone like Mia. It’s like I want to know everything she’s thinking. I want to know what makes her tick as a person. This is unheard of for me.
I chalk it up to the situation. It has to be the situation of trying to clear my name, and the stress of someone trying to frame me that’s making me feel something for Mia.
I’m not sure what that feeling is, yet.
We move toward the terminal that will take us to Italy, and I keep my hand at the small of Mia’s back, guiding her through the crowd.
I keep my head low, wearing a blue ball cap and sunglasses even though we’re inside.
Mia’s got shades on too and a scarf that covers half her face. Like I said, I’m not too worried about anyone spotting us here in Shanghai, but you can’t be too careful. Especially with Nate possibly being the one who alerted someone to our presence in Shenzhen. Who knows who he’s got after us or what he’s getting in return.
We walk with speed, trying to get to the gate on time.
We’re boarded before we know it and I relax, breathing in deep.
“That was the simple part,” I tell Mia, leaning close to her ear.
She lets out a deep breath. “I hope we get everything cleared up soon.”
Against my better judgement, I rest a hand on her jean-clad knee. “We will.” I do this out of concern, hoping it will give her some sort of comfort.
Her troubled eyes meet mine when I remove my glasses. “I’m scared.”
“Don’t be.” I give her knee a little squeeze and her breath hitches. She closes her eyes.
I keep my hand there, not removing it for anything.
I keep it there while the passengers fill the plane.
I keep it there while the plane taxis down the runway.
I keep my hand on her knee as the plane lifts off.
“What are we going to do for twelve hours?” Mia whispers to me.
I have plenty of ideas, but how can I express them to her?
My eyebrow lifts. “What would you like to do?” Is it bad I hope she asks for something naughty? Does she want to join the mile-high club? Something that should never happen between us can be overlooked this high in the sky. Almost like we’re not on the ground, so anything goes up here.
“We could play cards?” she says. “Maybe the flight attendants have a deck.”
“Cards?” I was not expecting her to say that, but Mia’s not a one-night stand kind of girl. She’s sophistication and class. She’s more than just a pretty face. She’s better than me, that’s for sure.
And I definitely don’t want to do anything sexual with her when we have to pretend to be related soon.
The flight attendant approaches and I ask for a deck of cards. We play for about an hour and then Mia passes out, her head resting on my shoulder.
I’ve never had a woman rest their head on my shoulder before. This is the second time, and it keeps getting better. I can’t think straight when Mia touches me, so how am I going to pretend she’s my daughter? I’ll just try my best to stay away from her at the Grotto compound.
This is my life. My future. If I can’t clear my name, then I’ll be dead.
While she sleeps, I study the schematics of the Grotto complex in Italy just off the coast. The high-walled compound sits on a huge vineyard with a main eight-bedroom mansion and seven other houses on the grounds. I’m hoping they’ll put us in the guest house so we can have a slight reprieve from the pretend life.
The boss of the Grotto family is Mario Grotto. He’s older, with grandkids the same age as Mia, but he still has his hands in everything. Two sons and one daughter.
Trying to find Oliver, Mario’s eldest son, will be a hard feat. I need to make sure they don’t know that’s what I’m after. That I’m there to check on their operations in the city. That I’m just looking around.
Italy’s one of the most beautiful countries I’ve ever visited.
It’s lush lands, vineyards, and light breeze always makes me smile when I’m here.
The Grotto’s have a car waiting for us when we arrive. Show time. I’m sure they’ve had an eye on us since the very moment we landed here.
It’s nearly dinnertime when we pull onto the property.
“Wow, this is gorgeous, Daddy.”
Oh my God. Hearing her call me Daddy makes my skin crawl. And not in a good way.
I lean close to her ear. “Maybe you’re the type of daughter who calls me by my first name. I prefer Don.”
Mia breathes out. “Thank God. That felt so wrong.”
“I agree.”
“Lots of daughters call their fathers’ by their first names.”
Mia nods. “Maybe you can call me Gia? Because Gia is a nickname for Gianna and it’s close to my name.”
I smile. “Yes, I like it.”
The car pulls up to the main house just as the sun sets behind a mountain. It’s as if a famous artist has painted a picture of a small Italian vineyard, complete with a two-story mansion in the middle of it all.
Soft pinks and vibrant oranges decorate the sky as the sun says goodnight over Italy. There’s a small group of people waiting by the front door of the home, all smiling, waiting for us to exit the vehicle.
“Game faces on,” I whisper to Mia.
We step out of the vehicle, and I’m able to pick Mario out of the crowd instantly. His large frame demands attention. He’s got dark hair, and even darker eyes that hide what he’s thinking. I head in his direction, getting into the character of Don.
“So happy you’re here, Mr. Sabatini.” Elena Grotto, Mario’s wife, greets me. I’m assuming it’s her, due to the graying hair and his hand on her shoulder. It’s confirmed when Mario introduces himself and his wife to me.
We’re bombarded with introductions. His son, Bruno, an exact replica of his father, only taller, and his wife, Amelia. Lucia, his daughter, is petite with red hair and shakes my hand for far too long, and smiles at me even longer.
“This is my beautiful daughter, Gianna,” I say, freeing my hand from Lucia, “but she likes to be called Gia.”
Everyone embraces Mia, and they’re all so warm and inviting, it makes me relax a bit, which is never a good idea.
“This is my son, Enzo.” Bruno pushes his son toward Mia, and I know what he’s trying to do—he’s hoping Mia and his son, Enzo, hit it off.
Ha. Double fucking ha. I’ll never allow that to happen.
I’m about to roll my eyes when Elena ushers everyone inside her spacious home.
We file through the front of the house, into an entryway made from Mistretta stone with rustic tile floors. The architecture here is a bit different from the rest of the country, and has traces of Arabic heritage. As the property is on a hill, the view of the coast out the large glass windows is a sight to behold.
They lead us to an enormous dining room with high ceilings and a long table set with dinnerware and fresh flowers.
Yellow tiles hang from hooks to decorate the walls in fun patterns. It’s a charming home, and while they chatter, I glance at the selection of wine on the table, picking up one to inspect the family label on the bottle.
“We make everything here on site,” Mario says, stepping up behind me.
We’ve had this same label in my restaurant back in New York, but I pretend it’s new to me. “Can’t wait to try some.”
Mario chortles, slapping me on the shoulder. “I know that’s a joke. How could you never have tried our wine?”
Ok, so I’m a bad actor. I smile, trying my best to stay in character and fix my faux pas. “Yes, I’ve tried it. It’s smoky with hints of cherries and black currants. I always have a glass with my steak. I meant try it here, in Italy.”
Mario smiles, like I’ve given him the right answer on a test.
“Something smells delicious,” Mia says, thankfully, changing the subject.
“It’s pasta. You like pasta, right?” Elena asks Mia.
“Love it,” Mia says.
“I hope you enjoy my nona’s recipe. Sit, please.”
Elena directs everyone around the enormous table, and once we’re seated, she takes the hand of her husband and with her other she grabs Bruno’s.
“Let us give thanks,” she says.
We bow our heads as she says a brief prayer. Seems a bit brazen to give thanks for a bounty obtained with money from illegal activities but who am I to judge?
After the first course of antipasto, they serve the main dish, pasta con le sarde.
I have to say, I’m not a big fan of sardines, let alone anchovies, but this is delicious.
Conversation flows throughout dinner, and I decide the time is right to gather information.
“So, where’s your other son?” I ask Mario. “Oliver,” Mario grumbles out his name like it’s bitter on his tongue, “can’t be here.”
For now, I ask nothing else about Oliver because the glare Mario gives his food lets me know the subject is off the table.
I take another bite of pasta as Lucia turns a bit in her seat to face me. She’s eyefucked me throughout dinner. And by the way Lucia licks her lips each time I raise my wine glass, I know she’s after my goods.
However, my attention is across the table where Enzo chats up Mia. I try not to roll my eyes when Mia laughs at something he says.
My blood boils when he touches her hand.
“How long are you in town for, Don?” Lucia asks, leaning closer, nearly touching my right side.
Without looking at her, I grab a piece of bread and dip it into my pasta. “Few days.”
I try to act like I’m not phased by Enzo and Mia, but I seriously want to punch the fuck out of him.
Mario says to Lucia, “Don is here to check up on the family. I have a few things to show him.”
I position myself where my focus is on Mario and not Lucia. “Both your sons work with you?”
“Bruno is my main guy. He handles the day-to-day.”
“And your other son?” I’m trying my hardest to get this man to talk about Oliver.
Mario shares a look with his wife. “He isn’t in the family anymore. He does his own thing now.”
Shit.
“What about your wife and daughter?”
Mario smiles. “They take care of the house and bookkeeping. We have workers to run the vineyard.” Ah yes, the vineyard, the way we’re able to smuggle our shipments across the borders.
Georgio and I have been using the Grotto’s wine label for years. The Grotto’s get manufactured guns from China, and ship them to us in America through their ‘wine’ shipments so we can sell them. Now I have more riddles to solve.
Why is Nate really in China?
Is there something going on with the shipments?
Is this why the families think I’m stealing money off the top of each gun sale?
Is it really Oliver and Nate?
“Interesting.” It’s not interesting at all. The only thing I care about is Oliver and his whereabouts, but I can tell by the vibe I’m getting from Mario, the subject of Oliver is not up for discussion.
A foot rubs my ankle, and I stiffen in my chair. I turn my attention back onto Lucia and smile, moving my foot away from her wandering toes, but within seconds she finds my leg again.
“Wonderful meal,” I say to Elena, sitting up straight so I can get my leg away from Lucia once more.
Elena beams, warm and friendly, and passes me more bread. “I’ve put your daughter in the guest house with you. It’s a three-bedroom home. Is that ok? Or, would you like her placed elsewhere?”
“She can stay with me,” Enzo says, from across the table.
“She’ll stay in the house with me.” That’s not up for debate.
Enzo leans back in his seat. “Dude, I get it. The overprotective father vibe, got it.”
Enzo’s mother smacks him upside the head. “Be respectful to our guests.”
Like a scolded child, Enzo raises his eyes to meet mine. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Gia’s not here for extracurricular activities. Neither of us are.” I stare hard at Enzo, praying he tests me more. I’d love nothing more than to hurt him.
Mia smiles. “Thank you for the offer, but I should focus on business while I’m here.”
“I agree.”
We finish our dinner as Mario describes the hundred-acre property nestled between the coast and the mountains. After the meal is over, he tells me about their unique wine as we head out to the patio to smoke a couple of Romeo and Juliet cigars. Just Mario and I, alone.
It’s nice to get away from the chatter of the family, and we look out over the vineyard.
“I built this from the ground up.” He lights his R&J and takes a puff. “My father worked hard every day and when he died, I got everything.”
“Hard work is important.”
“You teach your daughter about hard work?”
I laugh a little, puffing on my cigar. “Can you really teach kids anything?” It makes me think about Mia’s work ethic. She’s a hard worker in the restaurant. Sometimes too good. She’s always thinking of ways to bring new business to the place, but it’s not always about that.
We don’t need the extra attention.
Yeah, Mia already has a great work ethic. Even now, she’s trying hard to play the part of my daughter.
Mario smiles with a small chuckle. “Yeah, some of my kids never listen to me.”
Is he talking about Oliver? I sit quietly, hoping he’ll expand on the subject, but instead he just sits back in his seat, puffing on his cigar and taking in the scenery.
It’s silent between us for a good five minutes, and my thoughts turn to Mia, wondering what she’s doing inside the house.
Is she flirting with Enzo?
Mario’s mind must be in the same place, because he says, “Your daughter is beautiful. I think she really likes my grandson, Enzo. I’ll have him show you both to the guest house.”
Perfect. Maybe I can lay down the law with the both of them. Let Enzo know once and for all that a hook up between the two of them will not happen while we’re here.
If anyone is going to be alone with Mia, it’s going to be me.