The dish is Gio’s favorite, and knowing Ma, she probably promised it to him last Sunday, and he’s been looking forward to it all week. Anthony goes to get it, and I say to Giovanni, “Are you going to eat your panna cotta, or should I give it to Anthony?”
“Stick a boat up your ass, oars out,” he says.
“Did you save the nautical insult just for me?” His scowl tells me that he did. “You’re going to have to leave your box sometime,” I remind him. “Would you rather it be with a hollow ache in your belly or with a delicious bowl of panna cotta made especially for you?”
This has him thinking. Anthony sets two decorative glasses before me, both topped with a raspberry sauce, whipped cream, and chocolate shavings. I dip into my dessert and make all the moans and groans warranted when devouring such a treat. Giovanni opens his door and clomps down like a moody horse.
“Welcome back,” I tell him when he finally reaches me. “On your knees.”
He drops petulantly to the floor and says to Anthony, “No wonder Master brought you here. With the way you snitch, you wouldn’t have made it to your next birthday in America.” He makes the motion of slicing his throat, adorably threatening because we all know he’d never act on it. I figure Anthony will just ignore him, but his eyes bulge and he looks to me for reassurance.
“You’re scaring Anthony,” I tell Gio.
“Yes, I know.”
“Is that how you show your appreciation for Anthony’s care?” I nudge him with my foot. He crosses his arms, and even though it’s bad form, I do admire the spirit of my headstrong, petulant brat.
“Snitches get stitches, that’s if they survive.”
I turn to Anthony. “Are you really afraid of him?”
“You gotta admit, Boss, he’s a little unpredictable.”
“I shot a man once,” Gio says in an offhand way while inspecting his fingernails.
“Excuse me?”
“He stabbed Rico and shot Master, so I got the gun out of Master’s safe and shot the rat bastard in the face.” He turns to Anthony. “Rico never snitched, and we got along fine.”
“Is this true?” I ask Anthony who looks paler than before.
“That’s what some of the guys said. About the shooting, I mean.”
“Valentin told mehewas the one who shot the man,” I say to Giovanni.
“That’s the story he told everyone. He was protecting me. That’s why he brought me here. They wanted to kill Valentin Fortuna’s boy whore.”
This is a hell of a lot to process on four hours of sleep, and I’m getting distracted from the problem at hand, which is likely Gio’s goal. I say to him, “Do you know what Anthony’s job is here at the Fortuna villa?”
“To take care of your property,” he says, practically rolling his eyes.
“And what are you, Giovanni, if not my property?”
His eyes sharpen because I have surprised him. He thaws a little. Dropping his hands onto his lap, he lowers his gaze and straightens his spine. I take it a step further and nudge apart his knees, the proper posture of a submissive. Or a slave.
“Do you understand, Giovanni? That you are my property?”
“Yes, Sir,” he says quietly.
“And while I’m away, I expect my property to be taken care of. That is Anthony’s job, to guard my most precious possession. And you need to thank him for his service.”
Green eyes flash up at me, not quite glaring but close. There is a storm brewing as he wrestles with this command. He doesn’t look at Anthony but turns his head a fraction and bites out, “Thank you for taking care of Sir’s property,Anthony.”
“Uh, no problem.”
“Thank you, Anthony. You may leave for the night. Go ahead and take off the next few days. Giovanni will be occupied.” I wave him away, and he practically bolts out of the room. Meanwhile, Gio and I have been staring each other down, a snake charmer to its cobra, my beautiful, sulky boy.
“Apri la bocca,” I command.Open your mouth.
