Destino (Battaglia Mafia Series)

by Mynx, Sienna

  “To taste Chianti from your nipples.”

  Mira laughed thinking his request no more than one of his saucy jokes. He’d made a few since they became lovers. In the shower he talked of her pussy as if it were a fruit and constantly made references to the softness of the skin between her thighs. At first she blushed inwardly at his frank manner. Now the words were warm and enticing. “Are you serious?”

  “About your nipples? Yes.”

  She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. But when she looked around, she couldn’t deny how isolated they were. And God help her, but she loved the way he sucked her nipples. Rising she dusted off her hands and chewed what was left in her mouth. “Fine. It’s a deal. And if I let you, then you must do something I want.”

  He drank from the bottle staring at her breasts.

  “Do you agree?”

  “What do you want?”

  “To know the story of your parents. How they met, how they died. The entire story of their love affair.”

  Surprise siphoned the blood from his face. He stared at her silent for a pause before speaking. His body language sent her a private message to be careful how far she pushed him. Doors once open cannot be closed. What could she gain by unlocking the mysteries of his past, how far did she want their lives to intertwine? She considered taking back the flirty challenge. But the words didn’t form. Giovanni’s gaze shifted away. “To gain my pleasure I must exchange my pain, is that your proposal?” He sat upright.

  “Is it that painful of a tale? I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I only wanted to know a bit more, after meeting your family. You’ve shared so much, I only… I guess I’m curious to know more.”

  The dim lighting within the wine cellar covered his face in partial shadows. Still she could read his pain, feel it, and part of her even understood it, though a full understanding wouldn’t come until much later. “I will tell you the story of my parents. Now undress for me.”

  It had become clear why this man had a preference for the flimsy silk wrap around dresses she owned. His insistence that she wear this dress in particular today would soon prove essential in her seduction of him. She untied the belt and parted the fabric to reveal her black bra and panty set from her intimacies collection. The unveiling of her body underneath made his beautiful eyes sparkle like crystals. The lacey black bra cups housing her medium sized breasts were connected by a thin satin bow. The same tie was knotted to the left and right side of her panty, keeping them snug and low on her hips. He drank more of the wine from the bottle with his gaze sweeping over her body.

  “Undress.” He ordered.

  She smiled. “This is a wine tasting. My nipples yes, my navel yes, nothing more. My panties stay on.”

  “I want the knickers off.” He frowned, his eyes level under drawn brows.

  “Not part of the deal.”

  He stared at her for a moment then nodded that he agreed. Mira untied the bra in the front and shook it off her shoulders. Giovanni moved the food. The wine glasses and the basket of food were set aside on the cool concrete floor. His hand reached for hers, and she allowed his help to lower her down to the blanket and stretch out before him.

  She was gorgeous. Undressing her had become his favorite thing. However, there was nothing more exciting than having her undress herself. She laid on her back before him with one knee raised, beautiful, submissive and dangerously sexy. Her smooth, brown skin, hair thick as sable, and smoky eyes made him a bit hesitant. What if he gave his heart to this woman and she never truly felt for him what he felt when he was with her? Was the risk worth taking?

  Her mouth and lips, begged to be kissed. If he did he’d climb on top of her and take her as he had done the night before. Lying before him now he was once again reminded of the Egyptian goddess statue they saw in the gardens of villa Melzi. Giovanni reached for the dark bottle of wine and her gaze lifted to the action as it hovered, then he poured magenta grapes to the center of her chest. The stream slid downward to her neck so he had to pour with a more concentrated attempt over her left then right nipples. Wine splashed and her chest heaved, causing the crimson drops to spread and drip along the underside of her breasts, down the slender curve of her belly.

  “You’re pouring too much. I’ll be all sticky!” she squealed.

  “Trust me, not one drop will go wasted.”

  Licking her lips, she laid perfectly still waiting for whatever was to come next. Giovanni took his time tracing his trigger finger around her areola. He pinched her stiff nipple. She sighed. The sexy tension stretched tighter between them. He hadn’t shared why this cellar of all places would be a place he wanted to bring her to. Often he’d fly his plane out here, drink wine, and think over his troubles, away from those that needed him. He loved the quiet isolated feel he got here, much more than at the wine cellars he had on his estate in Portici. And he had grown equally fond of the peace and contentment she’d given him in the short time they’d known each other.

  His face lowered for the first sample of her skin laced in his family’s wine, and his focus became singular. He brushed his lips over her warm skin, and then flicked his tongue at the dark berry while using his free hand to ease down her damp, sticky tummy over her mons. She parted her thighs an inch and his pulse accelerated. He aided her by cupping her pussy in his palm. Now he was ready to taste her. Holding her intimately he swirled his tongue over the circumference of her nipple then licked and tasted the swell of her breast. He could feel her core grow hot and damp against his palm as he used his tongue to swipe her right breast clean of Chianti. His gaze flickered up, and he could see the frozen gasp of pleasure on her parted lush lips. Caught between wanting more and suppressing the urge to say it, she was his goddess and he her King.

  Descending into undiluted pleasure, he tasted everywhere he could along her chest, grateful for the privilege. Easing aside the seat of her panty, he eased two fingers into her tight channel. The soft walls of her inner channel warmly stretched and accepted his invasion. She immediately brought her hand to his as if she had the strength or will to resist him. Giovanni let go a deep chuckle when she failed to maintain her grip and shuddered as he masterfully fucked her with his fingers. He latched on to a quivering nipple and sucked harder. Mira’s hold on his wrist weakened and dropped away. She rolled her ass and parted her thighs to pump her pelvis upward. He longed to strip down to nothing and fuck her raw, no condom. He wanted to desperately ram every inch of his manhood into her and fill her womb with his seed. What was he thinking? How dangerous had this affair become? She was now his new weakness.

  Instead of resisting her hold on him, he used his fingers to elicit a soft chant of submission from her plush lips. While Giovanni observed her climaxing under his watchful stare, she opened her eyes and locked onto his.

  He kissed her. Soft, and then hard, her lips and his tongue begged for a union far beyond sex. Neither of them could comprehend the implications this early in their courtship. Still he kissed her like a man would his woman and made a silent vow. He’d do anything to ensure no other man ever knew the pleasure loving her could bring. She returned his kiss with a hunger that belied her outward calm. He moved his mouth over hers, devouring her softness until she weakened and became his again. His lips left hers, and he stared into her lovely face.

  “Are you okay, Bella?”

  “Always, with you always,” she said softly.

  “We can take the lunch with us.”

  “Where?” she half-moaned with her lids sliding shut as he rubbed the sensation of her quaking orgasm into her pussy.

  “I’ve shared my pleasure with you. You asked to see my pain. For that we must take a short drive.”

  Her eyes flashed open again. “Mmkay.”

  She dressed after using napkins to clean herself. He hadn’t intended to take her to Villa di Luce when they embarked on a visit to his family’s winery. Her request to know more about his mother threw him. But now he wanted to share his history. For the first time si
nce his parents’ death, he felt okay with explaining to a stranger why he was who he was.

  As she packed their lunch and he folded the wine soaked quilt, he cleared his throat. “What’s your mother’s name?” he asked.

  “Melissa, everyone called her Lisa,” she said confused by the turn of the conversation.

  “How did your mother die?” Giovanni asked. She froze, her gaze lifting to him from her crouched position. She stood with the basket. “She died from an overdose of heroine.”

  Giovanni couldn’t imagine that to be her mother’s fate. Mira shied away from him, busying herself with tidying up the space of their brief picnic. He ached to comfort her, to tell her it was nothing to be ashamed of. But he declined. He hated what drugs did to those he knew and cared about over the years. Men he trusted as brothers who wasted away.

  They headed up the cellar stairs through the old barn and out into the fresh air. Her mood seemed to lighten under the noon sun. He dropped his arm around her shoulders and walked at her pace, answering her questions about the land and the products sold there. He loved her curious nature, though it would prove troublesome if she didn’t understand and appreciate the times when he would need to remain silent.

  Zia, having seen them through her front windows, came to the door to watch their approach, all of which was pointed out to Mira by Giovanni. His aunt wore a forced smile. According to Giovanni she’d never seen him bring a woman to their vineyard for a visit. His visits were always alone; only Lorenzo knew of his need to come to the vineyard and disappear at times.

  In the past Zia had set him up on many ambush dinners with local girls. Other than sex, Giovanni had no time for romance. Her lingering stare on Mira was uncharacteristically critical. However, his Bella was uncharacteristically different. Still Mira was gracious and polite. He couldn’t tell if it mattered to her that others regarded her with suspicion and scorn because she was different than them, just as his mother had suffered the same looks of contempt over her red hair and ice blue eyes.

  Zia spoke with her limited English. She invited them both for dinner. Mira looked to him expectantly. Her smile indicated that she’d be willing to stay. He passed on the temptation before he lost his nerve. They would visit his mother’s villa, and he’d face his demons with her.

  “No.” Giovanni simply stated and his aunt glared at the lack of respect. To refuse her, was an insult. He had no time to explain his intentions. Mira would be his and only his this evening.

  Zia took Mira by the hand and told her she would refresh their basket with food from her oven. Mira appeared enchanted with his aunt’s tiny kitchen. She found a way to communicate as they packed away a fresh basket of thinly sliced meats and cheeses for the wine, along with pasta he knew his aunt hand rolled.

  “She’s a beauty.” Rocco said in Italian. “Is she yours?”

  Giovanni understood the reference. His uncle had leered at his woman since they arrived. He wanted to know if she was his mistress or plaything. He chuckled. “No uncle, she’s an American friend.”

  “You said girlfriend?”

  “Si, an American raggaza.”

  Rocco leaned to the left to get a clear look at Mira in the kitchen. Giovanni shook his head and let it pass. The women returned and Mira allowed Rocco’s farewell embrace, though it lingered too long with polite kisses to her left then right cheek before he brushed his lips over hers. Giovanni put a hand to his shoulder to remind him to show respect. Zia shooed him away and kissed Giovanni goodbye.

  “Your uncle felt me up. Twice! And he kissed me on the mouth in front of his wife!”

  “I apologize. He’s harmless.”

  “Well he’s fresh, really fresh.”

  Giovanni chuckled. “I’ll talk to him. It won’t happen again.”

  Once outside he walked her over to his motorbike. Mira stopped. Her eyes registered shock, but she didn’t question him. He took her basket and secured it in the back hutch, then put a helmet on her pretty head. He couldn’t wait to feel her pressed against him as he drove out of Chianti.

  “So are we dating now Giovanni?”

  He slipped her a sly smile and eased on his sunglasses. Giovanni climbed on the bike first and got it started. Mira used his shoulders to climb behind. “My dress, it’ll fly open on this thing.”

  “Keep your thighs close to me and sit on your dress.”

  She tucked the center of her dress hem under her and between her thighs. Her arms circled his waist and he again felt more alive than he had in months. Soon they were racing out of the vineyard toward a new destination. He could feel her nervous energy in the way she clung to him. He tried to tell her he’d be extra careful, but she wouldn’t lift her face from his back.

  The road to his mother’s villa turned into a long one-way stretch of dirt, paved, and then cobblestone strips mowed through browning grass. After travelling for over thirty minutes he relaxed on the speed, and Mira lifted her head to look around.

  “Where are we now?” she said loudly.

  “Fiesole,” he answered dryly. “There it is!” he pointed ahead to the aged block shaped lemon yellow building trimmed in plum colored purple, over the hill. The tall grass had rose red wildflowers blooming. Giovanni drove the jeep up to the front of the villa and parked. “This is where Mama lived after we returned from Ireland until Catalina was two. I was fifteen when we were brought here. Catalina wasn’t born until a year later. After that Mama stopped running.”

  “Running?” Mira asked into his ear, holding him again tightly around the waist. “What do you mean running?”

  “Papa would have preferred to have her in Sorrento, but she resisted this for a while. She was kept here under guard. Here he could have access to her without interference. He couldn’t be separated from her.”

  “But why, did he do it by force?” Mira asked.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  He drove them to the door and held the bike steady while she got off. Giovanni dropped the kickstand and collected the basket and wine. He watched her stroll toward the doors removing her helmet. Giovanni had forbidden Catalina and others from going to the once dilapidated cottage. Just recently he’d had the place painted and the roof replaced. He had to admit he missed his mother intensely whenever he dared to venture here alone. Mira waited for him at the steps. She accepted the basket while he fidgeted with the old lock and forced the wooden door to creak open. Immediately they were overcome by the strong pungent odor of stale air and mildew. To his relief Mira set aside all that was in her hands, drew the curtains back, and opened the dusty windows to allow fresh air in.

  When Mira turned he walked away with a large ball of sheets trapped in his strong arms. Every piece of furniture including the mirrors was covered. She brushed the pads of her fingers across the film of dust on the mantle and wondered how long the place had remained untouched. It was then she noticed a portrait in a large silver frame on the mantle. Giovanni continued to open windows on the lower level. She could hear him groan and struggle with a stubborn latch.

  Careful of the delicate silver frame she handled it with one hand and wiped the dust off the glass of the frame. The man in the picture had to be his father. He was a strikingly handsome man with jet-black wavy hair that greyed at the temples, and a perfectly shaped mustache that reached his chin. He had hard eyes. They were so dark the irises appeared black in the portrait. He wore a navy blue pinstriped suit and a blue tie on top of a white shirt. In front of him sat a beautiful woman with paler skin, dressed in a matching blue dress. Her hair bright red, long and wavy hung past her shoulders. She had kind eyes. Clear blue like Giovanni’s, there was such a sweet beauty to her. Though the portrait was aged she could see the details of her dress, the freckles on her cheeks and the sweet baby in her arms in a christening gown. To her left stood Giovanni as a teenager, no more than sixteen, wearing a pensive look.

  Giovanni spoke behind her, and she jumped. She turned and revealed what had her so mesmerized. He accepted the frame fr
om her. “Papa was so happy when we took this photo. He had a local artist transform it into a painting. It hangs in Mondello now. Mama placed the replica here.”

  “You don’t look happy,” Mira said.

  “My mother never spoke ill of him, but I was a teenager at that time this picture was taken. I had no delusions of who my father was.”

  “It’s hard relating to our parents as teens.”

  “More than hard, Bella.” His gaze lifted to hers, the blue had dissolved to a soft violet and she could see tears glisten. He blinked and the illusion of tears cleared, but the beauty of his eyes remained. “Mama took me with her when she fled Sorrento and hid with her cousins in Ireland. Her mother and father wouldn’t have anything to do with her, because of me, but her cousin took us in. She was happy for a short while. We were dirt poor, and she was happy.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “I knew nothing about poverty. As Don Battaglia’s son I always had the best of everything. I didn’t understand why we had to eat scraps from the dinner tables of others, and wear the rags. Mama could barely make enough to keep us fed through winter with her washboard. Still she acted as if we were free. I felt like we were in hell.”

  “You were a boy, confused.”

  “After two years in Ireland my misery got the best of me. Kids that I didn’t fit in with taunted me. I defied my mother and called Sicily for my father. I told him where we were.”

  Mira held her breath, transfixed by the story. “What happened?”

  “He arrived. Our little one bedroom cottage door opened one day and he and his brothers walked in.” Giovanni smiled, but there was no pleasure in this smile. “My mother knew immediately that I had betrayed her. I’ll never forget the look of pain and hurt on her face. It haunts me now. He walked in and kissed her, told her to collect our things. She did as he said without objection. We were immediately taken back to Italy. Soon she was pregnant, and the fight in her was all gone. She never tried to leave again.”