Mafia Kings: Valentino: Dark Mafia Romance Series #6 by Olivia Thorn

Mafia Kings: Valentino: Chapter 3

And that was how I got an interview with the Rosolinis.

An old boyfriend of mine who still lived in town (and who I occasionally still hooked up with when we were both single) drove me out into the countryside for the interview.

Using Google Maps, we turned down a small road bordered by tall, thin cedar trees, then drove until we reached a massive stone wall with iron gates.

We sat there in his car, wondering what the hell we should do, when a voice blared out of a speaker on the wall.

“State your business.”

The voice was so loud that we could hear it clearly through our rolled-up windows.

I opened the car door and stepped out timidly into the freezing winter air.

“I’m – I’m here for the job in the kitchen,” I called out nervously, my heart thudding in my chest.

“Your name?” the voice snapped.

“C-Caterina Martinelli.”

There was a long pause, and I wondered if I would even get in to do the interview.

Maybe I was going to lose the job before I even got a chance.

Then the voice said, “Stay there. We’re sending someone to get you.”

I helpfully suggested, “My friend could drive me up to the – ”

“STAY. THERE. We’re sending someone to get you.”

I quickly got back in the car, terrified of pissing off the voice any more.

My ex-boyfriend stared at me. He was clearly as nervous as I was. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I’d like to see the house, at least.”

We waited for two minutes – and then the gates opened up.

On the other side was a black Mercedes. A man in a black suit and white shirt got out of the passenger side and motioned to me.

I got out of my ex’s car.

As I started walking towards the Mercedes, my ex rolled down his window and stuck his head out. “What about me?”

“Wait here,” the man in the black suit said.

“Just – out here?” my ex said, a bit surprised and definitely annoyed.

“Yes.”

“What if somebody comes up behind me? Or wants to leave from your direction?”

“Then get out of the way.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured my ex. Although I sounded so nervous, I doubt he was reassured at all. “I’ll be out soon.”

My ex grumbled and got back in the car.

As I walked over to the man in the suit, the gates closed behind me. I heard them creak and I jumped.

“I need to search you,” the guy said.

“Um… okay…?”

He checked my purse, then gave me a quick pat-down.

“Ooh, I didn’t know this was part of the interview process,” I joked flirtatiously.

He didn’t even crack a smile. He just opened up the rear passenger-side door for me.

O-kaaaay…

I got in meekly without a word.

He shut the door behind me and got back in the car.

The driver did a three-point turn, and we headed up towards the house.

I don’t know that the property was quite as impressive as the Vatican (since I haven’t been to Rome)… but it was still pretty damn amazing.

First we drove past vineyards and orchards. The road sloped upwards, and when we broke out of the trees, I saw it: a gigantic mansion at the top of the hill, three stories tall. It looked old – maybe 500 years old or more.

“Wow,” I murmured.

Neither of the two guys in the front seat said anything.

We reached a circular drive in front of marble steps and a pair of bronze doors.

The guy got out and opened my door. “Let’s go.”

I got out, a little clumsy from my nervousness. As the Mercedes drove off, the man led me up to the bronze doors.

lounging around the entrance. If they were mafia, they looked more like they were on a smoke break than keeping

into the house. It was even more amazing on the inside, with thick Persian rugs,

he pushed

a kitchen it was! There were ancient stone walls, yes, but also marble countertops, an absolutely gigantic island filled with two dozen bowls and

I’d died and gone

hand. She was tall and imposing in a black dress, and her curly grey hair reached

the

she replied. “You

walked out the door

said, “you

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

she said – not a question but a

ma’am. I live in Florence, but

paper in her hand, which I realized was a

it’s a touristy

slightest bit contemptuous. “Well, all that really matters is whether you can cook, and I’ll be the judge of that. Here you can see we

There was a glass pitcher filled with milk and an unlabeled green bottle of olive oil. Salt and pepper shakers made of crystal sat off to the side. Two bottles of wine – one red, one white. And on big marble platters were several different types of cheese – parmesan and ricotta, in particular – and a

cook over two hundred

My nonna taught

hours to cook whatever you

in surprise.

to take my reaction

in fact I

to cook in

And whatever I WANT?!

of jars. The

annoyance. “If that distresses you, you can exit the

ma’am!” I

make a whole meal to knock

pity I couldn’t make the pasta from scratch, but that would take

just one

the gate,” I said. “He thought I’d only be in here for half

men tell him to

he might not leave

a tight smile. “Then he

read between the

about your

“Okay,” I said sheepishly.

a few ingredients and was delighted. The basil was fresh from the garden, and the olive

tastes like it was just

gave me the first hint of a smile. “It’s harvested

the way, is

“In the refrigerator.”

alla Bolognese, a pasta dish with tomato sauce and beef. Besides the traditional

addition, a simple peasant bread with bits of olive in

a nice zuccotto, a creamy dessert cake where I could use fresh

pans, and cutlery were, I grabbed

laptop. Occasionally she would glance up and watch me for a

the entire time, doing the thing I loved the most (well, besides sex) in the most beautiful kitchen I’d ever seen. I was a little nervous at the beginning, but mostly

a noise as the door opened behind me.

the

playful, and smooth as the

so good? And who’s this that looks

in surprise –

man I’d ever seen in

just a boy like the guys I dated back home or in Florence, but

tall,

built, with broad shoulders. He wore a loose-fitting white linen shirt, so I couldn’t see his body incredibly well, but the neck of

chest. Sculpted pecs bronzed by the sun, with just the perfect amount of chest

too, exposing muscular forearms

Like, BIG hands.

immediately wonder how

it was his face that took my

half-smile pulled at the corner of his incredibly kissable mouth. Several days of scruff made him look sexy as hell. His dark brown hair was wavy and fairly long, and was tousled and wild. He looked like a supermodel who’d just

movie star or musician I’d ever seen, and

my

that’s

But it did!

eyes met, he burst into a

smile with perfectly straight, white

he said flirtatiously. “That is, I’m

English – meaning an unmarried woman – versus Signora, which

grinned right back

“Well, that’s the best

trailed down my body, pausing on

like it when men

the world is

gaze felt like a caress, and I immediately

parts of my body getting

sneak a peek at his crotch – but I

Barely.

an

Signora Lombardi.

she