Page 38 of No Darker Temptation

She doesn’t move at first—not until I push her hair away from her face and caress the side of her neck. A sigh leaves her lips and a crease forms between her brows as she tries to open her eyes against the sun. I angle my body so it doesn’t hit her directly.

“I have to step out.”

“Hm?”

“I’m stepping out.” I drag my thumb over her bottom lip. “I’ll call you later.”

“What time is it?”

“Early. Go back to sleep.”

Dahlia closes her eyes and says, “Off to do your Corleone stuff?”

“Every day your Godfather references become less and less charming.”

She smiles. “I love you.”

“Yeah.” I kiss her cheek. “I know.”

By the time I arrive at El Aliciente, the staff is getting ready to open. Sundays tend to be one of the busiest days of the week for us. There’s a church around the corner and so after mass at least half the congregation makes their way to the lounge for their morning coffee and weekly gossip. I head upstairs to the office where Diego is already waiting for me, sitting behind the cherry wood secretary with his feet kicked up and an old newspaper in his hands.

“We have a problem.”

“Can I at least finish my coffee before you ruin my morning?” I ask.

“Abuelo called. He needs a favor.”

“You know, I thought part of the benefit of putting him into retirement was not having to do him favors anymore.”

Diego turns the page in his newspaper. “What can I say? He’ll probably die at his desk.”

“Speaking of desks.” I hook a hand under his ankle and toss his legs aside. “Get off of mine.”

With pursed lips, he indignantly takes his newspaper and cellphone to the leather chairs on the other side of my desk. He sits down and I turn on my computer while he fills me in on what’s going on in Trieste.

“As you know, Abuelo encountered a bit of trouble with a few local families in the area. The Coppolas were kind enough to step in,” Diego says. “Right now, they’re feuding with the Russos and the second Coppola son, Joseph, is known to have a temper. Apparently, there was some sort of altercation and now a bunch of headhunters are out looking for him.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“Abuelo feels indebted to the Coppolas. He wants us to take Joseph and put him somewhere. Just for a few months until things calm down over there.”

I sit back in my seat to consider. “I don’t see why not. We can send him to the villa, make sure it’s secure.”

Diego nods his agreement. “I was thinking the same thing. I’ll call Abuelo and let him know.”

“Let’s make sure knowledge of this arrangement remains contained,” I warn. “Tell only who you have to. Lettie, Dimitrio, Beni, and maybe Oscar and Pedro. Otherwise, keep it to yourself. Last thing I need is for Sandro to find out and somehow manage to be a pain in my ass about it.”

My brother salutes me on his way out. “Si, patrón!”

I roll my eyes and open the files on my desk, already buried a dozen folders deep before eight in the morning.

Hours pass and by the time I manage to tear my gaze away from the screen my eyes are burning. All I’ve done is skim through documents, sign and scan papers, and sort through emails yet I’m exhausted. A few days ago, we got back from our trip to Mexico where we celebrated the company’s anniversary and in April we were in Colombia a few weeks for my uncle’s birthday. Prior to that in March, I was flying back and forth between here and Miami where our cousin Arias was encountering a problem with some South American shipments.

For the last three months I’ve spent more time on a plane than I have in my own bed. I’m looking forward to the reprieve from work and what will hopefully be a calm, quiet summer.

I turn off my computer and leave a few signed documents on the edge of my desk for one of the managers to grab whenever they have a moment. In doing so I catch a glimpse of the photo I have of Dahlia in a gilded picture frame. She’s sitting on the balcony of the guest room we shared in Colombia a few months ago, knees tucked against her chest, glass of orange juice in hand. The sun’s rising behind her and I caught her off guard when I snapped the photo—it’s why she’s smiling wide with her head tilted like a second grader on picture day.

I can’t wait to see her. Going home to her is the best part of my day.