Alessandro DeLuca

“Threatening you?”

“No. I thought that at first, too, but they assured me when I asked that it wasn’t that. They insisted that removing their account would cause the business to take a hit that I might not be able to afford and even suggested that I was attempting to break up a ‘partnership.’”

“That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

Shaking his head, Carlo says, “I don’t know. I get Uncle Mike was friends with these guys for years, but it doesn’t make business sense, you know? They acted as if I was making a great mistake, and in some ways, I feel I’m betraying my uncle, but the ends don’t justify the means.”

“Then stick with what you know. You’ve got a degree in accounting. I’m sure you’ll figure it all out.”

My husband reaches across the table, grabs my hands, and smiles at me. “Yeah, I will. But you know what I’ve figured out tonight?”

“No, what’s that?”

“That I love you more than I did the day that I said, ‘I do.’”

“Aww, Carlo, I love you more than words can say.”

We lean across the table to share a kiss, at which point Zoe decides to join back into our world.

“Eewww,” she giggles.

Pulling apart, Carlo and I smile at one another before he bends down and presses a kiss on her cheek.

The wait staff returns with our meals.

“Happy Anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Blade. The meal is on the house tonight, compliments of the chef and the owner.”

“Oh?” I say, looking between Carlo and the head waiter.

Carlo looks nervous, but he smiles anyway and nods his head at the waiter.

“But why?” I ask. “Does everyone get their anniversary dinner free?”

The wait staff busies themselves with serving our meal, and the head waiter says, “I am not sure, ma’am. I am just carrying out an order.”

“Zahra, don’t sound so ungrateful,” Carlo chides.

I’m shocked at his comment and the slight edge in his reprimand. I look at him, and he gives another nervous smile, saying, “Let’s just enjoy the meal.”

“Okay,” I reply.

After they’ve left, I cannot leave the issue alone.

“Sooo, do you know the chef? Is it one of your old girlfriends?” I tease.

“No.”

“Okay, the owner then? I know you don’t know the DeLucas,” I say.

It’s no secret that the DeLuca family is one of the biggest crime families in the south. They own so many establishments it’s easy to forget when you’re inside one. And while I’m no supporter of mafia families, I also won’t deny myself a great meal at one of the finest restaurants in Atlanta.

“Mr. DeLuca approached me about a business opportunity.”

“What type of opportunity?” I ask as I dig into my salmon.

“He wanted to purchase the vineyard,” he says.

My stomach tightens, and the salmon I’ve been craving suddenly loses its appeal.