Mia
I watched, open-mouthed, as the helicopter touched down inside the grounds of a magnificent walled estate perched above the city.
From the bus tour I had done with Evie and our friends on our first evening in the city, I knew Naples had a history of occupation, and its architecture reflected that—from elaborately decorated Baroque churches to the Renaissance finery and Mediterranean practicality of the city’s historic homes—but as Vito escorted me down the steps of the helicopter, and I got my first look at the house, I’d never seen a building here as elaborate or well maintained.
Four stories of ornate plaster were lit by torches and covered in bougainvillea, a selection of wrought-iron balconies and tall, mullioned windows adding to its imposing grandeur. He had referred to his home as a villa, but the building’s neoclassical splendour made it look more like a palace.
Becca had said Vito was phenomenally rich, but I hadn’t expected anything this elegant or awe-inspiring.
We walked up the marble staircase at the front of the house, which led to an arched entrance flanked by Doric columns and two stone lions, almost as striking as their owner.
Three men appeared from inside the house.
Vito spoke to them in Italian. All three of them bowed while one replied, his tone low with deference, ‘Si, Don Vito,mio padrino…’
Vito exuded power and arrogance, but as he led me past his staff, their subservience was a little unnerving…not to mention weirdly hot. Who knew I had a thing for powerful men?
‘Why did he call youpadrino?’ I asked, recalling how Lorenzo, the bodyguard on the boat, had addressed him the same way.
Vito headed through the main entrance. ‘It is from respect,’ he said as I rushed to keep up with him.
Okay, what?
Was Vito some kind of prince? I knew Italy had become a republic in the forties and the state no longer recognised the titles of the aristocracy—but according to our bus tour, there were still aristocratic families that owned estates in the region.
Two people appeared in the mansion’s cavernous entrance hall to greet us. An older woman dressed in black and a man in a linen suit. I recognised him from the men surrounding Vito when he’d given me ‘the look’.
Again, they both bowed and addressed him as Don Vito. After a brief exchange in Italian with the woman, Vito turned to me.
Tugging me close, he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes dark with the same hunger that had been burning inside me since ‘the look’.
‘Do you wish to eat?’ he asked.
I shook my head, surprised he had offered—almost as if this were a date instead of a booty call—but knowing I was way too hyper to eat anything.
‘No, I’m not hungry,’ I said.
His gaze raked over me, the fierce approval in those pure blue eyes making me dizzy.
‘Bene,’ he said. ‘There is only one thing I am hungry for too, and it is not food.’
The intense expression made his meaning clear and a wave of adrenaline hurtled through my system. He turned back to his staff and dismissed them both.
But while the woman disappeared again, the man spoke—his voice low with what sounded like concern or even disapproval as his gaze flicked to me.
Although Vito didn’t raise his voice, I could hear the sharp reprimand in the tone when he replied in Italian. The man had obviously heard it too, because his colour heightened, but instead of arguing the point, he only nodded, bowed again, then left us, too.
‘Is there… Is there a problem with me being here?’ I asked.
‘The only problem is that you are not naked yet,’ he said, his voice rough with amusement.
‘You’re not very subtle,’ I murmured, suddenly needing to slow him down just a little. I knew tonight was about hunger, passion, getting off, and I was more than okay with that. But I didn’t want this to be over too soon. And me to be left feeling unsatisfied, or worse, used. Because I’d already had enough of that feeling to last me a lifetime.
But instead of taking the hint, he chuckled. ‘Subtlety is not one of my virtues,’ he declared. ‘But when I make you come until you scream my name, you will not be complaining,’ he finished, marching down the entrance hall and then taking the wide, sweeping staircase to the next floor.
Giddy excitement raced through me as I was dragged along in his wake. ‘And super arrogant to boot,’ I added, trying to sound as if I wasn’t already melting into a puddle of pheromones at his demanding tone.
When had I ever met a man who took what he wanted without bothering to wait for an invitation? On the one hand, it ought to be a turn-off. I wasn’t used to being told what to do. On the other, this was already the hottest night of my life. Bar none.
