“Three mistresses is hardly too many,” he argued with a wink to me.
I smiled at him because his roguish charm reminded me of Dante. “As long as they are all aware of the situation and they’ve consented to it, I don’t see a problem.”
Damiano’s eyebrows cut into his smooth forehead before he laughed robustly. “Dante, you don’t tell me you have such a progressive Italian woman. Maybe I will steal her away.”
Dante made a low sound in his throat that could have been mistaken for a growl as he slid a strong arm around my hip and tugged me right into his side. “Attento, Dami.”
Careful, Dami.
A little shiver zipped up my spine at his show of possessiveness. I never would have guessed that Dante’s animalistic displays could be so sexy, his protectiveness and over the top possessiveness, his growled threats and displays of violence, his rigorous fucking…it was all out of the realm of my experience yet I found myself wholly entranced by the dark magnetism of it.
I placed a hand on Dante’s chest and beamed at Damiano. “He gets a little grumpy when he’s tired.”
The black man laughed again, tears in the corners of his eyes. My man only shot me a cool glance, eyebrow raised.
“If I’m tired, bella mia, it is only because you kept me up most of the plane ride.” He gave a beleaguered shrug at his cousin. “She can’t get enough.”
“Dante!” I snapped, but there was laughter bubbling up my throat instead of the usual shame.
“A woman who keeps you busy,” Dami said with a wicked grin. “I approve. I think you and I will be good friends, Elena.”
“I hope so,” I said genuinely.
Adriano, Chen, Marco, Jacopo, and Frankie had taught me not to judge mafioso the way I had as a girl.
Speaking of which, I gasped when I saw the man next in line, an all too familiar face from my childhood.
“Nico,” I greeted with a wide smile. “It’s been years.”
“They’re been good to you,” he said with that big, boyish smile on his brutish face. When I kissed him on both cheeks, he smelled just the same, motor oil and liquorice. “I am happy to see you again.”
“Me too.” And I meant it. “Are you married now?”
“Cosima wouldn’t do me the honor so I never settled down,” he said with a chuckle before sobering. “Don’t tell her husband that.”
Dante and I laughed. “No, I would never. Find me later, I would love to talk.”
He nodded, but before we could move on, he reached out to touch me. Dante caught his wrist with a firm look. Nico cleared his throat and nodded awkwardly, shifting his weight on his big feet before looking up at me through his lashes.
“I’m glad you’re well,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you all got out of here okay.”
My heart burned at the sweet words. Nico was not very bright, but he’d always been a good friend to our family even though he’d joined the Camorra at eleven while my brother, his good friend, had not.
“Grazie mille,” I murmured.
Nico nodded, a flush in his cheeks as he ducked his head.
Dante ushered us forward, introducing me to the rest of the men that guarded the house and worked for Damiano and therefore, the Salvatore men. They were all gracious, well-mannered and slightly reverent as if they were meeting royalty and wanted to be on their best behavior.
When I whispered that to Dante after we finished the introductions, he kissed me. “Regina mia, Elena, it’s not something these men take lately. I’ve never introduced a woman to them this way before you.”
Pride washed through me, cleansing me of my preconceived notions, of my terrible past with the Camorra. I wasn’t some little kid with a horrible father indebted to the mob anymore. I was an intelligent, grown woman with a mafia Don’s love and protection.
“I’d like to be respected because of who I am, not just who I sleep with,” I added coolly, because I was tired of feeling vulnerable all the time.
Dante’s lips twitched as he guided me into the house. “I have no doubt they will if you give them time.”
The lobby of the villa was a two-story affair bracketed on one side by tiled stairs with a wrought iron scrolled railing and on the other by massive arches leading into a living room and down hallway that probably led to the kitchen. The color palate was all creams, yellows, oranges and reds, warmth and light saturating every inch of the house.
It suited Dante much more than his black and white apartment in New York and I found, somewhat to my surprise, that it suited me.
“I need to meet quickly with Damiano and Tore, but I’ll show you around after, va bene?” Dante spoked into the hair over my temple before pressing a kiss there.