Page 121 of My Mafia Queen

She nods again.

I drizzle olive oil and grate some parmesan on top before tasting it.

It’s really good.

I’m halfway through it when Damaso walks into the room.

The fire crackles and the wind picks up outside, and suddenly, it feels like winter is just around the corner.

Sadly, I won’t experience that. Not here, I mean.

Damaso wears dark pants and a simple, tailored white dress shirt emphasizing his hair and complexion.

Our eyes meet briefly as if we were two strangers in a room, but his disposition changes once he sees the food on the table and Maria brings more platters.

Pasta with Bolognese sauce, rice with peas, Sea Bass, and hazelnut cookies.

He thanks her and directs his attention to me.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asks.

“I’m good. Thank you.”

Still guarded, we eat, avoiding any delicate topics.

Once we get our desserts. Luigi shows up and asks us if we want coffee.

Neither of us says yes.

The man collects a couple of empty plates and walks away.

“They live here all year round?” I ask.

“Yes,” Damaso answers, pouring himself a glass of wine.

The glass reflects the lit candles, and the ruby wine resembles melted gemstones.

“Are you sure you don’t want some?”

“I can taste it,” I say, the aroma of ripe grapes tickling my nostrils.

I look around the table for a glass.

“Here. We can share it,” he says, sliding his drink to me.

It’s a half-full glass with a long stem.

I take it and taste the wine. I expect tangy or even bitter notes in the end. Instead, a sweet aroma lingers in my mouth.

He watches me with intent, fascinated with me.

I hope.

I guess.

“It’s good. Thank you,” I say, pushing his glass back.

I’m glad I didn’t leave a lipstick mark on the rim of his glass.

---