Her Mafia Daddy - Chapter 13: Chapter 13

I frowned. I didn't want to see this side of the elder Ravazzani, the one that teased his aunt, whom he obviously loved. I needed him to remain one hundred percent cruel and heartless.
Ravazzani started to brew a cup of espresso, then he leaned against the counter and spoke to Dimitri in Italian. The only word I caught was "blood."
I wished they would speak slower. I knew some Italian, but not enough to keep up with this rapid pace. I would definitely need to improve my language skills in the next few days to aid in my escape.
Dimitri 's face darkened, clearly unhappy with whatever his father was saying. But he nodded. "Sì, Papà."
"This pleases me," Ravazzani said in English, gesturing to Dimitri and me. "The two of you will spend time together and get acquainted. It's more than most of us had before our weddings."
Then he said it again in Italian for Zia, who responded with something that made Ravazzani laugh and my breath caught in my throat. The harsh lines of his face eased and his mouth curled, all manly charm and Italian beauty, and I felt a tug of arousal in my belly. I needed to get a grip on myself. I could not be attracted to him.
"What did she say?" I asked, desperate to take my mind off his looks. He sipped his espresso and studied me over the rim. "She said it was
intentional, that my ugly face and surly disposition would have scared off any potential bride."
Well, I agreed with half of that description. "Or your dungeon," I couldn't help but add. The mood in the room shifted instantly. Dimitri didn't move, while Ravazzani pinned me with a cold stare that reminded me of a Toronto lake in the winter. I saw him flex his hand, which had a small bandage on it.
"Did you enjoy your short stay in the cell, monella? Because I would be happy to escort you there again, should you give me a reason." The thought of returning to that small damp place sent waves of terror along my spine, and my skin grew cold and clammy. I stared at him with all the loathing I felt in my soul.
"Basta, Papà," Dimitri said, telling his father that was enough. Ravazzani carried his cup and saucer out of the kitchen, departing without another word. "You mustn't antagonise him like that," Dimitri warned. "And definitely never in front of the men again."
"I am not here to play nice. I am here under duress, and I want to go home." Dimitri shook his head sadly. "We rarely get what we want in this life, Tina . It's best you accept your fate now."
Before I could ask him to explain, he held out his hand. "Let's go outside and explore, eh?"
After I thanked Zia for breakfast, Dimitri and I went through the back door and into the morning sunshine. Somehow I would use today's outing to my advantage and figure out how to escape this nightmare. The estate was nothing like I imagined.
Dimitri was charming and funny, escorting me around the property and introducing me to the workers. We saw the famous black pigs, rare and prized in Italy, and tasted the prosciutto and culatello made from them. There were sheep, cows and goats who were milked to make cheese.
Lemon, fig and chestnut trees dotted the hillside, but olive trees were predominant here. When Dimitri let me taste some of the Ravazzani olive oil, the number of olive trees suddenly made sense. The oil was better than any I'd had in Canada, even the kind we imported from Italy. I couldn't stop asking questions of the employees, and Dimitri translated as necessary.
The workers seemed proud of their connection to the Ravazzani family, many continuing in the footsteps of previous generations who had worked here. I wanted to ask if they knew their employer was a kidnapper who drugged and spied on women, but I suspected Dimitri
wouldn't translate it for me.
Valentina's POV
Our last stop was the vineyard, where vines stretched as far as the eye could see. The estate grew Gaglioppo and Greco bianco grapes, which they blended to make red and rosé wines. They also made nigredo, a grappa flavoured with licorice and I quickly discovered this was my very favourite thing on earth.
"Easy, signorina," Vincenzo, the vintner, said as I took another swallow. "The Ravazzani grappa is to be sipped."
"Canadians are quickly becoming like Americans," Dimitri teased, mimicking someone guzzling a drink. "More, more, more."
"Stop dragging Canadians," I told him as I shoved his shoulder. "We are nicer than Italians."
Vincenzo chuckled, but shook his head. "You will not like how it tastes coming back up, signorina." I waved that comment away. "I never throw up after drinking. We Mancinis are made of sterner stuff."
Vincenzo and Dimitri exchanged an amused look. "No doubt you are, bella," Dimitri said and held up the bottle. "Would you like another?"
"Per favore," I said, which only made Dimitri laugh. "Your Italian needs improvement."
"I know. Will you teach me?"
"Of course, but there is no rush." There was, but I couldn't say as much. Dimitri was resigned to our marriage, and who knew what he might do if I informed him of my plans to escape? He was becoming a friend, but not an ally. First and foremost, he was a Ravazzani.