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Antony unsteeples his fingers. He sits up in his seat, seeming to shake himself out of his thoughts. “Anyway. I’ll take you to see it sometime. The opera.”
I don’t reply. Because I can’t really see that happening, but I don’t want to call him on the lie. The fact is, I wish he would take me to see it. I like the idea of the two of us together, in the darkness of a theater, watching the actors and listening to the swell of the music.
We finish our first course, and Fay enters with the pasta alla Norma. Antony pours himself another glass of wine and tops mine off. Somehow, returning to superficial chit-chat feels wrong, so I decide to be bold.
“How old were you?” I ask him. “When you got made?”
Instead of brushing me off, he tells me. “I was nineteen.”
I suppress a shiver, because I know he had to kill someone to get his button.
“You know I didn’t grow up here in Cleveland, yeah?” Antony continues. I nod. “My mother was a mafia princess. The only daughter of the once-influential Licari family. You know the name, no doubt. Her marriage to my father was a marriage to unite the two families. Ma barely even knew Pop when they walked down the aisle. But from all accounts, she grew to love him in time.”
It’s unexpected, this launch into personal details. Antony is sharing more than I expected. I don’t dare interrupt him, hoping he’ll continue.
“Ma grew up in the mob,” he says. “But I don’t know a lot about her life when she was a kid. She never liked to talk about it with us kids. There are five of us, all boys. I’m the oldest. All I know is that once she had us, she started to not want to be around the organization any more. She was scared of what it would do to us, growing up with the expectation that we’d become made men. She didn’t want the violence and darkness of that life to touch us.
“My father Angelo was a loyalconsigliereto the boss back in the day. But he got whacked when someone was gunning for the boss and he was in the car that blew up instead. When our pop died, Ma had had enough. She took us away to a small town called Ironwood, down in southern Ohio, to get us away from all this.” He takes a sip of his wine. One corner of his mouth turns up ironically. “But we’d still come up here to visit family in the summers. And, well, the Cleveland mob couldn’t let the sons of one of their own just slip away like that, without trying to get ‘em back. Unfortunately for Ma, they brought me back in. Then I brought my twin brothers Marco and Matteo in. They’re in construction now. They run Phoenix Construction, and I run Phoenix Real Estate. And of course, we do… other stuff.”
I suppress a rueful smile. I know Antony isn’t about to tell me the details. “So, you came back to do your duty by your family.”
“Yes. We both do our duty, you and I.” Antony raises his glass to me, and I clink mine against it. “We’re both bound by an oath to the Clevelandfamiglia. Till death do us part.”
The words ring in the air, their layers of meaning not lost to either of us.
After Fay’s lemon gelato has been served and eaten, Antony rises from his seat. “This has been the best meal I’ve had in a long time. And the best company.”
“Fay will be so pleased,” I smile. When I start to stand, he pulls out my chair for me.
“Such manners, Mr. D’Agostino,” I say mock-coquettishly.
“Nothing but the best for my lovely fiancée, Miss Mucci,” he says with a grin.
Wordlessly, we exit the dining room, and begin walking up the large central staircase to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, I turn to the left, and he turns with me. “I’ll walk you to your door, to make sure you get home safely,” he says with a courtly bow. “That’s what a gentleman does on a date, yes?”
But then, there’s that warm hand on the small of my back again. The one that speaks of possession. Of intimacy.
But this time, we’re not in public. There’s no one to see the performance. There’s no one at all here. We’re alone.
“This is me,” I murmur, stopping at the door to my bedroom suite.
“Yes. It is.”
I glance up to find his eyes locked on my face. There’s a flash in them I’ve never seen before. A hunger. Startled, I reach back and grip the doorknob for balance. But I don’t turn it.
Antony slides the hand on my back around my waist, tugging me toward him. The move is gentle, but insistent. It’s just enough for me to register the power behind it — and to sense how much he’s holding back.
“What are you doing?” I half-whisper.
“This was a good evening, Serafina. I very much liked talking to you tonight. I liked looking at you even more.” His fingers tighten on my waist. I take half a step back, until my back is flat against the door. He moves with me. “I kept thinking about touching you. Abouttastingyou.”
He’s pressed up against me now, all hard muscles and…oh. That. He’s aroused. The knowledge makes me dizzy, with pride and desire.I’m the one making him feel this way. Me, Serafina Mucci.
My pulse quickens. My lips part. The heat between my thighs is back, stronger than before. It deepens into a throb.Oh, God, it feels so good. Why does this feel so good?
I stifle a moan.
“You know, Serafina,” he murmurs. “Whatever happened between us tonight would remain between the two of us. I think you want this as much as I do. Am I wrong?”
