Page 37 of His to Honor

“Lorenzo wanted to show Giulia the winery.” I take a seat and raise a hand to summon the server. “Let’s have a coffee and join them later.”

“You’re not worried Giulia will fall for Lorenzo’s charm?”

Besides trusting Giulia, I know my cousin doesn’t view her as a potential conquest. Lorenzo’s been friendly to Giulia, paying her compliments and joking with her. It’s not how he behaves around a woman he wants. He gets territorial fast. If he had any interest in her, he’d throw her over his shoulder, carry her off, and chain her to his bed.

“Not at all. I’m the only man she wants.”

My sister grins. “Oh, Matteo, you’ve got it bad.”

There’s no point denying it so I make a so-what gesture with my hands.

“Does Mamma know you’re with Giulia? She’ll have the wedding planned before you can blink.”

I’m surprisingly untroubled by the thought. In fact, I can’t wait to make it happen. I just have to hope Giulia catches up with my way of thinking soon. If she doesn’t, there are other options. My brothers’ marriages all started in unconventional ways. Antonio more or less ordered Isabella’s father to give him his daughter. Alessandro married Emilia a day after meeting her to fulfill a promise between our families. Leo took Vinnie as his bride after she came to us looking for a husband. He locked her down fast. Perhaps I should take a leaf out of their playbook and just march Giulia down the aisle, consequences be damned.

CHAPTER 12

Giulia

The scale of Lorenzo’s operation here at Casa di Lupo is impressive, but it’s not the volume of wine they produce that blows me away. It’s his obvious interest in everything that goes on I admire. As we walked through the winery, he greeted every person we encountered by name and, in some cases, he asked after their families. His staff seem to respect him, but I detected an undercurrent of fear. I guess there’s no escaping a reputation like his even when he’s presenting his affable face to the world.

Lorenzo reminds me of Matteo. They’re both younger brothers in branches of a prominent mafia family. Too handsome for their own good, they both have an effortless charm that masks the type of men they actually are. Perhaps that makes me a bad person, but I was raised in this life. I may not approve of what our men do, but it doesn’t stop me liking Matteo, or his equally brutal cousin.

Lorenzo’s knowledge of the wine-making process is incredible. From harvesting the grapes to clarifying and bottling thewine, he understands each step. As we toured the winery, he described the modern methods they use for pressing the grapes—no trampling them with bare feet these days. He talked about fermentation, the importance of getting temperatures right. To be honest, he lost me there, but he spoke with such confidence I’m sure he knew exactly what he was talking about.

After showing me the huge stainless-steel vats where the wine is made, he and Damiano took me to an enormous, vaulted cellar deep beneath the warehouse where the wine is stored in oak barrels until it’s ready to be bottled. There were more barrels than I could count. Lorenzo is also experimenting with ancient techniques, using clay amphora to create a softer, fruitier wine. His passion for the subject was infectious.

While Lorenzo played host, his older brother said little, but more than once, I caught him watching me intently. It was unnerving to deal with the scrutiny without Matteo to lend me some support.

“Thank you for showing me around,” I tell Lorenzo as we reach the last stop, a tasting room overlooking the lush green vineyard.

The room is decorated like I imagine a posh gentleman’s club would be. There’s an air of exclusivity about it. The walls, painted in a rich green tone, are adorned with paintings of the Italian landscape. High-backed leather chairs are dotted around the room. Over to one side is a long wooden table that has an open bottle of wine and several glasses on it. I feel out of place here. There should be a sign over the door—No Peasants Allowed.

“It was my pleasure,” Lorenzo says. “Now, would you like to sample our new Chianti?”

Although I sobered up considerably during our walk around the winery, I’m not sure it would be wise to drink another drop. I’m going to the club with Rosalia later and I can’t be drunk before I even leave the house. I don’t want to risk appearing rude, though, and it’s not just because Lorenzo is Matteo’s cousin. He’s not a man I’d want to offend.

“A small taste, perhaps.”

Lorenzo grins, then goes to the bar at the side of the room. He pours a small measure of wine into a glass and brings it to me.

“You’re not having some?” I ask.

A look I can’t decipher passes between Lorenzo and his brother. It makes me uneasy. Why aren’t they having some?

“We know what it tastes like.” Lorenzo’s response does nothing to relieve the anxiety crawling up my spine.

Nervous, I glance over my shoulder toward the door. The bottle was open when we came into the room. They could have instructed one of their men to slip something into it. I don’t know why they would, but I worry about why neither of them is drinking. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. Where is Matteo? He should have caught up with us by now. My mind races with disturbing possibilities. What if the Italian branch of the family intends to take out the Americans?

“Something wrong?” Lorenzo tilts his head to the side as he studies me, his trademark smile firmly in place.

“I… eh…” I’m being silly. As far as I know, the brothers are close to their American cousins. They have no reason to harm Matteo and even less to poison me.

“We didn’t spike your drink,” Damiano says wryly.

“Isn’t that what someone whohaddrugged my drink would say?”

Damiano laughs. “I don’t know. I don’t go around drugging women.”

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