Page 20 of Empire of Temptation

I paused, my muscles freezing in surprise. Valentina was here? “Why the fuck are you only telling me now?”

He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “Should I send her away?”

I should say yes. I shouldn’t see her. No good could come of it. “What does she want?”

“She brought you dinner.”

What the fuck?

Aldo’s mouth curved into a smug smile at my obvious surprise. “But we know you don’t eat food from strangers,” he said. “So I’m happy to eat it on your behalf.”

I stood and grabbed my mobile off the desk. “Where is she?”

“In the kitchen. I gave her a glass of sparkling water and told her to wait.”

“Alone?”

He popped a slice of orange in his mouth. “I left one of the boys with her.”

I hurried from the office. The air was crisp inside the mansion, the whir of the air conditioning the only sound in the cavernous rooms as I strode toward the kitchen. Though I didn’t hear him, I knew Aldo was behind me. He was the quietest soldato I had, which made him the perfect guard for me.

In the kitchen I found Valentina on a stool, looking nervous and uncomfortable, while Carlo leaned against the counter and watched her. I scowled at him. “Get out.”

Ducking his head, Carlo went through the back door, outside to where the boys congregated, while Aldo paused in the kitchen entrance. “Need anything from me?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. We’ll catch up later.”

“I’ll be close,” he continued in our language. To Valentina, he said, “Ciao, signorina.”

Shifting on the stool, she gave a little wave. A large brown paper bag sat on the marble counter in front of her. I walked over slowly. “Valentina. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and squirmed in her seat—and I started picturing other ways I could make her squirm. Like if she sat on my face.

“I feel stupid,” she said, distracting me from my dirty thoughts. “I had no idea there were so many people here. I assumed you were alone.”

“Ignore them. What’s in the bag?”

“I had Giovanni make you dinner. As a thank you. For helping me.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I can string words together, I swear.”

I kept my voice soft. Reassuring. “There is no reason to be nervous. I’m grateful. I can’t remember the last time someone surprised me with dinner.”

And I couldn’t. I ordered what I wanted, with a hundred men available to carry out my every need and desire. Surprises weren’t a good thing in my world.

Except from this woman, apparently.

I went to the cabinet and removed two plates. Then I found knives and forks and put everything on the island. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“No, thanks. I have to drive back to the trattoria.”

I took out another sparkling water and returned to the island, taking the seat next to hers. We were so close that our legs almost touched. She didn’t move, so I finally asked, “Can I open it?”

That galvanized her into action. “God, sorry.” Taking the bag, she pulled apart the staples keeping it closed then began unpacking the containers. “I needed to make sure Giovanni could cook my grandfather’s chicken parm. And we had extra, so I thought I’d bring you some. I hope you like it—even though it’s not Italian.”

She said the last part with such an attitude that I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m going to love it. Even if it isn’t Italian.”

Soon a plate filled with a cheese-covered chicken breast and spaghetti covered in tomato sauce stared up at me. It looked heavy and . . . unappetizing.

“You hate it.”

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