SAFEWORDS AT A SEX CLUB IN SICILY
The next day,I talked to my father. It was getting more difficult by the day to lie to him and telling him I was still in the United Kingdom. I have never lied to my father before and I was sitting on the biggest lie I have ever told.
I could have read him the letter from Nonna and make him understand why I am here, but for now it feels like something just her and I share.
I told Lorenzo the next stop on my list was going to Sicily. He had business to attend to there, so he accompanied me. Along with a begrudging Antonio. The more I see these two interact, the more I am convinced that these men are mafia bosses.
I mean, that’s a thing, right? Sicily. The mob.
My mind takes over and often times reason is slow to catch up to me. We took the three-and-a-half-hour flight to Catania on his private jet.
“So, you have a private jet?” I ask, my eyebrow raising suspiciously.
“Business plane,” he says somberly.
My fingers grazed across the white leather arm of my chair before looking intently at Lorenzo in front of me. Our gaze must have been too intense for Antonio, who cleared his throat before shooting me a dirty look. They both grab a quick sip from the whiskey glasses on the table in front of them. Swirling the brown liquid around in circles. Antonio sniffs the alcohol in his glass gingerly before looking out the plane window at the clouds below. Meanwhile, Lorenzo’s eyes are strictly inside the swirling liquid in the glass in his hands.
Are these two related? Who the fuck are they? Those eyes of Enzo’s are going to be my undoing.
I glanced down at his tatted fingers, trying not to smile remembering just what those fingers are capable of. I raked my thick curls into a low ponytail behind my head. My cleavage from my white tank top beckoning Lorenzo’s hungry gaze. Before he can open his mouth to say something, two flight attendants walk over to us and place three small plates on the table, each in front of us. The most delectable and fragrant cacio e pepe was served. Antonio turned from the window and winked at the flight attendant who remained. She was thin, brunette and copper skinned. Beautiful in every aspect. I watched their interaction intently. The subtle blush in her cheeks after he winked at her didn’t go unnoticed by me. I raised my eyebrow at Lorenzo who just gave me a sly smirk and roll of the eyes back at me. I carefully watch their mannerisms as I take a quick sip of champagne from the glass in my hand before putting it down on the table.
The subtle glance by her and the avoidance by him. I know when two people had sex, and those two definitely had sex.
“Delicious,” I say, inhaling the fragrant scent of garlic and parmesan cheese.
“Grazie,” Lorenzo replies.
The flight attend nods numbly, silently offended at being ignored by the frowning Italian at the window.
This mother fucker.
My eyebrow raises in a silent agreement as I glance away from his direction. Lorenzo regards me carefully. I shrugged innocently and looked back down at my bowl full of pasta.
“Cakiooo Peepee,” I say, overly exaggerating the name of the dish in the best Super Mario accent I could muster.
Lorenzo’s wide eyes were enough to almost make me choke on the pasta on my fork.
“Cacio Pepe?” he corrects.
“Cakio,” I answer.
“Cacio,” Antonio says slowly, his fingers pressed together to enunciate.
“Cakioo,” I repeat defiantly, his annoyed reaction fueling my amusement.
“Cash-e-o. Cacio. Cacio Pepe,” Antonio says, irritation dripping with each word.
“I love seeing you so worked up,” I say, taking a bite of the pasta before me.
Lorenzo stifles a laugh as he wipes his face with his napkin, trying to cover his beaming smile.
“Mamma mia,” Antonio curses.
“What?” I ask.
“She does not even know what cacio e pepe is, Lorenzo,” he says, dumfounded and frustrated.
“I’m American, not an idiot,” I answer.
“Could have fooled me,” Antonio mutters under his breath.
“My Nonna is Italian. I know what cacio e pepe is. It’s a stripped-down macaroni and cheese.”
My lips turn upward into a smile, bracing for the frustration to overtake Antonio. Lorenzo lets an amused chuckle escape his lips.
“Porca puttana,” his irritation palpable.
I scoffed that this man is so wound up in tightly knit frustration and everything I say gets under his skin.
Take that for calling me fat you asshole.
My gaze is directed back upon Lorenzo sitting in front of me. Almost sensing my gaze, he watches me intently.
“What do you do for a living?” I ask.
“Finance,” Lorenzo responds.
“Finance,” I repeat, unconvinced.
“And he’s very busy, yet here is, with you,” Antonio seethes.
“Antonio, enough,” Lorenzo’s patience finally running out.
“You had to be in Sicily three days ago. There were deals to be made.”
“I’m here now,” Lorenzo counters.
“I heard men are mean to you when they want you,” I say, my gaze returning to Antonio.
“I don’t want you,” his deep chocolate brown gaze directed narrowly at me.
Time to poke the bear. It’s too easy.
“The hard on your sporting says otherwise, Antonio.”
“Excusa?” He exclaims, looking down into his lap with a shocked expression.
“Made you look,” I say, before placing another bite of pasta into my mouth.
Lorenzo smile beams across his lips, thoroughly amused by me teasing his partner next to him. Antonio looks like his extremely fragile ego bubble has just been busted. He pursed his lips together and nodded his head defiantly.
“Your frown will become permanent with that scowl and no woman wants to have sex with someone that looks like that.”
“I have no problems in that department,” Antonio says confidently.
“Of course, you don’t. You probably take them all from behind so they can’t see it,” I say, taking a long sip of champagne.
I avoided his disbelieving gaze as Lorenzo chuckles into his glass of whiskey. I shrugged at the man in front of me as Antonio muttered curse words in Italian out the window, carefully nursing his drink.
This is going to be a long rest of the flight. Was it something I said?
* * *