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“The truth,” I finally said with a shrug. “That I’m getting the best sex of my life…” I said it with my gaze averted, not because of the shame, but because it was meaningless.
He didn’t gloat or smile, like he was used to hearing that kind of praise. After the volume of sex he must have had in his life, it was no surprise that he could fuck so well.
I took a couple bites of food, washed it down with my coffee, and then stepped back inside to get dressed.
His voice came from behind me. “Would you like some of the best sex of your life before you go?” He stood there in his gray sweatpants, low on his hips, his abs so chiseled against that hard body. Now he grinned, with an almost boyish charm.
I dropped the robe from my shoulders as I faced him, standing there in nothing but my thong. “Please.”
12
BARTHOLOMEW
I was tired.
These were not my normal working hours, waking up in the morning, the sun high in the sky and beating down on my face. I took the car from the garage and made my escape from Florence into the countryside of Tuscany. Springtime greenery was everywhere, motorbikes enjoying the open road before the tourist season. Cypress trees marked the driveways to Italian villas from the main road. It was a forty-five-minute drive into wine country, to the countryside of Siena.
I pulled off the main road and entered a dirt path. Dust flew past me in my wake. Olive trees became more abundant as I approached the one-story farmhouse and the acreage of land that produced some of the best Italian wine I’d ever had.
I parked my car and let myself inside.
Wine tasting was being held on the outside terrace by a woman who held on to her beauty despite her middle age. I moved down the hallway to the office that I wanted, and when I stepped inside, I saw a man I didn’t recognize.
He’d been on his phone, but now he looked at me with steel-blue eyes, cloudy with suspicion and threat. He seemed to know who I was—or what I was—without asking me a single question. He slowly rose to his feet, presenting himself as a powerful man, ink marked all over his arms, a black wedding ring on his left hand. He was built like a brick shithouse, like he ate an ox every morning for breakfast then picked up a truck.
“I’m looking for Crow.”
He came around the desk and slowly approached me. “And who are you?”
“Bartholomew.”
“I asked who you are—not your name.”
This guy used to be in the game too. Must have retired once he got married. “We have a mutual friend.”
“Crow has been out of the game for decades.”
“And I’m not asking him to come back. Just need a favor.”
The guy sized me up before he walked past me, purposely hitting me in the shoulder as he passed. On his way out, he bent down and stuck his hand underneath a table, pulling out a pistol stowed out of sight. “Wait here.”
* * *
There were several buildings to the winery because they grew their harvest and processed it on-site. We walked across the gravel between buildings, far away from the wine tasting being conducted outside the restaurant, and entered a storage facility with barrels stacked on shelves fifty feet in the air.
Crow appeared from behind one of the shelves, in a black t-shirt and dark jeans. His olive skin reminded me of Laura’s, and his dark eyes reminded me of bullets. For a man who could be my father, he looked just as in shape as I was. His eyes were just as ruthless too, seeing right through me. “I left that life before my children were born. It’s been over thirty years, but somehow, random men like you still show up from time to time.” He came close, his intelligent eyes challenging mine. “My wife is working at the restaurant, my son-in-law is doing the books, and my brother is in the bottling room—and you think it’s wise to provoke me?”
I liked this guy. He still had the swagger of a gangster. “I wanted to ask a favor.”
“I don’t owe you anything, asshole.”
I gave a slight smile. “For being out of the game, you seem to know exactly who I am.”
“I live a quiet life—but I don’t bury my head in the sand. Now leave my property, or I’ll put a bullet in your stomach.”
I ignored what he said. “You’re going to Antonio’s funeral today?”
Crow stared at me for a solid three seconds. “Yes.”
