Page 65 of Empire of Temptation

Luca moved closer, his lips near my ear as he said huskily, “Are you even old enough to drink wine, piccolina?”

“Barely.” I grabbed his dark blue tie and turned to face him. “Does that make you feel like a dirty old man?”

He hummed in the back of his throat, then angled his head to meld his lips with mine. When he parted my lips, I opened for him eagerly, desperate to feel his tongue once more. I lost all sense of time and space when Luca kissed me, like my mind was a sieve, incapable of holding onto the simplest thought.

“I see the party has already started.”

The dry female voice startled me and I broke off, letting go of Luca’s tie. Gianna and D’Agostino had arrived. We said hello and the mob boss settled the designer in the seat next to me. As D’Agostino lowered himself into a chair, the hostess tried to hand him a menu, only to have D’Agostino sneer at it. He snapped something in Italian and the hostess scurried off.

Gianna bent toward me and whispered, “I force him to eat in Little Italy every time we’re in New York.” She snickered. “It makes himcrazy.”

“He doesn’t appreciate the reminders of home?”

“This is nothing like my home,” D’Agostino said. “It’s an affront to my country. And she does this merely to irritate me.”

Gianna shook out her napkin and placed it on her lap. “How can I resist? You make it so easy, il pazzo.”

D’Agostino picked up Gianna’s free hand and brought it to his mouth. I expected him to kiss her hand, but he bit her fingers instead. She just laughed and flipped open her menu. “What are we ordering? I’m fucking starving.”

The server returned with the wine and presented the bottle to Luca. D’Agostino’s brows lowered menacingly and he said something in Italian to Luca. I didn’t understand it, but D’Agostino was not happy. Luca merely smiled and directed the server to pour for the table.

“Oh, good choice,” Gianna said. “I love the Ravazzani wines. It’s nice to support the family business.”

“Your family has a winery?” I asked her.

“My sister’s husband.” Then she asked the server to bring an Italian beer for D’Agostino. “Enzo would rather die of thirst than drink this wine,” she explained to me.

“Your show was amazing,” I blurted when the server left. “I know nothing about fashion, but I loved every piece.”

“Aw, thank you. That is nice of you to say.” Gianna smiled wistfully, her eyes a bit sad. “It’s always a letdown when the show is over, like I’m letting go of my little babies. Meanwhile, I’m already designing three shows ahead. The fun never stops.”

“Yet you’re doing very well,” Luca said. “I saw you were picked up by several stores recently.”

“Yes, and I’ve been asked by a European chain to design some pieces. So I’m definitely busy.” She picked up her wine and regarded Luca. “I’m sorry I was so rude before, Mr. Benetti. But I have a clear No Work policy when it comes to Fashion Week, which Enzo is more than aware of.”

“Mi dispiace, signorina,” Luca said, hand on his heart like he was making a pledge. “If this were not an urgent matter, I never would’ve intruded.”

“How did you know?” I couldn’t help but ask her. “We could’ve been at the show for a totally different reason.”

Gianna rolled her eyes. “Girl, when you grow up in the life, you learn how to spot these guys a mile away.”

“And yet,” Enzo said smoothly, leaning over to kiss her temple. “You did not spot me, micina.”

Gianna’s olive skin flushed as she pushed Enzo back to his sideof the table. “I’m still mad at you. Go away.” Enzo smirked and sat back, his hand resting on Gianna’s forearm on the tablecloth.

The server returned and I couldn’t help myself. I had to order chicken parmigiana to see if it was better than mine. Luca asked the server a bunch of questions about the fish—where it had been caught, how long ago, was it ever frozen? He then ordered a pasta dish, apparently not liking the news regarding the fish. I couldn’t blame him. Getting decent fish was tricky in the restaurant business.

Enzo and Gianna ordered, then we were alone again.

“So, what’s your story?” Gianna angled toward me. “Let me guess? You’re a student at NYU and you met this one—” she gestured to Luca “—in a coffee shop while you were doing homework.”

“Not even close. I own a restaurant in the Hudson Valley. It’s been in my family forever. Luca came in to eat one night.” I shrugged. “That’s pretty much it.”

“You own a restaurant? Damn, I wouldn’t have guessed it. Is it Italian?” She blew out a breath. “What am I saying? Of course it’s Italian.”

I laughed. “Yes, it’s Italian. Best chicken parm in the state.”

“Which is not Italian,” Luca muttered under his breath.

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