Page 15 of Ruthless Mafia Boss 3: Vino and Claire

“I enjoy teaching life-changing lessons,” he said, his tone enigmatic.

I blinked. What was that supposed to mean?

“In my downtime, I hunt, and for sport, I shoot clay disks.” He pointed a finger at me, his tone playful.

“I also prioritize taking care of my body by working out regularly.”

He left three buttons undone on his tan dress shirt, revealing a skeleton tattoo on his neck and a larger tattoo on his chest that I couldn’t quite make out. Was it a sword handle?

“Do you model for fun, or is it a passion?” I asked, raising my wine glass to my lips.

A devilish smirk appeared on his face. “Definitely a passion project.”

“I hope you don’t mind all the questions. Did you come from wealth, or did you have to work for your money?”

He took a long sip of wine, his intense gaze holding mine. “My family’s wealth was established long before I was born. But it’s my responsibility to expand and create new revenue streams to keep the legacy growing.”

“That makes sense. So you’re not just a pretty face,” I teased. “Did you go to college?”

He chuckled heartily. “I went to Penn State and got my degree in Finance.I’m a numbers guy investing in stocks, businesses, and whatever else grows the family fortune.”

“What about you? Where did you go to school?” he asked.

“Berkeley. I wanted a change of scenery, and the West Coast felt like an adventure. My dad was shocked when I moved to New York, though. I hate cold weather, and I’m from Charleston, South Carolina, where it’s warm most of the year. But when you’re hungry for success and driven by your vision, you’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

The server arrived, setting our plates down with practiced precision. We both thanked him and turned our attention to the meal.

Though I wasn’t starving—Angelo had sent lunch to my office earlier—the aroma of the pasta carbonara with grilled chicken was too good to resist. I twirled a forkful and took a bite, savoring the creamy sauce.

Vino mirrored me, nodding as he chewed. Without saying a word, we agreed: the food was exceptional.

“Have you been here before?” I asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Not to this location,” he replied. “But I’ve been to the one in Hackensack plenty of times. My dad’s an old friend of the owner, so we’d been going there since I was a kid.”

“Can you cook?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

“Yeah. When you come over, I’ll make dinner for us.”

My smile faltered, and my stomach knotted. “Vino, I’m not ever going to your house. You can continue to take your women to your home. If you want to play, we can meet at a hotel. Your money doesn’t impress me. I’ve dated rich men before, and I still don’t understand why you’re all so drawn to me. This was a mistake.”

Grabbing my purse, I stood. “Thanks for dinner.”

Before I could take another step, Vino’s hand closed around my wrist, firm but not painful. His cold blue eyes locked onto mine, sending a shiver down my spine that I knew he felt. “Sit down, Claire,” he commanded, his voice low and firm.

My heart raced as I stood frozen. Before I could protest, he stood up and towered over me. I could feel the other patrons staring at us from across the restaurant.

I craned my neck to look up at him.

“Have a seat,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “We need to talk.”

I sighed, exasperated. “I already know what this is about. You don’t have a woman, but you probably do, and now you want to play with this black woman because you can’t marry outside your race. Not that I’d ever marry you.”

His voice dropped to a growl. “Sit. The. Fuck. Down, Claire.”

Against my better judgment, I sank back into the booth. I didn’t know why I obeyed. Maybe I wanted to avoid a scene or buy time to make an escape through the kitchen.

My pulse pounded in my ears as I edged closer to the wall. He leaned in, his arm bracing the back of the seat and his other arm planted firmly on the table, boxing me in.

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