Page 47 of Mafia Target

We eventually made our way to the kitchen. It was the middle of the night and we’d skipped supper in favor of another round of orgasms.

Alessio settled on a bar stool at the island while I found provisions. I was wearing briefs, but Alessio remained completely naked except for the chain around his neck. I set a dish of olives in front of him, then poured him a glass of wine.

“Did you poison it?” he asked, lifting it to his mouth.

“And ruin good wine? Ma dai.” I returned to the risotto I was stirring on the stove. “I decided to poison your risotto instead.”

“I’m still surprised that you can cook.”

Right. He’d been stalking me for months. “I don’t have Zia to feed me any more. If I didn’t cook I would starve.”

“I can’t really cook,” he admitted. “Eggs and pasta.”

“Please tell me you don’t use a jarred sauce.”

His mouth curved into a small embarrassed smile that showed off his right dimple. Mamma mia, I wanted to bite that dimple. “Jarred is good enough.”

“Zia would smack the back of your head if she heard you say that.”

“You must miss her.”

“I do.” I sighed and watched my spoon swirling in the pan. “I spent a lot of time in her kitchen growing up.” With my father busy running an empire, most of my well-being had fallen on Zia.

“There weren’t other boys on the estate to play with?”

“My father didn’t allow it. I had my cousins sometimes, but I was the future heir.” Fausto said I would rule over the estate one day. I had to be a strong leader, ready to make the tough decisions, not become friendly with everyone.

“That sounds lonely.”

I shrugged and continued stirring. “Almost as lonely as a boy sent to live with his nonna.”

“Is this why you like parties and clubs? Because you were denied this as a child?”

“I can lose myself in a crowd. Be anyone I want, do anything I want. Drugs and booze, sex. Whatever. I can step outside of my own skin.”

“Did you hate being the heir that much?”

“Hate is the wrong word.” I reached for my wine glass and leaned against the counter. “The responsibility was mine for as long as I could remember. And hating the responsibility meant hating myself. So I didn’t hate it. There were parts I loved. The way people treated me, accommodated me. Any club, any restaurant. Anything I wanted was available with a snap of my fingers.”

“But?”

I took a long swallow of wine and tried to put my feelings into words. “But I resented it, too. Every day was filled with dread. Was this the day I would be forced to marry a woman I cared nothing for? Or when everyone learned I was gay? Worse, was it the day my father would be murdered? There is no way to prepare for a future you don’t want.”

He plucked an olive out of the dish and slipped it in his mouth. “Still, it’s foolish of you to stay away. The castello is the one place you’re virtually untouchable.”

“Virtually untouchable is not untouchable. And an enemy stormed the estate a few months before I left, so I know it’s possible.”

“What enemy?”

I resumed stirring the risotto. It was thickening nicely. “The men of another mafia don. You’ve probably heard of him. Enzo D’Agostino.”

“Yes, I’ve heard the name.”

His voice sounded odd, so I glanced over. “What?”

“Nothing. I try to stay out of the local mafia squabbles, but I know the names of the players.”

“Does that mean you don’t work much in Italy?”

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