Page 83 of Mafia Mistress

Chapter Twenty-One

Francesca

Today has been perfect.Before shopping, Giulio had taken me to see the Coliseum, Papal Basilica, and Trevi Fountain. But more than the tourist locations, he’d shown me his favorite spots—the charming side streets and gardens, the fruit stands and cafés. It was better than any tour I could have asked for.

“You come here a lot, don’t you?” I asked as we strolled.

“As much as I can. It’s easier here than in Siderno. Here we can blend in.”

“But you still have to be careful.”

“Yes. My father’s reach is vast and our enemies are everywhere. There is no truly safe place for me.”

“I’m sorry, G.”

“Things are changing, slowly. Perhaps the next generation of our brotherhood won’t judge a man for his preferences.”

I doubted it, but didn’t say it. Progress in the mafia never matched progress in the real world. From what I had seen, the mafia was still stuck in the nineteenth century.

Giulio pointed to a four-story cream stone building with black shutters on every window. A bakery occupied the ground level, the smell of coffee and bread filling the air. “We’ll stop here.”

At the door, he punched in a code on a keypad and the lock opened. I followed inside. “Where are we?”

“Technically this apartment belongs to my father, but he never comes here so I use it.”

Fausto had a Roman fuck pad? Of course, he did. Why was I even surprised? My feelings were a bit hurt that I hadn’t heard a word from him since I sent that video. Was he angry that I’d gotten myself off? From romance novels, I knew some domineering men didn’t like their women to come without them.

If that was the case, then that was too damn bad. I was my own person and I wasn’t about to stop masturbating when I felt like it just because I was sleeping with him.

We climbed the marble stairs, the guards following us, until we reached the top floor, where Giulio entered another code and held his thumb on some sort of scanner.

The Ravazzanis took their safety seriously.

We walked in and my jaw fell open. The apartment was gorgeous, light and airy, with huge rooms and, like the castello and yacht, tastefully decorated. The double-height living room opened directly onto a balcony, so I immediately went outside and marveled at the views.

It seemed like all of Rome stretched out before me, with brown tiled roofs and domed church bells every way I turned. A marble dining table with iron chairs awaited, and planters filled with lavender ran the length of the balcony. Unable to help myself, I bent to inhale the clean scent. This place was unreal. Why didn’t Fausto use it?

“Would you like a tour?” Giulio came up beside me. “Or do you just want to stand here a little longer?”

“I think I could stand here forever. It’s absolutely gorgeous.” We both stared out at the buildings. “When I thought of Rome, this right here was exactly what I pictured.”

“It is beautiful, no? I love the combination of the old and the new.”

“Me, too.”

“Signore Ravazzani,” a voice behind us said.

Giulio and I turned at the same time to find a guard standing in the doorway. “Sí, Paolo?”

They exchanged rapid Italian I couldn’t understand, so I turned back toward the city. Why didn’t Fausto ever come here? It was too beautiful a spot not to be appreciated.

“Frankie, this is Paolo.” Giulio nudged my arm until I turned around.

“Ciao, Paolo,” I said quickly. The guard had been with us all day, so I wasn’t certain why we were just being introduced now.

“No, you don’t understand,” Giulio said, his voice low and soft. “This is Paolo, il mio ragazzo.”

His boyfriend.

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