Page 14 of Empire of Temptation

“I will say good night, then,” I said, hanging my coat over my arm. Then I went around the table to Val. Bending, I kissed both of her cheeks, making sure to inhale her sweet perfume while I had the chance. “A pleasure, signorina.”

“Thank you for dinner, Luca. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me like this.”

A shame. This beautiful creature deserved to be pampered and taken care of.

Before I could make promises I had no business making, I said simply, “Prego, bella.” And I forced myself to walk out the front door.

Chapter Five

Valentina

Ioverslept the next morning.

Plus, I started my period, which meant cramps all day on top of a failing restaurant. Why was the universe piling it on right now? Haven’t I endured enough?

Around nine o’clock I dragged my ass into the Leaning Tower of Pastries, my usual stop on the way to the restaurant. There were a few people occupying tables at the cafe, typing on laptops, but the counter was free. This meant that Bev, the owner, saw me as soon as I walked in. “Hey, Val,” she called. “What’s up?”

I propped my sunglasses on my head and approached the counter. Bev’s granddaughter, Sam, one of my good friends, helped Bev run the bakery. They were both staring at me curiously as I approached. “Morning. Can I get the usual?”

Sam’s eyebrows raised as she looked me over. “You okay? You’re looking a little rough this morning, girl.”

“Bad night, bad morning. I’ll be fine.”

Sam turned to start making my double-shot oatmilk iced mocha latte, but Bev lingered, her mouth pinched. “Does this have anything to do with the handsome gentleman handing out money like it was mints in your place last night?”

Shit. Has everyone heard about that?

“Yes, everyone’s heard about it,” Sam called over the noise of the espresso machine. “You know how Paesano is.”

Yes, I did. I rubbed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. My abdomen was killing me. “Then you also heard everyone quit on me.”

Bev waved her hand. “You’re better off. Tony’s food was terrible, honey. You’ll find someone else.”

I wished I shared her optimism. “Know any Italian chefs you can recommend?”

“What about Mr. Hundred Dollar Bills? Is he a chef?”

“Not a chef, unfortunately.” Though that pasta dish was amazing. And he’d managed it so quickly.

Sam drizzled extra chocolate syrup on top of my drink, then put on a lid. “That’s probably for the best. Anyone carrying that much money is bad news.”

“He’s Italian,” I said, like it explained having that much cash.

Bev reached into the case and wrapped up a chocolate croissant for me. “Honey, we’re all Italian.”

“No, I mean he, like, lives in Italy. Thick accent. The whole thing.”

“Ohhhh.” Sam slid my drink over. “And did you spend a lot of time talking to Mr. Italy?”

Before I could answer, Bev put the croissant on the counter. “He must be the man who rented the Portofino McMansion.”

I paused, the coffee drink halfway to my mouth. That house was the biggest in Paesano, owned by a family with reported mob ties. With seven or eight bedrooms, the place was straight out of a BBC Jane Austen adaptation dipped in gold leaf. “He said he rented a place on the river.”

“Bingo.” Bev rang up my total on the register. “I heard he made the Portofinos an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

“Stop. Next you’ll say there was a horse’s head in the bed.” I paid with my phone and grabbed my croissant. “You’re leaping to conclusions.”

“Not a very big leap, Val. You should keep away from him. Your mom?—”

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