Page 7 of Mafioso's Muse

He needed a cigarette but settled for finishing his drink instead. ‘What would your guess be?’

She exhaled noisily, and it was possibly the cutest thing he had ever heard.

‘Well, looking at you, I’d go with an Italian name.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Marco?’

He shook his head.

‘Leonardo?’

‘No.’

‘Salvatore?’

‘My father’s name.’

Her mouth fell open. ‘Your father’s Italian too? What are the chances?’

His eyes creased at the corners. ‘Vaughn.’

She tutted. ‘That’s not even Italian.’

‘My mother’s father was Welsh. My brother got the traditional Italian name.’

‘Which is?’

‘Antonio.’

She tilted her head. ‘So you’re a mix of Italian and Welsh.’

‘Father’s Italian. Mother’sEnglishand Welsh.’

Her eyes moved over him. ‘It seems you’ve taken after your father.’

In more ways than he cared to admit.

‘You know, I’m part Italian too,’ she said.

He studied her features and noted her fair complexion. ‘Which part, exactly?’

‘My love of gnocchi part. My grandmother was half Italian, so I guess that makes me… one-eighth?’

She exuded purity. She might have been one-eighth Italian, but she was simultaneously 100 percent never to be touched by a man like him.

‘I’m watered down with a lot of Danish,’ she added, teeth flashing.

He drank in every detail, knowing it was time for him to walk away—but he didn’t want to.

The solution to this novel dilemma came in the form of a tiny dancer who appeared next to him.

‘There you are,’ she said to Willow before turning to brazenly assess Vaughn.

He could tell the moment she recognised him, because her face fell a little. It seemed her frienddidwatch the news.

‘Oh,’ she said, blinking. ‘You’re Vaughn Gallo.’

Willow gave her a surprised look. ‘You know him?’

‘No.’ The word came out quickly before she made a disapproving face. ‘I knowofhim.’

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