Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Entering the bedroom, I head straight for the walk-in closet. Taking a moment, I check all the clothes Vittoria bought, making sure nothing is too revealing.
I’m happy with the collection Ian chose for my wife, and with a smile, I grab a pair of jeans and a T-shirt before heading into the bathroom.
I notice new shampoo and conditioner bottles and a floral-scented body wash. There’s also a small bottle of perfume, and picking it up, I inhale the scent.
It smells like Vittoria, and I memorize the perfume's name so I can get her more.
Dropping my clothes on the counter, I switch on the faucets in the shower, and while the water warms up, I strip out of the suit.
I step beneath the warm spray and let out a sigh as my thoughts turn to the weekend. It will be the first time I don’t work because I’ve never had a reason to stay at home.
But I’ll get to spend time with Vittoria, and I plan on learning as much about her as possible.
I also plan to fuck her senseless.
I feel I’ve given her enough time to recover from losing her virginity.
Chapter 23
Tori
After I light the two candles, I quickly shut the curtains so the room will be darker.
I turn to look at the intimate corner of the dining room table, and happy that it looks romantic, I hurry back to the kitchen.
I want tonight to be special for Angelo. It’s my way of making an effort to get closer to him.
I’ve prepared baked eggplant with melted parmesan and roasted duck with blackberry-orange sauce.
Before Rita left, she showed me the wine cellar and helped me pair the perfect bottle with our dinner.
I take the chilled Romanee-Conti from the fridge, and grabbing the corkscrew, I try to figure out how the gadget works.
“Need some help?” Angelo suddenly says behind me.
“God!” I let out a startled chuckle, then mutter, “Please.”
I wish the man would make a sound so I hear when he enters a room.
I hand him the bottle and corkscrew.
He checks the label. “Nice choice.”
“Rita helped me choose the wine,” I mention as my gaze drifts over the faded blue jeans and white T-shirt he’s wearing.
My eyes stop on his bare feet, and I can almost imagine he’s just an ordinary man.
But that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
My attention is drawn to his strong hands as he twists the cork out of the bottle, and I admire the veins snaking up his arms.
The cork pops out, and he hands the bottle back to me.
“What else can I do?”
I shake my head. “You can take a seat at the dining room table.”
I follow him out of the kitchen, and I notice the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. It makes me remember who Angelo is.
Entering the dining room, he looks at the candlelit dinner I’ve prepared, and I try to gauge his reaction.
His eyes flick to me as he sits down, then he asks, “Are we celebrating something?”
I pour some wine before taking a seat to his left. “I just wanted to do something special for you.”
His hand covers mine, and he gives me a squeeze. “Thank you, mia piccola cerviatta.”
As I place a couple of slices of the roasted duck and some of the eggplant parmesan on his plate, I ask, “Why do you call me your little deer?”
I’m not fluent in Italian, but I know enough to understand the term of endearment.
“You’re skittish like one.”
I load some food into my plate, then look at him as he takes a bite.
Everything in me stills as I watch him closely.
His eyes drift shut, and he lets out a groan. “Christ, the duck melts in my mouth.” He opens his eyes and bathes me with a look of pride. “You should’ve become a chef.”
Happy because he likes the food, I smile like an idiot.
A frown line forms between his eyes. “Is that something you’d like to do?”
“What?” I cut a small piece of duck. “A chef?” Popping the bite into my mouth, I begin to enjoy my meal.
“Yes.”
I shake my head. “I love baking and cooking, but it’s a relaxing hobby.” Taking the chance that’s been presented to me, I say, “I wanted to ask you something.”
He nods as he continues to eat.
“I’d like to attend Mass Sunday morning.”
His eyes lock with mine, and my stomach drops.
Angelo takes a sip of his wine before he says, “I don’t expect you to change your routine, Vittoria. You can continue with your church duties.”
Thank God.
I let out a relieved breath, which he notices.
Reaching a hand out to my face, he tucks a curl behind my ear. “Unless you plan on doing something out of the norm, you don’t have to ask my permission.”
“Okay.”
“Just don’t leave the house without Tiny.”
I nod and glance at my plate. “Ah…can I also continue to make food for Father Parisi?”