Chapter 14

Mafia Kings: Valentino: Chapter 14 As time went by, things got crazier with Valentino.

We took more chances – which was thrilling, but also really scary.

I was always convinced I was this close to being found out and getting fired.

But I wanted him so badly, I took ALL the risks.

We went from fucking in the pantry at the beginning of my shift...

To him pulling me into the pantry anytime I was the only one working in the kitchen.

After lunch, it was usually slow for an hour before the evening crew came on for dinner –

And sure enough, Valentino would come calling.

Mostly we did it in the pantry... although sometimes we fucked in one of the 2000 bathrooms in the giant house.

Occasionally it was in a spare bedroom...

And even once or twice outside, in the beautiful gardens.

Then he started visiting me in my room in the servant quarters at night...

And we’d fuck for hours before I’d kick him out so I could at least get some sleep before I had to get up and start my shift.

I could never say no to him.

I tried... but I didn’t really want to say ‘no.’

Not to that beautiful face...

That incredible body...

Or that huge, gorgeous cock.

So I always fucked him. Always.

I knew it wasn’t going to last, so I was going to enjoy it while it did.

Why wouldn’t it last, you might ask?

Well, I mean, I was a girl who worked in the kitchen –

And he was in the richest family in Tuscany.

Not to mention he was in the mafia, though neither of us ever talked about that.

Not that we had a ton of time for talking.

We started talking more at night, though, when he began to sneak into my room.

I’d tell him stories about Nonna and how I’d always wanted to cook.

He’d tell me stories about his mother, who had died from cancer when he was only 13.

He broke my heart the way he talked about her.

For somebody (me) who’d had a bad relationship with her own parents, the love he had for his mom was like something out of a storybook...

And it made me like him all the more.

One of his stories really stood out to me – because it involved both love and food.

“She used to make me this special version of almond milk when I was little,” he said one time. “She learned it from my grandmother – my dad’s mom – who was Sicilian.

“Mom would soak almonds for two days, then blend them up... but when she strained out the milk, she would add back in some of the pulp so it was kind of grainy. Then she would put a big spoonful of cherry preserves in the bottom.

“I used to love that. Sometimes I’d stir it up so the cherries were mixed in, but a lot of times I’d just drink all the sweet milk so I could eat the cherries by themselves.” He smiled sadly. “She made it just for me. None of my brothers liked it that much... so she made it just for me.”

“She didn’t have servants fix it for you?” I asked, surprised.

“No, she did it all herself.”

That astounded me.

His mother was a rich woman who lived in a palace. She had servants who would do anything she commanded...

And yet she went through the trouble of soaking almonds, grinding them up herself, and fixing the drink...

All because her youngest son enjoyed it.

“She loved you,” I murmured.

“Of course,” he said casually.

“No, I mean – I really enjoy cooking for people. It’s how I show I love them. It sounds like that’s how she showed love for you.”

Valentino got really quiet.

Then he said, “She’s buried out in the orchards, you know. We have a little graveyard for my grandparents and her. I... I go out there and talk to her sometimes.”

“What do you tell her?”

What he said next broke my heart.

“When I was 12 years old, I wanted to be cool like my brothers, so I pretended that I didn’t like the almond drink anymore. I was really rude the last time she fixed it for me, when she was still sick. So now I tell her...”

His voice choked up.

“I tell her that I miss her... and I miss being able to taste that drink... and I’d do almost anything to be able to have her make it for me one more time.”

I nearly cried.

I hoped somebody loved me enough to talk about me like that one day.

When he saw the tears in my eyes, he smiled and kissed me tenderly.

One thing led to another, and we had sex.

But it was slow and sweet for the very first time.

If I didn’t know any better, I might have said we’d made love.

But that wasn’t what we were doing.

I had to remind myself:

This is just a fling.

This is just for fun.

But of all the nights we spent together in my tiny little servant’s room, that was the one that stood out the most...

And the one that I wished could happen again. Or something like it, anyway.

It never did.

The rest of our sex life was on fire, it was so hot –

But I always looked back on that night with a special place in my heart.

Sometimes I wished things could have been different...

And that once in a while, he’d take me softly in his arms and make love to me.