Chapter 5

Mafia Kings: Valentino: Chapter 5 I immediately went back to my cooking. But as I put the finishing touches on everything, I imagined that I was cooking it all for Valentino...

That I was seducing him with my cooking.

That once he tasted my food, he would take me to bed and ravish me all night long.

I guess it worked, because when I finally dished everything up for Signora Lombardi, she tried a bite of the tagliatelle alla Bolognese and her eyes widened.

“Oh – oh, that’s good,” she murmured.

Then she tried a slice of the bread, with its crackly outside and soft, pillowy inside. She tried it by itself without any olive oil or butter – and her eyes widened again.

“Mmf,” she said, her mouth full as she chewed.

It was a good ‘mmf.’

Finally, she tried a bite of the zuccotto.

This time her eyes closed and she made a face like the love of her life had just slipped his cock inside her.

“Mmmmm,” she moaned with her mouth closed.

I really hoped Aunt Giovanna was right when she said my cooking was better than sex.

“Mm... very good. Excellent,” she said as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Better than I’ve had in many Michelin-starred restaurants.”

I beamed like a five-year-old at Christmas.

“If it were up to me, I would hire you in an instant,” Signora Lombardi said.

My smile fell.

“...but it’s not up to you?” I asked, crestfallen.

She smiled sympathetically. “There’s someone else you need to talk to first.”

The next part of the interview was far scarier.

Signora Lombardi took me to a parlor near the front door of the mansion. Inside was a dark wood-paneled room filled with leather chairs. Bottles of expensive booze sat on a bar by the wall, and the faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air.

A guy was working on a sofa, sorting through sheets of paper laid out on a coffee table in front of him. He was dressed in a light blue dress shirt, although it was open at the neck and untucked over his expensive dress pants.

He looked like he could have been Valentino’s brother, except he was several years older, clean-cut, and more slender than muscular.

And not as hot.

Definitely very, very cute...

Just not as hot as my dream boy.

“Signor Rosolini,” Signora Lombardi said. “This is the new prospect I was telling you about – Caterina Martinelli.”

The guy looked up, locked eyes with me, and gave me a charming smile.

“Ciao, bella! Call me Niccolo. Please – sit,” he said, motioning towards a chair opposite him.

I looked at Signora Lombardi, who gave me an encouraging nod. I sat down and watched nervously as she walked out of the parlor and closed the door behind her.

“Relax, relax! You’re very tense. A drink, perhaps?” Niccolo offered.

I could have used one, but I thought it might not be wise to booze it up in front of my prospective employer. “Um... no, thank you.”

He gave me a wry smile and waggled his finger at me. “Good – good! That was a test. A little one. Don’t need people drinking on the job. You passed. In fact, you can stop worrying – you practically have the job. Signora Lombardi was effusive in her praise for your cooking. I can’t wait to taste some of your dishes.”

The words were quite complimentary, and I forced a smile –

But one word stood out in particular.

“...practically?” I asked.

“Well, there is the matter of the background check,” Niccolo said. “You don’t have a criminal record, do you?”

“Oh, no,” I said, extremely grateful that the cops had let me and my friends off after that drunken party in Florence a year ago.

He grinned. “I already knew that. We checked you out before you even stepped foot on the property. But I need to ask you a few questions.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

He leaned back, his arms flung out on either side and resting on the top of the sofa, and fixed me with a piercing gaze.

“What have you heard about my family?” he asked in a casual tone.

Oh shit.

“Um... that you had a palace...”

Niccolo laughed.

“I don’t know that I’d call it that, but it’s nice to hear that’s the word on the street.” Then he stopped laughing, and his smile faded.

“I meant specifically about my family, though. And I urge you to be completely and totally honest with me.”

Oh shit. Oh SHIT.

“I...”

He cocked his head to the side and waited, never taking his eyes off me.

“That... you’re...”

I trailed off.

“Yes?” he said as he raised his eyebrows.

I couldn’t answer him and look him in the eye at the same time.

“...that you’re mafia,” I whispered.

There was a long silence...

And then Niccolo burst out laughing again.

I looked up in surprise.

“You look so nervous, bella,” he said. “Don’t worry – I’m well aware of the rumors about my family. Let me assure you, they’re just that: rumors. We’re importers and exporters. We deal in wine and olive oil. We have one business here, another business there. What we are not, however, is anything having to do with organized crime. So you can relax.”

I did relax. He seemed so friendly... so charming...

And then his smile turned a bit cold.

“However... there is one thing we demand from everyone who works for us, and that’s an oath to uphold our privacy. We don’t quite have a palace, but – as I think you’ve guessed – my family is quite wealthy. And that makes us targets. For con men, grifters, thieves, thugs... that’s why you might occasionally see men with guns on the property. They’re our bodyguards. We’ve been robbed before, you see. In fact, the government robs us every year on tax day,” he said, chuckling at his little joke. “But anyway, we expect complete confidentiality and discretion from our employees. No telling anyone about what goes on here. No gossip, no stories, nothing. Not to your parents... not even to your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said truthfully.

A lot of exes, but no current boyfriends.

“Well, good – one less person to tempt you, then!” he said cheerfully. “We’ll have you sign a pile of NDAs – that’s Non-Disclosure Agreements – but I wanted to be sure there was nothing that might prevent you from maintaining my family’s... secrets, you might say.”

His gaze wasn’t exactly threatening...

But it wasn’t friendly, either.

There was an implied threat in everything he was telling me.

He was trying to make sure I got the message without having to say it out loud:

Snitches wind up in ditches.

I was pretty sure the Rosolinis were mafia.

Niccolo was subtly letting me know that they were... and was that going to be a problem?

Now, I didn’t know anything about the mafia other than what I’d seen in movies and heard from gossip in my town.

Normally, I would have run away out of fear –

But I hated my life in Florence.

And if I could get a job somewhere like this, cooking for a living, then I’d do just about anything Niccolo required.

Especially if there was going to be a certain incredibly handsome man dropping by the kitchen now and then.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I promised.

“Good – good!” Niccolo said, then clapped his hands together. “You’ll live here on the estate in the house – ”

“I will?!” I asked, shocked.

“Yes, you’ll get your own room! It’s quite small, I’m afraid, but you’ll have access to the grounds when you’re not working. It’s quite beautiful here. I’ll arrange for one of our bodyguards to take you on a tour if you like. Now, unfortunately, no matter how great a cook Signora Lombardi says you are, there’s a bit of a hierarchy in the kitchen – and I don’t want to be poisoned by your jealous co-workers,” he joked. “So you’ll be starting out on breakfast and lunch, where you’ll aid the main cook in meal prep.

Eventually you’ll move up, but that might take a while.”

“I’m fine with that,” I said, and I was. I would’ve cut onions and garlic for years in a top restaurant if I could’ve only gotten a chance to be a chef.

“Good! So, in addition to room and board, I believe my brother Roberto said we could offer you – ” He checked a piece of paper on the table. “Four thousand euros. Yes, that’s correct.”

“Four thousand a year?” I asked in disbelief.

I mean, I knew they were going to give me room and board in a gigantic mansion, but 4000 euros was practically nothing.

Niccolo frowned. “What? No – good God, no. Four thousand a month.”

I stared at him in shock.

I made 1500 euros a month at my current job.

They were going to pay me nearly three times that amount.

And to live in a palace!

With an insanely hot guy nearby!

When I didn’t say anything for ten seconds, Niccolo prompted me with, “Signorina Martinelli?”

“Oh – I’m sorry – that’s – that’s wonderful,” I exclaimed.

“Good! I’m glad it’s to your liking. You do realize that your paycheck is less about your job in the kitchen, and more about the confidentiality that we discussed earlier, correct?” he asked, with just a hint of a menacing tone beneath his cheerful words.

Now it was all out in the open:

I was being paid for my silence.

They were absolutely mafia – or something similar.

But again:

Dead-end job back in Florence. No hope of achieving my dream.

Versus living in a mansion and cooking for my job.

I just had one question.

“I understand,” I said. “Um... is Valentino related to you?”

Niccolo looked taken aback – then got a dark look on his face. “Yes, he’s my youngest brother. I take it you met him?”

The brother part was great!

It meant that the hottest guy I’d ever seen probably lived in the mansion, too!

But I was afraid Niccolo was angry at me. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to talk to the family or something.

“In the kitchen,” I said meekly.

“He hasn’t sexually harassed you already, has he?” Niccolo asked, and I suddenly realized the source of his displeasure.

I wanted to say, I don’t think it’s sexual harassment if you really, REALLY want to fuck the guy.

But that would have been career suicide.

Hey, new mafia boss, I really want to bang your little brother.

Instead, I said, “No – not at all!”

“Hmph,” Niccolo grunted. “Give it time.”

I was hoping I wouldn’t have to give it too much time.

As it turned out, I didn’t.