Page 11 of Spice and Revenge

Exiting the estate, it takes me about fifteen minutes to reach the main town. Our estate is located on the outskirts of town. I love the location because of its seclusion and security, but getting into the town's metropolis takes longer than it should. I don’t usually mind sometimes. Long drives have a calming effect on me.

But today it’s the opposite. Throughout my drive, all I think about is how Lorena smells, and how she could probably taste. I imagine what her body would feel like against mine. I wonder what it would feel like to be buried deep inside her, to have her writhing underneath me, and to have her cry out my name.

My tires make a loud screeching sound as I make a left turn, swerving the steering wheel way too hard than normal. The car behind me honks loudly, and I slow down a little. The driver of the car shoves the middle finger at me from his driver's window before he speeds past me. On a normal day, I would get his plate number, find him, and teach him a lesson.

On a normal day, you wouldn’t let thoughts about a woman almost cause an accident, either, my inner voice mocks.

After what seems like hours, I finally arrive at Cafe Bellini. My Lamborghini looks out of place as I park it in between two small Sedans. Coming down from the car, I slip a pair of dark shades over my eyes before stepping into the small building.

All eyes turn towards me as I step into the cafe. I’m used to the attention, even though I hate it. Contrary to what most people think, I hate being in the spotlight. I love my privacy. That is why I don’t grace every TV interview I’m invited to. But even though I am a private person, my Vitale name precedes me. We are still known amongst Sicilians and even Italians as a whole. Eversince I took over the family business, my name has become more popular than ever before.

However, not many people recognize me in person. The attention I draw whenever I step into a room has everything to do with me being me. People are mostly intimidated and curious about the tall man in black suits and tattoos. They fear and respect me, even before realizing who I am.

And today, it doesn’t help that I am wearing all-black—including shades—in a breakfast cafe.

Josh, a familiar face, greets me as I approach the counter. “Good morning, sir,” he says, gesturing towards a door on the left. “He's inside.”

“Thanks,” I mutter before walking towards a door with the signEmployees Only.

Pushing it open, I enter the familiar hallway. The vibe here is different from the colorful and airy look of the cafe. The walls are painted grey, with brown doors lining the hallway. I get to the room I’m heading to and kick the door open, startling Giovanni.

“What the hell?” he yells angrily, his anger dissipating as he realizes it's me.

“Shouldn’t you be in your fancy little office signing documents and drinking dark coffee until you pass out of boredom?” he mocks, swirling in his revolving chair.

I chuckle deeply before grabbing one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Hey. Shut my door!” he yells.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You seem to have forgotten who you’re talking to.”

“Oh, my bad. Please, boss, chief, Don, and Capo, could you close the door you just kicked open? It would be my honor,” he retorts sarcastically.

Ever since I took over as the CEO of my father’s companies and became the Don, my friends haven't stopped ribbing me about it. Working in an office has never been my thing, and they knew that. I was more inclined toward my mafia leader side. Unfortunately, to be the Don of the Sicilian Mafia, I also had to be the CEO of the companies that people thought we made our money from.

I make an effort to kick the door a little too harshly before taking the seat before him.

“See, wasn't so hard, was it? Next time, though, try to be gentle,” Giovanni quips.

I shake my head, regarding him fondly. Giovanni Lombardo is one of my closest friends. In fact, among my four best friends, he is the closest to me.

“How would your customers feel if they came in here and saw you smoking?” I ask as he blows a puff of smoke from his cigarette.

“They won’t feel anything, because no one comes in here. No one except you, apparently,” he says, taking another whiff. Running a hand through my hair, I suddenly crave a nicotine hit.

“So,” Gio drawls, “what brings you here? I know you didn’t come all the way here for chit-chat.”

I'm usually tight-lipped about my personal matters, but after driving out of the house earlier, I knew I didn't want to be stuck in my office, drowning in paperwork, and, as Gio jokingly puts it, drinking dark coffee without sugar until I pass out of boredom. Now that Gio's prodded, I spill the beans. I might keep things to myself, but lying to my friends? That's a no-go.

“I was fooling around with a housekeeper in my winery yesterday when someone walked in on us. She froze at the door for about ten seconds before bolting. Turns out, she's my new chef, and...”

“Hold on, hold on,” Gio interrupts, his laughter bubbling up. “You were fucking your housekeeper? I thought you had a strict ‘no fraternizing with employees’ policy?”

I grind my teeth in annoyance. “I fired her right after.”

“That’s brutal,” he hisses. “Anyway, your new chef saw you, so what? Since when have you become a prude?”

I suppress a groan, already second-guessing my decision to confide in him.

---