Page 87 of Mafia Mistress

“I love the apartment. I don’t know why you don’t use it more often.”

“It is not easy for me to leave the castello.”

Right, I’d forgotten. Mob boss. “So why come today?”

“Because I couldn’t wait another minute to see you.”

I bit my lip and focused on my plate, trying to hide how happy that made me.

Fausto refused to let me. With a finger, he lifted my chin to meet his gaze. “I have never, not once, neglected my duties for a woman before today. But seeing you here, so beautiful while drinking wine with me in one of my favorite restaurants...how could I ever regret it?”

I loved that I affected him as much as he affected me. I nuzzled his palm like a cat. “I am very, very glad you came.”

He pushed his finger past my lips and onto my tongue. Locking eyes with him, I sucked hard, swirling my tongue around the digit. He watched, his gaze growing dark. “Remember that when I fuck your three holes tonight.”

I let his finger fall from my mouth. “Three? Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself?”

“I want all of you, places you never let that stronzo have. I want you to feel me everywhere until there’s no room for anyone else.”

The woman returned with our next course, leaving me to contemplate his words. How did he know just what to say to both turn me on and make my heart swell? It was as if Fausto had a window into my brain.

We ate spaghetti with crispy pork cheek and zucchini, as well as fettuccini with pecorino cheese and pepper. There were veal meatballs on the side. “This is too much food,” I said.

“You don’t have to eat it all. Just try a little bit of each. The meatballs are the best in the city.”

After tasting them, I concurred. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Every time I am in Roma. I own the restaurant.”

“What?” My voice rose two octaves. “You do?”

“I do own some legitimate businesses, you know. And it’s run by the widow of one of my men killed about five years ago. I helped her get started.”

Fausto, benevolent? The layers to this man never ceased to fascinate me. He was like the ground. The more you dug, the more things you found underneath.

We finished with tiramisu and crème caramel. And espresso, of course. Fausto asked for a splash of sambuca in his, but I took mine plain with lots of sugar. I was still getting used to the bitter taste.

The whole day had been perfect. From shopping and bellinis, to dinner with Fausto. “Thank you,” I told him simply, knowing he would understand.

His expression softened. “I will give you the world if you let me, piccolina. But I am glad you had a nice time. Does this mean you have forgiven me for last night?”

Had the storm on the yacht been only last night? It seemed like weeks ago. And as much as I wanted to torture him, I couldn’t lie. “Yes.”

“Thank fuck.” He threw his napkin on the table and pushed back. “Because I need you now, Francesca. I’m so full of come for you that I am practically choking on it. Let’s go.”

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