Chapter 8: Zefiro

I gave Adrianna one order: keep Susanna the f*ck away from me. I didn’t care if she went to the ranch and cleaned out horseshit or sat in the kitchen for hours. I didn’t want to see her long hair, or her grey eyes, and Christ, her *ss in that uniform.

Apparently, no one listens to me because there she is, serving our guests who do not have the same reservations as me when it comes to looking at her. They make jokes about f*ck*ng her in the *ss in Italian, and none the wiser, she smiles politely responding to their requests in English professionally. No matter that the only reason they ask her to get more salt is to watch her *ss jiggle and peer under her skirt as she bends.

“Zefiro?”

I tear my gaze away from the latest object of my nightmares and obsession and give my attention to Valentina Morreti. Beautiful, siren green eyes, plump lips, sinful curves—not Susanna. Dio.

For a week, I have been on too many blind dates to count, all at my grandmother’s behest. With Enzo in a coma and a