He shook his head with a gentletsk. “Vito. Please, call me Vito,” he insisted, his friendly demeanor never wavering. Hegrinned and gestured to the case, his thick accent adding extra warmth to his words. “What will it be today? Something sweet to brighten your morning?”
I scanned the shelves, my gaze lingering on the cannoli and the goldensfogliatelleglistening under the lights. The familiar comfort of the deli, with its checkered tablecloths and the hum of conversation, made it easy to breathe for the first time in days. I realized as I weighed my options that these small rituals were what kept me grounded amid the chaos of university life.
“Alright, Vito,” I said, letting the warmth of the deli sink in. It felt good to have a place where someone knew me and made me feel welcome, even if just for the short moments before the day got hectic again. Glancing at the pastries, I debated between my usual almond croissant and the tempting cannoli, trying to savor this rare moment of calm before everything else demanded my attention. “I think today, I’ll have...”
My request was interrupted by a deep, smooth-as-silk Italian voice whispering behind me, “Beh, non sei forse un piccolo piacere gustoso.” [Well, aren’t you a little tasty treat.]
Turning slowly, my eyes widened at the man standing behind me.
Holy mother of God!
Seductively deep blue eyes stared directly at me, and if I weren’t leaning against the counter, I would have melted into a puddle of goo right where I stood.
The man was stunning. His warm caramel skin glistened against his perfectly tailored suit, which did little to hide his rippling muscles. His dark hair was perfectly tousled, and his eyes darkened with delicious, sinful confidence as he licked his lips.
He was tall, but then again, everyone was taller than me.
For a moment, everything around me seemed to fade, replaced by curiosity and a flutter of excitement. With abashful laugh, I met his gaze, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed by his boldness. And when he leaned close, I closed my eyes as his scent wrapped me in a cloak of desire that had my heart pounding and my body trembling as he whispered smoothly,“Dimmi... sei dolce come sembri?”[Tell me... are you as sweet as you seem?]
Goosebumps rose all over my body as I fought a sigh. I knew exactly what he said, but then he could recite the fucking phone book and I would willingly listen. There was just something about Italian men, the love language they spoke, the whole idea of Italy itself that called to me on some elemental level. For as long as I could remember, I’d been enamored with the culture, the language, the lifestyle and learned everything I could. From warm Tuscan sunsets to the Vatican, I devoured everything regarding Italy and those lucky enough to hail from that country.
“Signor Vitale, per favore,”I vaguely heard Vito say.
The man straightened and smiled as he replied,“Le mie scuse, signor Fratelli, è troppo bella per resisterle.”[My apologies, Mr. Fratelli, she is too beautiful to resist.]
Vito narrowed his eyes and admonished,“È una brava ragazza, signor Vitale.” [She is a good girl, Mr. Vitale]
The man nodded but said nothing more as he stepped back, while a man I hadn’t noticed, smirked, then whispered something in his ear,“Sei proprio un fortunato figlio di puttana. Sai cosa voglio fare con quel culo?”[You’re one lucky son of a bitch. Do you know what I want to do with that ass?]
I stiffened as Mr. Fratelli snapped, “Savannah, your order is ready. My compliments and my apologies for the riffraff.”
Smirking, I nodded to Vito as I picked up the small bag of pastries. “It’s alright, Vito.” I then turned to the two men behind me and simply added,“Il mio sedere è fuori dai limiti per uomini come te. Buona giornata, signori.” [My ass is off-limits for men like you. Have a nice day, gentlemen.]
Both men stiffened as Vito laughed boisterously.
Holding my head high, I walked past them, fully aware that they watched me leave in stunned silence. This reaction was nothing new to me; people had always made assumptions about me, and I knew they would continue to do so. I wasn’t just a pretty face—I had intelligence, and I grew up surrounded by men far tougher than those I’d just encountered.
From experience, I knew Italians were driven by passion. They were hot-blooded and quick-tempered, living every moment with intensity. Above all, they loved fiercely, with every bit of their hearts. It didn’t matter if someone was a humble farmer or a person of great wealth—passion was a fundamental part of their being, woven deeply into their souls. Nothing could ever change that.
It was with this knowledge—and a touch of humor—that I exited onto the bustling street beyond the bakery. The sun was warm on my back; the air scented faintly of espresso and citrus, and for a moment, I let myself be buoyed by the simple pleasure of the morning. I resolved not to let a few careless words ruin the sense of belonging I always felt here, wrapped in the vibrant energy and unapologetic spirit that made Little Italy feel more like home than any place I’d ever known.
I had just stepped up to the curb to hail a cab when one of the men from inside the deli rushed over to me. “Please forgive my brother. He has no manners.”
Looking up at the handsome, albeit rude man I was previously drooling over, I quirked an eyebrow as he quickly added, “Let me take you to breakfast to make it up to you.”
I scoffed, holding my bag of pastries in front of him as a cab pulled up in front of me.
He groaned. “Lunch?”
Shaking my head, I said nothing as I opened the back door and slipped inside when he grabbed the door. “At least give me your name.”
Looking at the man, I used his own words from earlier against him. “Don’t you remember? I’m your tasty little treat.” With that, I reached for the door handle and slammed the cab door shut, quickly giving the driver my address.
As the cab pulled away, I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t stop myself and turned to see him standing on the curb smiling as the cab drove away.
Chapter Seven
Massimo
