Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
A couple minutes later, she returned with a plate of hot food. She also brought a basket of bread and an extra plate with a bottle of Mancini olive oil.
“Thank you.” She was the only woman to cook for me, besides my live-in maid back in Palermo. I hadn’t been home much lately, so she probably had a lot more free time than usual. I sliced my fork through the layers and took a bite. “Damn, that’s good.”
She sat in the chair to my right and rolled her eyes a little bit.
“I’m serious.” I continued to eat, noticing how fresh the pasta sauce was, like she’d made it that day, sauteed with onion and garlic from her own garden and crushed the tomatoes by hand. “You cook better than my maid.”
“You have a maid?”
“In Palermo. I’ll move her over here when I find a place.” I continued to eat the large slice of lasagna she’d put on my plate. It was actually probably two pieces put together, but I was a big man with a big appetite. “How was your day?”
“Worked in the office then came home around five.”
“Any lacerations to stitch up today?”
“Nope,” she said. “You weren’t there, so…”
I smirked before I took another bite. “Good one, baby.”
Her eyes dropped to my arm, where my gunshot wound was hidden under the sleeve of my shirt. “How’s your arm?”
“I told you I’m fine.”
“Well, you got shot, so I’m not sure I believe you.”
“I meant what I said—I don’t feel pain.”
“Not possible.”
“Everyone has a different tolerance for pain. Mine is exceptionally higher than everyone else’s.”
“Or your nervous system is suppressed because you’re in survival mode.” She propped her chin on her closed knuckles as she watched me eat. “I imagine you’ve been in survival mode a long time.”
“There you go, being all smart and sexy.”
A little smile moved on to her lips. “Nice try.”
“What?”
“Your deflection.”
I’d already taken a bite, so I finished it as I stared at her, realizing that I’d somehow underestimated her even though I’d been enamored since the moment we’d met. “You’re so fucking hot.”
“Gonna double down, huh?” she said with a smirk.
“I mean it. You’re discerning. And I like that.” I’d never had a type. If a woman wanted to fuck, I was always game, anywhere, anytime. But Francesca changed all that. I felt like a different man, when I’d only known her for about two weeks. Once I’d tasted her fruit, it was the only taste I wanted on my tongue. I wanted to know more than her body, but her mind, and that was a first for me. “Did you become a nurse just to help your father?”
“No. I became a nurse because I wanted to help people. Work in surgery or the ICU or maybe peds.”
“Peds?” I asked.
“Pediatrics,” she said. “Kids.”
I gave a slow nod in understanding.
“But my father said he needed me here, so when I graduated, I came back.”
“That’s pretty fucked up.”
She gave a shrug. “I always knew I’d end up back here.”
“Why?”
“It’s in my blood.”
“But it’s not all that you are.”
“I know,” she said. “But this land has been in my family for generations, back to the late eighteen hundreds. We can trace the origin of the Mafia back through my family tree, so I think it started here, on this very land. So, yeah, I think it’s a big part of who I am.”
It helped me understand the Mancini family a little better. “That’s why you do everything old-school. Operate by a code. Keep everything in the family. Because they’re practices you’ve inherited.”
“Yeah,” she said. “If we did business like Cosa Nostra or some of the other organizations on the island and the mainland, I’d probably walk away. But because we’re one of the good ones, I’m okay with it. I am proud of my family and my bloodline. Our plan is for Leo to take over that business when my father is gone, and I’ll continue the winery. Two very different businesses on the same property. And at the end of the day, the winery makes millions annually, and I could never make that much as a nurse.”
“You care about money?”
“Of course,” she said. “Doesn’t everyone?”
I felt the smile return to my lips. “Ambitious…sexy.”
“I thought ambition was a turn-off for men?”
“Yes—for insecure men,” I said. “For assholes who need to make the money to maintain their masculinity. To use it to control their woman so she’ll never be able to leave, no matter how he treats her. It’s all about power—and men don’t like it when women have it.” I took another bite of the lasagna, over halfway done with it. “Let me tell you a secret,” I said as I shook my head. “Men ain’t shit.”
She released a quiet chuckle.
“They aren’t,” I said. “Most of them are a bunch of egotistical narcissists.”