Her Mafia Daddy (Book 1) novel Chapter 13

Valentina POV

Even if I didn’t want to admit it, I was excited to go out tonight. I told myself it was because I wanted to see Siderno, to look for possible escape routes. It was definitely that, but it was also the chance to get out of the castle. I hated being cooped up there, and a night in a fancy dress, at a fancy restaurant, sounded like heaven.

That was how far I’d fallen in just a few days. Dimitri was chatty during the drive into town, pointing out places and things, sharing funny stories about his childhood. The more I was around him, the less he seemed like a hardened gangster like his father. Dimitri was thoughtful and smart, playful and entertaining, basically everything Rafael was not. If they didn’t look so much alike, I wouldn’t guess they were related.

At the restaurant, everyone fawned over us like we were Kate Middleton and Prince William. I supposed we were sort of royalty, considering Dimitri ’s last name. We were seated in a private room, the table covered with silver and crystal. The place was cosy and dark, with exposed

brick and soft lighting, and rows of wine bottles rested along the walls.

“Benvenuti a L’Agriturismo,” the host said when we sat down. Then he started speaking to me in rapid Italian. I looked at Dimitri , helpless and embarrassed. It wasn’t a feeling I liked. “Inglese, per favore,” Dimitri said. The other man nodded.

“Do you have any food allergies, miss?”

“No, I don’t.” I ate just about anything and everything, a trait that used to make my father laugh. A pang of homesickness washed through me, hollowing out my stomach, but I pushed it aside. Papà had given me to Dimitri . To Ravazzani and the ’Ndrangheta. I would never forgive him for it. “Va bene,” the man said.

“The chef is preparing a special meal for you both, using ingredients from the Ravazzani estate. Buon appetito.”

“Grazie, Stefano.” Dimitri placed his napkin in his lap then looked at me. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

I smiled at him. “Only three times, but I am not complaining.” This eighteen-year-old guy was supposed to become my husband. We would be married. I couldn’t picture it. Dimitri was polite and complimentary, but he didn’t seem attracted to me. Even weirder, I felt the same. There was no spark, no burning desire. Yet I would be expected to sleep with him, to bear his children.

Stay faithful to him until the day I die, while living in the castle as the perfect mafia wife. My mouth dried out, a scream echoing somewhere deep in my brain. I reached for my water glass and tried to stay calm. There was no need to panic yet. I still had time to find a way out. “Are you all right?” he asked, brows pinched. “You went as white as this tablecloth for a second.”

“I’m great. Never better.”

“You really should learn how to speak Italian.”

“I understand some, but not enough, especially when it’s spoken quickly. My father speaks mostly English, and my mother died before she could teach us more than a few simple words and phrases. So you should feel free to teach me.”

“I’d be happy to, though I like practising my English with you.” He grinned, looking so much like his father in that moment that I have to

remind myself to breathe. “Speaking of that, how do you and your father speak such good English?”

“English is spoken all over Italy, so you’ll find most people can speak a bit of it. My father and I went to boarding school in Massachusetts, though.” My jaw dropped open. “What? That’s wild.”

“Inglese, per favore,” Dimitri said.The other man nodded. “Do you have any food allergies, miss?”

“No, I don’t.” I ate just about anything and everything, a trait that used to make my father laugh. A pang of homesickness washed through me, hollowing out my stomach, but I pushed it aside. Papà had given me to Dimitri . To Ravazzani and the ’Ndrangheta. I would never forgive him for it. “Va bene,” the man said.

“The chef is preparing a special meal for you both, using ingredients from the Ravazzani estate. Buon appetito.”

“Grazie, Stefano.” Dimitri placed his napkin in his lap then looked at me. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

I smiled at him. “Only three times, but I am not complaining.” This eighteen-year-old guy was supposed to become my husband. We would be married. I couldn’t picture it. Dimitri was polite and complimentary, but he didn’t seem attracted to me. Even weirder, I felt the same. There was no spark, no burning desire. Yet I would be expected to sleep with him, to bear his children. Stay faithful to him until the day I die, while living in the castle as the perfect mafia wife.

My mouth dried out, a scream echoing somewhere deep in my brain. I reached for my water glass and tried to stay calm. There was no need to panic yet. I still had time to find a way out. “Are you all right?” he asked, brows pinched. “You went as white as this tablecloth for a second.”

“I’m great. Never better.”

“You really should learn how to speak Italian.”

“I understand some, but not enough, especially when it’s spoken quickly. My father speaks mostly English, and my mother died before she could teach us more than a few simple words and phrases. So you should feel free to teach me.”

As a man? What did that mean? Dimitri wasn’t finished, apparently. “You also were very curious about Katarzyna.”

I wanted to crawl under the table. How mortifying. Dimitri must have assumed I’m jealous, that I’m attracted to his father. Which I was...but reluctantly. Regardless of my out of control hormones, I certainly didn’t want his son, my supposed future husband to know as much. “Isn’t

Everyone is fascinated with Rafael Ravazzani?”

“Definitely, especially women. He’s like the man from that film. You know, The Godfather.”

“Don Corleone?” The elder Ravazzani was ten times more handsome than Marlon Brando.

“No, the don reminds me of Uncle Toni. I meant the young Marlon Brando, back when he was young. Like from Streetcar Named Desire. That is more like my father, no?”

I didn’t know the movie, so I couldn’t say. Wanting to get off the topic of Rafael ’s looks, I asked, “Is Uncle Toni your mother’s brother?”

“He is my father’s cousin, but I call him Zio. Like Marco.”

“You have a lot of relatives.”

“The ’Ndrangheta is all about family. The only way in is to be related to the capo.”

How had I not known this? “Really? In Toronto, not all my father’s men were related to us.”

“Allowances are made for ’ndrine outside of Italy. But we take blood ties very seriously here.”

Hence why Ravazzani needed Dimitri to start making babies. A group of waiters arrived then, sparing me the need to fret over my role in this patriarchal mafia nightmare. One poured the sparkling water, while the others arranged dishes on the table. The selections made my mouth water.