Amore (6 page)

The evolution to become the wife to a man as powerful and cunning as Giovanni Battaglia had not been an easy transition. She couldn’t recall when she passed the test and became Donna Battaglia. It happened some time after their scare with the birth of the twins, and the discovery of her being half Sicilian. She and Giovanni decided on the needs in their marriage—hers and his—mostly hers because his were very explicitly understood.

The door opened. Her husband entered with his arm behind his back. He looked like a boss in a black tailored suit with matching shirt and tie. His gaze volleyed between the private dinner arrangement, and then to her evening attire. She found approval in his smile. She started towards him and paused. He revealed a vibrant, fresh, long stemmed bouquet of blue-bloomed roses wrapped by a blue silk ribbon. Her heart stopped at their beauty. Even more remarkable was that the color of the roses matched the color of his eyes.

“Oh my gosh,” she covered her mouth.

“I’ve missed you, Bella,” he said and closed the door behind him. She went to him immediately. He welcomed her into his arms.

“Bentornato a casa, tesoro.”
She welcomed him home. She kissed his chin and then brushed her lips across his. Her arms circled his neck and her robe parted all the way up to her waist. She didn’t hesitate to rub her exposed sex against his thigh by bending her left knee and moving against him. He didn’t let her go. She had to pull her lips from his by dropping her head back. She held to his shoulders and looked up into eyes. “Long day at the office, sweetie?”

Giovanni cupped her ass with both hands and squeezed. He seized her lips once more. His tongue swept in and flicked at the roof of her mouth. The smoky liquored taste of his breath, and his strong aftershave weakened her. She didn’t dare break away until he released her.

“
Santo cielo!
Somebody is happy to be home,” Mirabella chuckled.

“I’ve missed you, Bella,” he replied in a deep whisper that curled around her heart and squeezed.

“Have you eaten?” she stroked his jaw. She looked into his eyes for the truth about his diet during his absence. The glazed weariness and smell of wine on his breath clued her into what had been served for his breakfast and lunch.

“You haven’t eaten, sweetheart. Have you?” she asked with mounting concern.

“I intend to.” He looked down at her cleavage that was heaved up from the front of her robe and crushed against his chest.

Mirabella peeled his hands off her ass before he made good on his promise. She was right to not take him to bed immediately. Her husband needed to be fed. She took him by the wrist. “Come on. Eat first. Food. Please.”

There was a slight pull of resistance from him but she forced the issue. She took the roses from his free hand and brought him to the table. He sat. Mirabella went for the vase on the bookshelf in their room. She brought it to the table and put the roses inside. “They are so beautiful. They remind me of the ones in your mother’s gardens at Villa Mare Blu.”

“I know you like them, so I had them brought in,” he said.

“From Sicily?” she gasped in surprise. That was so sweet and considerate of him. She went over to stand behind him. She uncovered his meal. This one had all his favorites.

“Mmm, looks good, Bella.
Grazie
,” he said.

She kissed the top of his head. She put her hands to his shoulders, and began to squeeze and massage the hard muscle until they became manageable under her fingers. He devoured his favorites. He glanced from the water she filled in his glass goblet, to the corked bottle of wine on the table. After a pause he picked up the glass of water and drank. The drinking troubled her the most. He’d lessened his intake, but still it was part of him. A scary part of him.

“I saw you at the pool today,” he said after he swallowed.

Mirabella smoothed his hair down and massaged his scalp like she did her curly haired sons. “Why didn’t you send for me sooner? The babies would have loved to see you, Papa.”

“I miss them,” he admitted.

Mirabella smiled. The day before he left for his trip he showered with both of his sons. It was a sight to see. Gianni was in his arms. The toddler used his tiny hands to wash and lather up suds in his thick curly hair as Papa instructed. And then Gianni laughed and bucked with enthusiasm when Giovanni held him under the water to rinse. Gino at Giovanni’s feet, was covered in suds. He jumped, stomped, and splashed in the puddles disappearing down the drain. She could hear Giovanni’s laughter in the room before she discovered them.

“You’ll see them tomorrow,” she reassured him. He glanced up and grinned at her between chews and swallows. He shoveled food in his mouth bite after bite. She had to wonder if he truly digested the mouthfuls he wolfed down.

“I’m glad you’re home. You need to spend a little more time with them, Gio. Especially Gino.”

“Why? Something wrong with my boys?” he asked.

“Gino is a baby but—”

Giovanni glanced back. “What’s wrong with my Gino?” he asked with a mouthful.

She nearly laughed at the comical way his face twisted. “Sweetheart, you aren’t listening. He needs Papa! He’s growing, testing boundaries. No. He’s very disobedient when you aren’t here.”

Giovanni turned and continued to eat. Mirabella could see in his eyes he was amused not concerned. She shook her head and tried to explain. “He climbs furniture and jumps off. He climbs the stairs and jumps from them. He even jumped into the pool today. And Zia and I have tried everything outside of a spanking to discipline him.” She kissed his cheek. “Gianni listens to Mama, all I have to do is call his name. Gino runs the other way. He only lets me hold him when I give him food or drink. He wants to run everywhere and not walk. He’s a little rough with the way he plays with Gianni too.”

“You spoil Gianni. Stop coddling them so much. Gino is a boy. Let him be one. They can’t grow into men if you smother them,” Giovanni said.

Mirabella rolled her eyes. “They just stopped breastfeeding two months ago. And it’s my job to coddle and smother. It’s your job to discipline.” She walked around the table to take a seat. “I want your approval to send Eve to school.”

“She’s four!” Giovanni nearly choked. “Why so soon?”

“They have a primary program at the church. It’s a really good pre-starter program that will accept her at four. I’ve met with sister Aggie and Father Álvaro after mass on Sunday. The church agrees it would be good for Eve.”

Giovanni shrugged and mumbled something under his breath.

“A yes would be nice?” Mirabella desired explicit consent. After all she was sending her baby girl outside of the compound walls. If there were any danger, a hint of it, he’d object without question.

“Whatever you say,” he waved off the discussion. Mirabella watched him finish off his meal. He ate too fast and drank the water pitcher clean.

“Did you eat at all while you were gone?”

“Never this good,” he grunted.

Mirabella chuckled. She poured herself a glass of wine, sipped and watched her husband.

Giovanni glanced up from his plate. “Tell me what you’ve been up to since I’ve been gone.”

“As if your spies don’t report back my every move,” she half-joked.

“Tell me,” he winked. She nodded and began to share. All of her news centered around the company he couldn’t give a shit about. He got rid of the woman Carole Montague for her, but it was a big mistake. Once the office in New York was closed, and his wife and her sister rebuilt her team, the company became her joy. He understood her passion and hid his secret jealousy. He guessed that’s what a good husband would do. And after his scare of almost losing her during childbirth, he swore to be better, a more attentive husband. His method was to ask what would his father do, and then reverse that decision. It worked well for him so far. After all she was a good wife.

“Kyra is coming to Milano. I’ve decided to incorporate my shoe line in the show.” Mirabella prattled on. “She’s trained in Paris and taken some lesson from expert shoemakers out of Florence. I’ve signed the papers. Dominic said I own the warehouse space next to Fabiana’s.”

“We own it,” he corrected between swallows.

“Yes, sweetheart. We do. Did he tell you? Kyra and Jamie can make their shoes there,” she asked.

“Who the fuck is Kyra?” Giovanni asked. She sliced bread and poured some olive oil with cracked peppercorn in a dish for him. He plucked a thick slice and dipped it in his sauce.

“Renaldo’s fiancée. You remember her, from America.”

Giovanni shrugged.
What the fuck did he care?
Renaldo had disappointed him. But he was done with the entire matter. Mirabella had convinced him to leave the lovebirds alone.

“The event is going to be so nice, Giovanni. You will be so proud of me,” she giggled.

“I already am,” he said. “You are the best in your business. The very best.”

She nodded in agreement. “Every media outlet has requested an interview with me.”

“No interviews,” he stated.

“Okay,” she said. He heard the disappointment in her voice and looked up. She poked out her lip for him in a playful pout. Giovanni considered the request. Mirabella stared him back in the eye, her gaze never wavering. He sighed. “One interview. You choose. Only one. Please, Bella, I don’t need the headache.”

“Thank you, baby,” she blew him a kiss.

He chuckled and rolled his pasta up on his fork. His gaze however lingered on the separation of her robe while he did so. He ate, chewed, and stared at her breasts. Each time she breathed in they threatened to fall out of their flimsy confinement. After the birth of the twins his wife’s body changed. Her breasts were fuller and her hips a little wider. She had a nice round ass he touched and fucked every chance he got. No matter how many runs she did with her sister, there was a little fat to her lower belly that he found soft and sexy when he was on top of her, inside of her. It’s the mark of her being a mother and beautiful as fuck to him. Giovanni continued to chew remembering the last time they fucked. Of course he couldn’t tell her this. She was so sensitive about her weight and how she looked in her clothes. Especially now that
Donna Mirabella Battaglia
was to replace
Mirabella Ellison
for the fashion industry.

“And she arrives tomorrow.”

He blinked out of his thoughts of sex and dominance. Were they talking of this Kyra person again? “Who arrives, when?” he asked.

“Have you been listening to me,
mio
caro
?” she chuckled. She set the wine glass down and leaned forward. Her robe opened further and her breasts breeched. His brows shot up and he smiled.

“I said Marietta has a friend coming to visit us, from America. She will be staying with us and traveling to Milano. She will attend the party in Bellagio. I okayed all of it.”

“Did you?” he asked with an arched brow.

“Yes! As the Donna it’s my decision,” she said.

“Damn right!” he said with a smile. She beamed with beauty when he encouraged her. He made a mental note to remember to encourage her more. Giovanni reached for the napkin and wiped his mouth. He didn’t give a shit about the houseguest lists, or all the festivities for the next week. In fact he was ready for his wife to be silent and serve dessert—her.

Mirabella blew him another kiss from across the table and then wagged her finger at him. “I know what you’re thinking,” she teased.

“If you did you’d take off that robe,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” she sipped her wine and held his gaze. When he didn’t blink she traced her hand down her throat. Her hand went lower and lower. She slipped it inside the front of her robe and squeezed her breast. She massaged it, tweaked her nipple, he saw her fingers moving underneath the silk fabric. Giovanni’s dick went stiff. Mirabella set the glass down. She kept her eyes trained on him as she used the other hand to slip between her thighs, which he sensed she parted. And then she began. She masturbated and massaged her breasts in front of him. Her long dark lashes fluttered. She began to move her shoulders, her hips to her own rhythm. In his mind’s eye he could see her hand beneath the table, between her thighs, titillating her clitoris as her fingers slipped inside her pussy, doing his job. Mirabella’s head dropped back, her luscious lips parted in a silent cry. She rolled the tip of her tongue over the top of her lip and climaxed for him.

“Shit,” Giovanni breathed.

“Mmm, baby,” she moaned and slowly came down from her climatic high. When she was spent she shook her head as if woken from a dream. She looked at him under her veil of long lashes and a tease of a smile curled the corner of her mouth.

“Bella? You do that often when I’m gone?” he asked.

“Yes. When you call to tell me goodnight I’m touching myself, in that bed over there. Alone,” she smiled.

Giovanni wiped his hand down his face. “I need to be home more often,” he said more to himself than to her.

“
Va bene,”
she said. “That’s enough talk, sweetheart. I want my Don.” Mirabella pushed back her seat and stood. She leaned in to smell the roses that he brought her. Her breasts swayed out of her robe. The sash to her robe slipped further to her hips and the front parted to her navel. Why even bother to tie the robe together? She should have greeted him at the door in nothing. She walked over to him. She smelled like a rose. He knew her body was covered in perfumed lotions and oils. Mirabella extended her hand to him and he took it in his. He turned her palm over. He pressed a kiss to the center.