Page 118 of My Mafia Queen

As far as I can see, there is nothing other than land, vineyards, trees, and the road we’ve taken to get here.

A woman exits the house, mumbling something in Italian.

She looks like she just walked out of the kitchen, wearing an apron and the slightest dust of flour on her chin.

She’s followed closely by a man.

They are both in their sixties, maybe older, and their eyes sparkle with life. They’re genuinely happy to see us as they exchange words with Damaso who speaks Italian before introducing me to them.

Maria and Luigi help me with my suitcases, while two more cars pull up in front of the house.

Damaso’s men find their way to the guesthouse while we follow Maria and Luigi into the main building. The house has been restored, and its original charm shines through.

Large windows, wooden beams, ceramic floors, exposed brick walls, fireplaces, a terrace, and a garden in the back create a welcoming place.

They are talking about where to set the dinner table while I take it all in.

“Do you like it?” Damaso asks me when we enter our bedroom.

The large room overlooks the olive trees and vineyard.

“It’s absolutely amazing,” I say, enthralled, peering outside.

I haven’t even spent much time studying the large rustic bed facing the windows, the terrace, and the view.

The bed is as stunning as the view with its hand-carved aspen headboard and frame and a clear finish like the matching four-drawer chest.

The furniture is appealing, yet the view takes my breath away.

His footsteps ring behind me.

“So… Las Vegas or this?” he asks, a smile lining his voice.

“This,” I murmur. “Besides, I wouldn’t be in Vegas if it wasn’t for you,” I add.

That was a slip of the tongue, and I glance at him over my shoulder, checking to see if it has registered with him.

He closes the space between us with a questioning look on his face.

“I thought you were staying there because you wanted to make more money.”

That’s an interesting thing to say after he stopped me from saying what I wanted to say last night.

When he fucked me so good, and all I wanted to say was that I loved him.

And again, it had nothing to do with us being in bed and him thrusting into me.

It had nothing to do with any of that.

It was about how I felt.

And I’d felt that on my way back to Las Vegas, and when I walked out of my father’s house, content that my ploy had worked.

It’d felt it long before last night, but I couldn’t think about that. I knew it would complicate my life.

That’s why I was a bit surprised that he had stopped me from saying it. We both know the truth, and him challenging me now only highlights it.

His arms go around me while he’s waiting for an answer.

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