Page 73 of Mafia Mistress

One man was likely a guard, considering he was huge and had a gun poking out from under his jacket. The other man, who was probably in his early thirties, was incredibly handsome. He wore light linen pants and a tight t-shirt, managing to look both casual and expensive at the same time. The woman at his side was in high heels and a gorgeous sundress.

“Enzo,” Fausto greeted, shaking the younger man’s hand. He spoke rapid Italian, his sexy mouth moving quickly as everyone was introduced. Then he turned to me and held out his hand. No words, just held out his hand.

I knew what that meant.

Rising, I threw back my hair and strolled over to him, right into his side, and he slipped his arm around my waist. “Enzo, this is Francesca. Dolcezza, this is Signore D’Agostino and Mariella.”

“Ciao,” I said with a small nod. “Mariella, would you like some prosecco?” I held up my glass. Fausto gave me a squeeze, which I supposed meant he approved.

Mariella looked at Enzo—which made me want to roll my eyes—and he nodded, saying a few words in Italian. All I caught was, “d’inglese.” Then Enzo gave me a tight smile. “She doesn’t speak much English. I told her to practice with you.”

Fausto pressed a kiss to my temple. “And Francesca may practice her Italian with Mariella.” He released me and I took this as my cue to entertain the womenfolk so the menfolk could talk business. “We won’t be long,” he said, and pressed a brief, hard kiss on my mouth.

The men left us alone, and so we went to the pool and got drinks. Mariella seemed sweet. She knew more words in English than I did in Italian. “Big Bang Theory,” she explained. “I love Sheldon.”

I just smiled. “How long have you and Enzo been married?”

“No, we are not married. He has a wife in Napoli.”

Open mouth, insert foot.“I see.”

“Like you and Signore Ravazzani,” she continued, as if I needed further explanation.

“No, I get it.” Mafia men were not known for their monogamy. “More prosecco?”

Standing, I brought the bottle over to our lounges and refilled our glasses. Just two mob mistresses, hanging out on a yacht, drinking together. Happens every day, right?

Mariella took her sundress off, and I could see why Enzo would cheat on his wife with this woman. She was flawless. Tall and thin, with long perfect limbs and olive skin. Her hair was dark brown, which hung down past her shoulders to showcase her fine features. I felt like a dowdy frump next to her. She reminded me of Katarzyna. What was it with these mobsters and their stick-thin mistresses?

She looked at me. “Are you not wearing a suit?”

The stubborn Mancini in me wanted to show her that I wasn’t embarrassed of my big boobs and plump ass. I whipped off my cover and was instantly reminded that I’d deliberately worn the suit Fausto had ordered me not to. Whoops.

Didn’t he know how I felt about his orders? Outside the bedroom, at least.

Mariella smiled. “You are gorgeous.”

“Grazie. You are also gorgeous.”

She shrugged. “I try to stay thin. Otherwise Enzo find someone else.”

“So let him,” I said. “No man is worth starving yourself for.”

“Enzo is worth it.” She held up her hands and measured out what had to be nine inches. “Very worth it.”

I collapsed into a fit of giggles. Who said women from two different countries couldn’t speak the same language? “Yes, that might be worth it!”

“Fausto is the same, no? Women talk of him all over Calabria.”

Really? I sucked back the rest of my prosecco. “Let’s just say he is definitely worth it.”

Mariella laughed. “See, I knew. You can always tell a man with a big dick. He’s very sure of himself.”

“We call that BDE. Big dick energy.”

We both broke out laughing, and I suddenly had to pee really badly. “I must use the toilet. I’ll return in a few minutes.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, face tilted toward the sun, so I refilled my glass and carried it inside with me. The men were seated near the bar, Fausto on the sofa next to Enzo, with Marco and Enzo’s guards in chairs. Everyone turned my way as I came in. “Just using the toilet,” I announced, and kept walking toward the corridor.

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