Vincenzo’s tan wrinkled face brightened when he saw me. “Signorina! I wondered if you would join us.” The vintner glanced over my shoulder and dipped his chin respectfully. “Signore Ravazzani. You honor us with your presence.”
Fausto came forward, shook the vintner’s hand, and spoke quietly. The people standing around us all laughed, grinning at him, and I tried not to look as annoyed as I felt. What, would they kiss his ring next?
A woman appeared at my side. She was slightly younger than Fausto, with a long braid of dark hair tucked under a sun hat. Her brown eyes were kind, her smile patient. “Is this your first time?”
I nodded. “I am a vendemmia virgin.”
The woman chuckled. “That sounds like a t-shirt.” Her expression turned serious. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. I am Emilia, Vincenzo’s daughter.”
“Oh, hello! He told me all about you.” Vincenzo often bragged about his daughter, the accountant who’d gone to university in London. “I’m Frankie.”
“I know exactly who you are.” Emilia shrugged then said sotto voce, “These old Italians are terrible gossips. Never trust them with your secrets.”
“Noted.” Of course they’d all been talking about me, the woman stupid enough to let Fausto Ravazzani knock her up.
“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” Emilia said, watching my face. “They think you are some kind of goddess, the woman who tamed the great Ravazzani.”
Tamed, right. Shifting the attention away from me, I asked, “You work as an accountant in the city.” She was also divorced, which Vincenzo mentioned through gritted teeth.
“I do. My father was hoping I would take over the winery, but I have a black thumb. Numbers are more my strength.”
“I always hated math class.”
She raised her hands. “Many people say the same, but numbers are useful, especially in our world.” She tilted her head toward Fausto, and I wondered what that meant. I looked at Fausto and felt conflicted.
You are a part of me, from now until they put me in the ground.
I liked those words far more than I should, and I wanted to hear him say he loved me again and again. Something had changed in the last few days. He was softer with me, more open. At night, when I pretended to sleep, he pulled me close and whispered Italian endearments that made my heart melt. He rested his hand on my belly, stroking and soothing, like he was comforting our child in there.
It was a different side of him, one I craved—and that was dangerous. For all his talk and whispers, this was still the same man who said I was dead to him, who planned on taking our child away from me after the birth. A murderer and a drug kingpin. It was madness to feel any tenderness toward him whatsoever.
Yet I did, more and more each day.
“Here.”
I looked up. Emilia held out a basket and pruning shears. Right, the grape harvest. Everyone else had started off into the vineyard, the sun coating the grapes in a burnished gold. Fausto, now wearing a baseball cap, was laughing with one of the workers, and that familiar tug of arousal in my gut grew stronger as I watched him. He was ridiculously handsome.
“Oh, you have it bad,” Emilia said, nudging my arm.
“Hmm? What?”
“Come. I’m taking you to the other end. If you stare at him all day you’ll never harvest any grapes.”
When we found an empty row, Emilia showed me how to hold the cluster of grapes and snip the vine with the shears. Then the grapes had to be placed carefully in the basket. “There,” she said. “It is important not to break or bruise them. Otherwise the fermentation starts.”
“Like this?” I held and snipped a cluster, then gently put them in my basket.
“Very good. Now do it ten thousand more times.” She chuckled and spread her hand out toward the rows of vines.
“This is hard work.”
“Yes, which is why almost the entire village comes to help.” She took the opposite side of our row and began snipping. “I took the rest of the week off from my job.”
“This is a terrible way to spend your vacation.”
“I don’t mind. I don’t see enough of my father anymore and it’s nice to be outside.” She placed more grapes in her basket. “I recently got divorced. I’m sure my father has mentioned it.”
“Yes, he did tell me. I sense he doesn’t approve.”
“An understatement. Divorce is not common around here. Once you are married, they expect it to be for life, no matter how terrible he treats you.”
Something in her voice caused my head to snap up. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not like that. He was a liar and a cheater.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. Most of the old guard—the new guard, too, I suppose—think you should stick it out. It’s that Catholic mentality.”
My sisters and I were raised Catholic, but we never really practiced. Once my mother died we stopped going to church altogether. “Were you married a long time?”
“Eight years. I was twenty-three when we married. At the time my father thought I was going to die an old maid.” She sighed. “I should have waited. I was too young to marry, but I fell in love.”
See? This was why you couldn’t trust feelings. They steered you wrong every time.
“That’s why I never want to marry,” I said, bending to put another bunch in my basket. “It’s not worth it.”
“But you and . . .” She let her voice trail off. “I thought you and Signore Ravazzani were together. That you are pregnant with his child.”
“We aren’t together, not any more. And yes, I’m pregnant, but there is no wedding happening.”
“Hmm.”
I cocked my head at her, wiping the sweat from my brow. Didn’t she believe me? “I know it sounds crazy, not to marry the father of my child. But I don’t want to be tied to him for the rest of my life.”
“But you are tied to him for life.” Her olive skin paled in the bright sun. “I apologize. I should keep my mouth shut. None of this is my business.”
“I don’t mind. I have two sisters at home who are always sticking their nose in my business.”
“You sound like you miss them.”
“I do. Very much. I’d hoped to have them come visit but . . .”
“I’m certain Signore Ravazzani would bring them here, if you asked.”
“I would bring who here?”
Spinning, I found Fausto coming toward me, his long legs eating up the dirt between us. I shielded my eyes from the sun and scowled at him. Had he been eavesdropping? “No one.”
He went to Emilia and kissed her cheeks. “You are looking well,” he told her. “Is he still going on about your divorce?”
“Of course. He’s disappointed in the lack of grandchildren.”
“Tell him that is what your brothers are for. Let’s talk in my office before you leave today. I have some things I need you to check into for me. ”
Emilia nodded. “All right.”
Did Emilia’s accounting firm handle some of the mafia’s money? Knowing it was none of my business, I returned to my grapes. Something suddenly dropped on my head, startling me. “Hey!”
Fausto had put his baseball hat on my head, which he was now adjusting. “Wear this. You need to protect your face from the sun.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was sweet of him, but I wasn’t used to sweet Fausto yet. I probably never would be.
Bending, he kissed my cheek. “Have fun, amore. Try not to eat too many grapes, eh?”
Then he sauntered off, his ass total perfection in the worn jeans, while his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his t-shirt. Would it be terrible if we slept together just once?
I nearly smacked myself. Of course it would be terrible! He had been a complete asshole to me.
Except my body didn’t care. It seemed fully on board for treating Fausto’s dick like an amusement park ride. Was this from the the pregnancy hormones, or would I still feel this way after the baby arrived?
When I turned, Emilia was watching me carefully. Grinning, she snapped her clippers at me like castanets. “What was that about not being together? Because that man is absolutely smitten over you.”
I didn’t have the heart to correct her. Fausto might seem smitten now, but what about the next time I did or said something he didn’t like? “Have you known him a long time?”
“As long as I can remember. Which is why I must start shopping for a dress to wear to your wedding.”
I plucked a grape off a vine and tossed it at her head.
Fausto
I opened the door to my office and found a stocky man waiting there with Marco. Everyone stood as I walked in.
“Fausto, my boy!” A contemporary of my father, Girolamo Condello was a don from another era and the head of Piedmont’s biggest ’ndrina. Like me, he was a member of La Provencia, our ruling body.
“Ciao, Mommo.” I kissed his cheeks. “What a pleasant surprise.” I had a feeling what this meeting might concern, but I hoped I was wrong. Marco’s worried expression told me he suspected, as well.
“You are looking well. It has been a long time since I have seen you out of a suit.”
“Forgive me,” I said with a self-deprecating shrug. “We began la vendemmia and I’ve just come in from the vineyard.”
“Ah, I do envy you and your vineyards. I would never turn down a glass of Ravazzani ciró.”
Marco poured wine while I sat. We both picked up our glasses and toasted. “Salute.”
I leaned back in my chair and asked the necessary questions about his wife and grandkids. Mommo had outlived two wives, and it seemed this last one might live long enough to inherit his fortune. Though who could say? The other two had disappeared suddenly.
He asked me about Giulio and business. I gave vague answers. Even with other capos I preferred to keep my information private. Besides, I wanted to move this along. I still needed to wash the vineyard off. Finally, I said, “I’m surprised to find you in Siderno. Are you on holiday?”
“I am here on business, unfortunately.” He set his wine glass on my desk, then folded his hands across his middle. “Enzo D’Agostino has been missing for a few days, his beach house like something out of one of those horror films. I’m told no one survived save his mantenuta and two soldiers hiding in a secret room.”
I resisted the urge to snarl at Marco. Sloppy work, leaving those two soldiers alive. No doubt they had opened their fucking mouths and spread tales of what happened far and wide.
Fury at my men aside, I tried to keep my tone light. “And you’ve come here to let me know?”
“I’ve come for information. I know you and your men were there. It’s been rumored that you and D’Agostino had a disagreement of some sort.”
That answered the question of whether D’Agostino’s soldiers had talked. Cristo, what a mistake. I said, “I wouldn’t expect you to bother yourself with a squabble between two capos.”
“I’m here to reason with you.” Mommo gave me a paternal smile, as if he was genuinely worried about me. “D’Agostino has powerful allies. This computer thing that he runs, with the scams and credit cards, it makes many people a lot of money. They are all wondering what will happen to this money if D’Agostino does not return.”
I was in the process of assuming Enzo’s operations, but I wouldn’t tell anyone yet. Not until I wrestled control from Enzo’s siblings, who were annoyingly stubborn about the entire thing. Fortunately, seeing their brother suffer on live video was going a long way to making that happen quickly. “And what of my allies? I also make a lot of money for people, including you.” Mommo distributed my product through France and into Spain.
He held up his hands. “I am here as your ally. Your father and I were great friends in the day, and the Ravazzani name is one of the most revered. But we cannot attack each other, as the Camorrista do. We are heroic, valiant, not a bunch of animals who tear one another apart.”
“I’m glad to hear we are not enemies,” I said softly. “Otherwise I might wonder why you mistrust my judgment enough to come here and question it. If we were not allies, I might consider it an offense.”
Sipping his wine, he stared at me. Then he set his glass on the desk, the big diamond on his finger flashing. I didn’t remember him wearing such a gaudy piece when I last saw him. “Fausto, you wage war over a woman, a mantenuta,” he scoffed, as though the idea was ludicrous. “Not even a wife. If you know where Enzo is, I beg you to release him before this gets out of hand.”
I leaned forward, my hospitality gone. “Either you can set La Provencia straight now or I will do it myself during Crimine in a few weeks, I don’t care. This matter is personal, not business. I will handle it as I see fit, without input from them or anyone else. What he took from me is irreplaceable, and I would expect any of you to do the same if such a move was made against your household.”
“You have her back unharmed, as I understand. Do not let a woman make you weak.”
Weak? Little wonder my teeth didn’t crack from how hard I was clenching them. Standing, I signaled the end to this meeting. “Marco, won’t you send a few bottles of ciró home with Mommo?”
My cousin inclined his head. “Of course.”
To Mommo, I said, “I wish you a safe journey home.”
He sighed and heaved out of the chair. “They will expect answers from you during Crimine, then. None of us acts alone.”
Che palle. Did he think I was new, that I didn’t know how this worked? And I didn’t care who expected answers. In the end the other bosses expected money, which they saw plenty of from me.
We shook hands, then Marco saw Mommo to the door. I waited until they were safely out of sight before slipping from my office. Fury roiled inside me, the darkness in my soul burning and scratching to be satisfied. How dare anyone interfere? Enzo had crossed a line. He invaded my property, attacked my men, stole something precious, and tried to blackmail me.
If not for the kidnapping, I could’ve begged Francesca for her forgiveness at the beach. It wouldn’t have been easy, but eventually we would have reconciled. The kidnapping had traumatized her and made her even angrier at me.
So, fuck Enzo. And fuck Mommo for daring to intercede.
Unlocking the dungeon, I slipped inside and rushed down the stone steps. The scent of damp and sweat greeted me, and I heard his labored breathing. I longed for my knife, a sharp blade to slide across skin, the bloom of warm red that followed.
To make sure he didn’t die too soon, I knew he had to recover for a few days. But when he was well enough to suffer again, I would pick up where I left off.
For now, a short visit would have to suffice. I needed to see his pain.
You didn’t care whether I lived or died, as long as I was out of your sight.
She was wrong. I cared. I cared a great deal.
Enzo was chained to the wall in one of the dungeon’s cells. We allowed him enough slack on the chains to stand, not that he was capable of it at the moment. The swelling around his eyes made it difficult to see, but by the way he stiffened it was clear he knew who’d arrived.
I unlocked the cell and went in. Bending down, I grabbed his hair and slammed his head back against the stone, causing him to groan. I snarled, “They miss you, D’Agostino, coming to me and pleading for your life. But they should know me better. There is no mercy for you, no escape. You will die here, at my hand.”
“Fuck . . . you,” he wheezed.
To annoy him, I laughed. “You will not be so defiant after our next visit, I promise you.” I let him go, and his head dropped forward. Standing, I relocked the cell, the old key scraping against the iron. “Get better, stronzo. I’m looking forward to hearing your screams.”
