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.

were lounging around the entrance. If they were mafia, they looked more like they were on a

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

maze of hallways until he pushed back a swinging door to the

marble countertops, an absolutely gigantic island filled

I’d died and gone

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

the man greeted

you, Benvenuto,” she replied. “You may

walked out the door

Signora Lombardi said, “you must

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

– not a question but a

ma’am. I live in

I realized was a printout of my résumé. “I’m not

a 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 bowls full of various

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.

you could cook over two hundred dishes by

My nonna taught

two hours to cook whatever you like using

looked at her in surprise. “You

seemed to take my reaction as being

fact

cook

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 onions and garlic, combine it with the meat sauce in giant pots, then boil hundreds of

choose,” Signora Lombardi said with a hint of annoyance. “If that distresses you,

I said

could make a whole meal to knock her

a pity I couldn’t make the pasta from scratch,

just one

my ride is waiting out by the gate,” I said. “He thought I’d only be in here for half

our men tell him to go home,”

might not leave unless I tell him

gave me a tight smile. “Then

could read

me about your

“Okay,” I said sheepishly.

made a phone call on her cell, I tried a few ingredients and was delighted. The basil was fresh from

like it was just pressed,” I said

me the first hint of a smile. “It’s

By the way, is there

“In the refrigerator.”

tomato sauce and beef. Besides the traditional garlic and basil for flavoring, I could use a bit of anise

peasant bread with bits of olive in it would be wonderful fresh from the

cake where I could use fresh strawberries as

pans, and cutlery were, I grabbed

Lombardi sat at a nearby breakfast table and worked on a laptop. Occasionally she would glance up and watch me for a moment,

sex) in the most beautiful kitchen I’d ever seen. I was a little

the door opened behind

I heard the

and playful, and smooth as the

And who’s this that

in surprise –

the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen in my

the guys I dated back home or in Florence, but

was tall, probably about

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

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

rolled up, too, exposing muscular forearms

Like, BIG hands.

wonder how big

his face that took my

corner of his incredibly kissable mouth. Several days of scruff made him look sexy as hell. His dark brown hair was

handsome than any movie star or musician I’d ever seen, and

my

that’s TMI

But it did!

met, he burst into

smile with

“That is, I’m hoping

in English – meaning an unmarried woman – versus Signora, which was the same as

blushed furiously, but I grinned right back at him.

“Well, that’s the best news

my body, pausing

think most women don’t particularly like it when men do that

when the hottest guy in the world is

gaze felt like a caress, and

other parts of my body getting more hot and

to sneak a peek at his crotch –

Barely.

said an annoyed

Signora Lombardi.

forgotten she was