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.

If they were mafia,

me into the house. It was even more amazing on the inside, with thick Persian rugs, crystal chandeliers, and old artwork

led me through a maze of hallways until he

yes, but also marble countertops, an absolutely gigantic island filled with two dozen bowls and glass jars, and

thought I’d died and

and imposing in a black dress, and her curly grey hair reached to her shoulders. She looked over at the sound of the

the

you, Benvenuto,” she replied. “You

the door we’d come

said, “you must

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

– not a

I live in Florence, but I’m from

was a printout of my

touristy

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

Small bowls had anise, cloves, and other spices. 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,

résumé, you indicated you could cook over two hundred

My

you like using these

her in surprise. “You

seemed to take my reaction

in fact

cook in THIS

And whatever I WANT?!

I fixed the same damn thing: marinara sauce with meat. You couldn’t even really call it cooking since I used sauce out of jars. The only thing I did was sauté

a hint of annoyance. “If that distresses you, you can exit the interview now if you

ma’am!” I said

I figured I could make a whole meal to knock her socks

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

just

my ride is waiting out by the gate,” I said. “He thought

tell him to go

leave unless I tell him

a tight smile. “Then he

could read between the

bothering me about

“Okay,” I said sheepishly.

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

it was just pressed,” I said in

hint of a smile. “It’s harvested from

way, is there any

“In the refrigerator.”

a nice tagliatelle alla Bolognese, a pasta dish with tomato sauce and beef. Besides the traditional garlic and basil for flavoring, I could use a bit of anise and cloves to really make the sauce

bread with bits of olive in it would

cake where I could

where all the pots, pans, and cutlery

she would glance up and watch me for a moment, then go back to whatever she

I loved the most (well, besides sex) in the most beautiful kitchen I’d ever seen.

a noise as the door opened

I heard the sexiest

and smooth as the

so good? And who’s this that

around in

most gorgeous man I’d ever seen in my entire

I dated

was tall, probably

a loose-fitting white linen shirt, so I couldn’t see his body incredibly well, but the neck of the shirt was

chest. Sculpted pecs bronzed by the sun,

were rolled up, too,

Like, BIG hands.

immediately wonder how big something else

was his face

cheekbones… a granite jawline… sensual lips… flawless skin… and the most playful brown eyes I’d ever seen. A 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,

star or musician I’d ever seen, and

to mention my pussy fluttered with

that’s

But it did!

eyes met, he

million-dollar smile with perfectly straight,

said flirtatiously. “That

equivalent to Miss in English – meaning an unmarried woman – versus Signora,

blushed furiously, but I grinned

even wider. “Well, that’s the

down my body, pausing

most women don’t particularly like it when men

the world is

caress, and I immediately felt

with other parts of my body getting more hot

a peek at

Barely.

an

Signora Lombardi.

forgotten she