"Well, let's hear them."
"Steak grilled on an open grill outdoors, topped with caramelized onions and loads of mushrooms. Particularly delicious if the mushrooms have been marinated first. Stuffed manicotti, homemade pizza made on a wood-burning stove. My mama’s ravioli, the one she makes with spinach and ricotta.”
"And wine?"
My voice is a whisper now. Still, he doesn’t look at me. I answer truthfully.
"I like any wine from my family's vineyard."
It's true. Red, white. Sparkling, sweet, dry. If it was made in a Rossi vineyard in Tuscany, I will drink it.
"Anything comparable in the common market for us plebians?” If he’s being sarcastic, it doesn’t show.
I shrug. "Maybe. I've never had a reason to ask, though, because we've always just had my family’s wine. It would be almost sacrilegious to drink anything else.” I sigh. Notalmost. “You like to cook your own food. We like to drink our own wine.”
His phone rings again. This time, instead of ignoring me, he makes a brief apology before he answers it.
I can tell before the conversation has lasted longer than ten seconds that this time he has his cousin… Cristiano?... on the line.
“Ah, cousin. So when I give you a motherfucking instruction to hire someone, you follow protocol. You don’t send him on a plane untrained, do you? Oh, really? Did you teach him anything about what my expectations were? Because that little asshole seemed to think he was running the ship here. He not only disrespected Marialena, he had the nerve to put hishandson her. Yes, really.”
I can actually hear the gasp of surprise from the other end of the line.
"You bet your ass I did. I want him gone. I want all of his belongings off my property before I get home. If I see a trace of him, I’m coming after you. And you and I will have a long talk later about what I expect in a new hire.”
When he hangs up, he looks at me. I wonder if he’s waiting for a reaction. Horror? Surprise?
“You don’t seem bothered by any of this. You don’t seem ruffled at all.”
“Any of what?” I ask him honestly. I’m curious what he means.
“You were bullied by one of my men. I beat the shit out of him and threw his ass off the plane. My staff cleaned blood off your fucking shoes. I’d think the average woman would at least be ruffled—”
“You didn’t choose an average woman, Salvatore,” I say with a sigh and a forward thrust of my chin. “I’m a Rossi. You’ll have to try a lot harder to shock me.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. I shiver.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
* * *
CHAPTERSEVEN
Salvatore
I don't make decisions for emotional reasons or any other bullshit like that. I’ve been born and bred to use nothing but cold reasoning.
Marialena Rossi, with that winsome way of hers, willnotchange that. She will be my bride, and I'll take care of her as my role dictates.
But she will not be someone I fall in love with. She will not be someone who makes the decisions around here, and she sure as hell won’t lead me around by my dick.
I've seen it happen all too often, men turning into fucking pussies over a woman. They become untrustworthy. Vulnerable. Weak. And a man in my position can't afford any of that shit.
When she holds her head up, with that proud little chin thrust, to announce that she’s a Rossi, she's adorable. But that’s all it is… adorable. No more, no less. She has a lot to learn yet, and what she’s learned as a Rossi isn’t the end of the fuckin’ line around here.
I hand her the phone back, and she takes it with a wary look.
“You can use it for now, under my supervision.”