Page 65 of Ruthless Mafia Boss 3: Vino and Claire

“If you thought I was joking about you moving intoourhouse, I wasn’t,” he added, his voice casual but unyielding.

Our house.

I scanned the bottles before choosing a crisp white. Placing it on the counter, I raised an eyebrow at him. He stepped over, uncorked the wine with practiced ease.

“Do you always keep wine at a safe house?” I asked, trying to mask the flutter in my chest.

His scowl said enough. “No.”

I could feel his irritation. The weight of me brushing off what he’d just said.

“What kind of sauce is that?” I asked, sidling up beside him at the stove.

He didn’t take his eyes off the bubbling pot. “Claire, don’t ever ignore my words again.”

His voice was low. The warning clear.

“Vino, you can’t just tell me I’m moving into your house.”

“I didn’t saymyhouse,” he snapped, turning toward me. “I saidourhouse.”

An awkward laugh slipped out. “It’s not our house.”

“It will be. You’re about to be my wife, so yeah—it is.”

A storm of butterflies swirled through my stomach. Vino didn’t leave room for argument. His word was law. And something about that... lit me up.

“Understood,” I said softly.

“This is a bolognese sauce,” he continued, his tone softening. “I used it for the baked rigatoni for us and for the spaghetti bolognese I made for my men.”

“You cook for them?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

“It’s the least I can do. They’re honorable men,” he said, retrieving a wineglass from the cabinet and handing it to me.

“You’re not drinking with me?” I asked as I moved over to the wine bottle.

“No wine. I’m sticking to whiskey.” He stepped over, picked up the bottle, and filled the glass halfway.

I raised a brow. “Rough day?”

He chuckled. “You could say that.”

“I’ll join you then. Wineandwhiskey.”

He arched a brow, amused. “What’s funny?” I asked, mimicking him.

“I have to be careful when I let you drink. You can’t handle your liquor.”

I scowled, raising the wine to my lips. “That’s not true.”

“Gorgeous, it is.”

I rolled my eyes and took a slow sip. “Fine. How about a compromise? Two drinks. No more.”

“I can work with that,” he said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips—the kind of grin that made me forget how dangerous he truly was.

Rounding the counter, I sank into a stool, my gaze locked on Vino as he moved through the kitchen with quiet confidence, like a man who did this every day.

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