28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mateo
I watch Mariella as she takes in everything around her. Her smile is so soft, if I wasn’t sitting down, it would knock me back a half step.
There’s something pure in her joy, something that pulls me in deeper, making me want to keep her smiling forever.
My eyes haven’t strayed far from her since I picked her up. Watching her experience everything for the first time is mesmerizing. The joy that ignites her face when she discovers something she likes, and the slight wrinkling of her nose when she’s unsure, it all captivates me.
I’ve noticed she bites her lip when she gets nervous. The women I’m usually around do this to draw attention to their mouth, but with Mariella, it’s entirely unconscious and unintentional.
Still, it has the same effect every single time. My gaze zeroes in as she pulls her plump lower lip into her mouth, and heat rises within me, my cock stirring.
I’m quickly becoming infatuated with her, making me crave more afternoons and evenings like this.
I want more chances to see her light up in delight or hesitate in uncertainty. And I want to be the reason behind her smiles.
Beatrice drops off a large tray brimming with a dozen mini pizzas, their heavenly aroma making my mouth water. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Mariella this is the best place for pizza. I come here at least once every time I’m in Rome. Usually, Romeo is with me, and afterward, we hit one of our clubs to unwind.
I wonder where he is now. He’s been unusually quiet all day, and when I checked his location on my phone, he was in a part of town we don’t have any business in. I bet it’s where the mystery waitress lives he was so fixated on the other night, his blast from the past. I’ll have to ask him about it tomorrow.
“I still can’t believe you’ve never had pizza before,” I say, handing Mariella a slice of Margherita. “Let’s go with something simple to start with. Pure, straightforward flavors.”
She takes it gingerly, her fingers brushing against mine for just a second, and a surge of something warm travels up my arm. It happens every time we touch, and I’m starting to welcome the comforting, almost familiar sensation.
She looks at the slice as if she’s holding a small treasure. I can’t help but smile at her anticipation, and my heart does this strange thing, almost like it skips a beat.
“Go on, take a bite,” I urge, watching her face closely.
Mariella lifts the slice to her lips and takes a careful bite, her eyes fluttering shut as the flavors hit her. I don’t think she even realizes the soft moan that escapes her lips. But I notice.
Of course I do. I’m observing every little detail as if my life depends on it.
That’s before she opens her eyes again, and the sparkle in them sends my blood rushing south. And when she licks her lips before taking another bite, my cock responds, pushing against the zipper of my new cargo pants.
“Oh wow,” she whispers, as if she’s discovering food for the first time.
I can’t stop staring, completely absorbed in her reactions.
It’s such a small thing, pizza. But seeing her experience it for the first time makes it feel like so much more. Every bite she takes is like a tiny moment shared between us, deepening a connection I’ve been trying to deny.
“You like it?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
She nods, looking up at me from under her thick, black lashes. It’s a punch straight to my heart.
“It’s amazing. How did I go this long without knowing what I was missing?”
I chuckle, leaning back in my chair, still watching her with a grin I can’t suppress.
“You’ve been living a deprived life, clearly.” Not just with food, either. With Antonio as her father, it’s no wonder she’s missed out on so much.
“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you catch up.” And I mean every word.
Seeing her light up over the simplest things, new experiences, new tastes, I want to be the one who shows her everything she’s missed. I want to be the reason that smile stays glued on her face.
“Why is Antonio so opposed to quintessential Italian food?” I ask as I finally take my first bite.
She sighs, her eyes moving between the pizzas laid out in front of us.
“Father considers this peasant food. I think it reminds him too much of growing up poor. Now that he’s swimming in money, it’s only ever the finest for an Accardi,” she explains, her nose scrunching up adorably as she tries to decide which pizza to try next.
“Mia once asked to have spaghetti Bolognese because she loved it when she had it at a friend’s place. Of course Father said no, and she wasn’t allowed to see her friend again. Supposedly, she was a bad influence on her.”
Good grief. How far does Antonio’s control freakishness go?
“You’ve never had spaghetti Bolognese either? What about lasagna?”
She shakes her head, too busy chewing on the bite of Capricciosa pizza to answer. I can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity.
“Well, it will be my pleasure to introduce you to all the ‘common’ Italian foods. And I can’t wait to find out which one will be your favorite. I make a mean lasagna, by the way.”
Her eyes widen. “You cook?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I tease.
“But I am! I cannot picture you in a kitchen, let alone behind a stove.”
She presses her lips together, trying to hold back a laugh, her tongue tucked into her cheek. I bet she’s picturing me in an apron and chef’s hat, which, given what I do all day, would be comical.
It strikes me then how different she is from the nervous girl she’s been around me so far. She’s getting comfortable with me, and I couldn’t be more pleased.
A strange sense of pride swells in my chest, knowing that while I’m the one who makes her nervous, I’m also the one who brought out this new, carefree side of her.
I grin, leaning in a little closer. “Well, I’ll have to show you one day, won’t I?” I say, enjoying the way her cheeks blush.
She raises an eyebrow playfully. “Will Giulia even allow you into her domain?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “She’s not happy about it, but what can she do? It’s my kitchen. Fortunately for her, I don’t have much time to cook. It usually has to wait until I take a break and go away.”
“Oh? Where do you go?” she asks, genuinely curious.
“Tuscany. There’s a little place that reminds me of where my mom grew up. Don’t tell anyone, though. It’s my hideaway when I need to get away from it all.”
Mariella raises her fingers to her mouth, mimicking zipping her lips shut. “My lips are sealed.”
“So your mother was from Tuscany?” she asks after placing a slice of my favorite Diavola pizza on her plate. It’s on the spicier side with the hot salami.
I nod, watching her carefully as she bites into it, waiting to see if the spice will catch her off guard. She doesn’t flinch though, taking it in her stride.
“Yeah, from a small village just outside Siena,” I say, a hint of nostalgia creeping into my voice.
“She met papà when he was on business there. He always said one look into her eyes and he knew she was it, his One. They were married within six weeks and she moved to Sicily with him, but that part of Tuscany always stayed with her. I guess it rubbed off on me.”
Mariella pauses, savoring the taste, her brow furrowed slightly as she seems to take in both my words and the heat of the pizza.
“Do you visit often?” she asks softly.
“Not that particular area. It would be too predictable and I’d be easy to find. My place is in a different part of Tuscany, but it reminds me a lot of her. I feel closer to her when I’m there. And you can see the sea in the distance too. I love it.”
“It sounds beautiful. How often do you go there?
“Whenever I need to clear my head and need a break from all of this,” I admit, leaning back. “It’s my little hideaway. Quiet. Simple.”
She glances at me, curiosity and something softer in her eyes. “It must feel like a completely different world.”
“It does. And it’s the one place where no one expects anything from me.”
“If your mom lived in Tuscany, does that mean she wasn’t part of la famiglia ?”
“No, she wasn’t. She was a regular person, just like Ella was when Tiero met her.”
“But unlike Ella, she accepted the lifestyle?”
“Yes, different times and all. And my father was always convincing. He worshipped the ground she walked on. Not that Tiero isn’t doing that with Ella, but their circumstances were different.
“ Mamma died when I was six because of complications during my sister’s birth. She didn’t make it either. Papà was never the same after losing mamma , and I’m worried about what will happen to Tiero if Ella doesn’t come back. I watched my father become a shell of himself. I don’t think I could bear seeing Tiero go down the same path.”
Mariella bites her lips, dropping her gaze. “I don’t know what a future would look like for your brother and Ella. She wants nothing to do with the Mafia life.”
I let out a long sigh. “Yeah. But that’s a problem for another day. We need to find her first.”
I pick up a slice of the Diavola and take a bite, while Mariella chews on her pizza thoughtfully.
“Father wasn’t in the Mafia originally either,” she says, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. My eyes lock onto her lips, now a deeper shade of red from the spice, fuller and even more tempting than before.
Pull yourself together, man!
“Not that he talks much about himself. But from what mamma said, his upbringing was quite hard,” she continues talking, but all I can think about is how the heat from the Diavola pizza has turned her lips into something so alluring. The way they move, the slight sheen from the sauce… it’s a distraction I’m not prepared for.
Swallowing hard, I force my gaze up again, trying to focus on her words, but it’s a struggle. Her lips must be soft now. How would they taste with that hint of spice?
“His father died when he was young, so it was just him, his mother, and his younger brother,” she says quietly, tapping her finger lightly on the edge of her plate. “When his brother died in his teens, things got even tougher. Money was always tight. That’s why he left Bolzano and came to Sicily in his early twenties.”
“Why Sicily?” I ask, finally managing to shove aside the lingering thoughts of Mariella’s soft lips. I’m aware Antonio wasn’t originally part of la famiglia , but I never wondered why he chose our island.
“Apparently, a friend of his knew someone who worked for mamma ’s father and talked up the kind of money that could be made. Father always had grand ambitions. I think he hated being a nobody. Mamma said once he started working for her father, he quickly moved up the ranks.”
I nod, knowing the history. Mariella’s mother’s family has been part of our organization since my great-grandfather’s days, loyal and dependable.
It’s a shame there were no male heirs to carry on their name. It’s a curse Antonio seems to have inherited when he took over after Mariella’s grandfather’s accident by marrying Caterina, Mariella’s mother.
“He started courting my mother behind Grandfather’s back. Mamma said he swept her off her feet, being so charming and attentive. But when he asked my grandfather for her hand, he refused. Probably because of his poor background.”
I’m not surprised. Typical of the old guard, valuing status above all else.
“They kept seeing each other behind his back. A few weeks later, Grandfather’s car exploded with him in it.” Her voice lowers, almost as if she’s sharing a secret.
Antonio’s rise has always been surrounded by rumors, but hearing it from Mariella adds another dimension to the story.
“Anyway, your father was Don then, and he gave my parents his blessing to marry,” she says, her teeth sinking into her lip again, pulling my attention right back to it.
“The Molinaros claimed responsibility for the car bomb,” I say, forcing my focus back.
“They did. But the timing was just so convenient, don’t you think?”
It certainly was. “Your father would say that luck was on his side.”
But Antonio makes his own luck and never lets anything stand in his way. That’s part of why he’s been such a great capo. But on this particular occasion, his slate was clean.
If anyone had told me this morning I’d have one of the best nights of my life without sex, I would have laughed, especially after another shit day. But everything shifted as soon as I picked up Mariella.
Dinner was superb. The food, the wine, the conversation.
Mariella, when she’s relaxed and at ease, is a joy to be around. And she’s damn beautiful to look at.
Every smile, every spark in her eyes seems to pull me in deeper.
We’re walking toward my car, still happily chatting, when suddenly…
B A N G.
The sharp crack of gunfire splits the night, and the glass of the shop window behind us shatters into a storm of shards.
I barely manage to drag Mariella down, my arm gripping her tightly as we take cover behind a nearby car. Bullets are raining down on us and, judging by the chaos and intensity, there’s at least three shooters, maybe more.
And I’ve got no backup.
Fuck!