“What did you just tell her?” Emma asks me.
“Told her we could use some cookies for sustenance for the hard work we have to do later tonight.” I squeeze her ass discreetly, and she squeals.
“Sustenance,” she hisses on a choked laugh. “Honestly, Mario!”
“Not what he saiiiiid,” Marialena says, shaking her head as she walks out of the room. “Watch this one.”
I push the back door open, and we walk out into the pavilion. Birds chirp overhead, and the clouds part, bathing us in a flood of sunlight. “Of course it’s even sunnier here, isn’t it?”
I wink at her.
I’ve loved watching her work today. Loved it. She’s a natural, and if I do say so myself—she seems like she fits in here.
I watched her argue (and win) regarding encrypted texts with Orlando, examine a three-way grid of traffic with Santo, check over a laundry list of Grady’s transactions and expertly pinpoint anything suspicious, scrutinize a stream of email correspondence and find the one with a hidden message, and when Mario asked her what type of ammo she needed and her preferred handgun of choice, listened to her instantly rattle off an expert catalog of exactly what she needed to do her job well. I listened as she delegated work to her apprentice and left a message that she was sick, then followed up later to give orders regarding what she called “interviews, interviews, and more interviews.”
And it was fucking hot. All of it. Her sharp tongue and acute intellect, her attention to detail and keen awareness of everything that could help us find a lead, the way she admits when she’s wrong but persists when she knows she’s right.
“Come here,” I say, taking her by the hand while I lead her to a stone bench that sits kitty-corner in the pavilion, under the shade of a maple tree in full bloom. I sit down and tug her onto my lap.
Her brows wiggle flirtatiously at me. “What is it, Daddy?”
My dick responds with a mind of its own, pushing against her perfect ass.
“That was fucking awesome.”
“What?”
“Watching you work with my brothers like you’ve been here all along. You’re so damn passionate about what you do, so good at it, goddamn made me hard just listening to you talk.”
She leans up closer to me and drapes her arms around my neck, giving me a demure smile that makes my heart beat faster. “You’re… turned on… by my intelligence?”
“Fuck yes.”
Her pupils dilate as she breathes, “That’s so fucking sexy.”
Her lips hit mine with such fervor I groan. My tongue finds hers, a soft, sensual exploration and plundering as she moans into my mouth and I swallow it down. I tug her closer, needing to feel her hot body pressed up against mine, and she lifts her hands from around my shoulders and stabs them through my hair. I groan, deep in my throat. Her body melts against mine as I kiss her. I want to take her, right here, want to feel her body as close to mine as humanly possible.
“Fuck, babe,” I groan in her ear when she runs her fingernails down my back and scratches like a feral kitten. I love the way it feels.
I could love a woman like her.
No, fuck it.
I could love her.
My phone vibrates at the very same time I hear Romeo call my name.
“Mario! Where are you?”
She scrambles off my lap but flushes as he comes around the corner and sees us. But he don’t give a shit we were just locking lips.
“Need you to fly to Tuscany.”
“When?”
“Right now.”
I blink in surprise. It’s not unusual for one of us to have to go there almost immediately, but I didn’t expect it today.
“Take Emma with you.”
I nod and stand. She stares at me. “I can’t leave the country,” she whispers. “And why do we even have to go?”
Romeo clenches his jaw. “I’ll tell you when you get there. Don’t pack a bag. Take the bare essentials, and you’ll take the private jet. Catch it in thirty.”
I take Emma by the hand. She weaves her fingers in mine as we follow Romeo back inside.
“Wait,” she hisses. “Mario, wait.”
I pause and give her a stern look. “We can talk inside.”
“Do you just… go… the instant he says go? He says jump, you say ‘how high?’”
“Yeah, babe. I do. We all do. He’s the Don.”
She mutters something under her breath about not wanting to be married to that, which I ignore. Marrying any of us isn’t a cakewalk, and she knows that by now.
“If he’s sending me to Tuscany, it’s for good reason. I trust him.” I give her hand a squeeze. “Can you trust me?”
She looks sideways at me and takes too long to nod before she finally agrees. “Yeah. Yeah, I trust you.” But her words don’t feel authentic.
We don’t have time, though. We enter The Castle amidst a flurry of movement and conversation. Mama grabs me at the exit to the kitchen.