The hostess was laughing, but the gorgeous smile on Giovanni’s face faded. “He what?”
Sasha shivered in spite of herself. At once that got his attention. His focus had been on Berta, but he immediately put his jacket around Sasha, and then his arm, drawing her beneath his shoulder, one hand rubbing up and down her arm. He did it smoothly, accomplishing all of it in seconds, with the minimum amount of fuss, so it was done before Sasha realized what was happening.
“No, no, Mr. Ferraro,” Berta hastened to explain. “He was only teasing me. Benito would never dock my pay while I was learning something.”
Giovanni took a sip of the wine and nodded. She poured more into his glass and then into Sasha’s. The room fell into a hush again. Sasha looked up and Berta hurried away, back toward the newcomers. His brothers had arrived with the cousins. Sasha sat up straighter and tried to pull away from him.
“What are they doing here?” There was no keeping the suspicion out of her voice. If they got one point for getting a woman to dance, what would it be for coaxing a woman to go out when she’d overheard the rules of their stupid, childish game? How could she have been so stupid?
“Relax, Sasha.”
His voice was mesmerizing. Gentle. Caring. How could he sound like that when he wasn’t that way? She hated that she was so susceptible to him. She’d been alone since her parents had died, and she was starved for affection and company. That was all. Simple human needs. But she wasn’t going to be the butt of a wealthy man’s joke.
“I’m leaving. I can walk home.” She was more shaken than she realized. She actually felt the burn of tears behind her eyes and that added to her anger. She didn’t cry easily and certainly not over a man. She pushed at his rib cage.
His arm didn’t budge. “Sasha, just take a breath and give me a minute. You aren’t being fair to me. I fucked up big-time with that ridiculous game. It was wrong, and I apologize for it. My family comes here often. Most likely, some of the others will show up as well. Don’t leave because the pizzeria is a popular spot with us. I’ve known Benito since I was a boy, as have my sister and brothers. Of course, we would give him our business rather than take it elsewhere. And he’d be hurt if we did.”
He sounded so sincere. His family was on their way over to their booth. She told herself she stopped struggling to get out of the booth because she didn’t want to look like it mattered one way or the other. She refused to look at Giovanni. If he was making her the butt of a family joke, she despised him. If he wasn’t, and she’d accused him, she would be ashamed of herself.
He might play games in his nightclub, but she wouldn’t stoop to his level and be someone her parents would be ashamed of. They wouldn’t want her jumping to conclusions because she’d overheard something she knew to be wrong.
“I don’t know how I can change your opinion of me, Sasha,” Giovanni said. “I don’t like that you keep thinking I’m making fun of you, or whatever it is you’re thinking of me.”
“That you’re an ass for making up such a mean, spiteful, hurtful game,” she said and picked up the wineglass. She needed something to fortify her. What was she doing, sitting in the Ferraro booth with Giovanni Ferraro? She didn’t belong there. She didn’t even want to be there.
“That much is true,” he admitted. “I hope you like the wine. We have vineyards and a winery in Italy. My family runs it. Cousins.”
“You have a huge family. So many cousins.” She took a cautious sip of the wine. She didn’t know much about wine, but it was good.
“It’s rich. Full-bodied,” Giovanni said. “It’s said that when you open a bottle of this wine, with each sip you get unique sensations and taste. Even emotion.” His smile took her breath. “Keep sipping. Right now, you’re angry with me, justifiably so, but perhaps another sip will make you like me a little better.”
“Giovanni, Sasha.” Taviano slid into the booth on the other side of Sasha, hemming her in. “We couldn’t get out of there. Believe it or not, Sid Larsen refused to give up his film, and he’s always been cooperative with us. The cameraman Darby hired, Jerry Higgens, got nasty, although all he did was make threats. What an asshole.” He glanced down at Sasha. “Sorry, didn’t mean to talk crap in front of you. Men like Larsen and Higgens get to me. They make a living out of taking photographs of other people’s private moments.”
“Don’t forget that little runt, Chesney Reynolds,” Vittorio said. “He wanted to fight us. I think he had someone in the bushes trying to film us with their cell.”
Vittorio slid into the booth beside Taviano, and Geno pushed in beside Giovanni. Now she was in a booth surrounded by Ferraros. They were big men, and she felt a little dwarfed in comparison. Salvatore took the last option, a seat by his brother. Berta put more wineglasses on the table as well as two more bottles of wine.
“I sent the names of all the cameramen to the aunt and uncle,” Taviano said.
Sasha had no idea what that meant and she wasn’t going to ask. “Why would they want to fight you?” she asked.
“Darby makes his living on his reality television show,” Giovanni explained. “The show gets high ratings because they cause problems. Darby wanted to make a scene, and that’s why he ripped your clothes. He doesn’t care who he hurts in the process, it’s all a—” He broke off.
Sasha knew he’d been about to say game and thought better of it.
The antipasto was gone in seconds as well as all the breadsticks. Giovanni grabbed the last one right out of Vittorio’s hand and gave it to her. “Thief. What the hell are you all doing?”
“Saving little Sasha, of course,” Vittorio said placidly. He leaned back and flashed her a smile. “Giovanni has a tendency to give us all a bad name. We’re not anything like him.”
“You were pretty eager to play your little game,” she pointed out, leveling her gaze at him. Giovanni might not want to bring it up but she wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass. “In fact, you were the first one leaving the table. Your two brothers remained behind.”
A roar of laughter went up at Vittorio’s expense. He put his hand over his heart. “You’ve crushed me, bella. Crushed me.”
He was so dramatic she couldn’t help but laugh with them. “I don’t think I believe a word of it. Who was the big winner tonight?”
There was a sudden, sobering silence. She looked around the table. “Someone had to have won.” She wasn’t letting it go. They could kick her out of their little circle for all she cared. If they could play their game, the least they could do was own up to it.
“I did,” Geno admitted. “Had four different women want to marry me on the spot.”
“That must be distressing.” Her tone was sarcastic. “Women liking you.”
“It is, tesoro,” Giovanni said. “It sounds wonderful to someone who doesn’t have this kind of problem everywhere they go. How could any of those women possibly love him enough to marry him? Or even like him? They don’t know him. They aren’t trying to get to know him. If they sleep with him, it isn’t for a hookup or because they’re so wildly attracted to him. It’s because of money. Pure and simple. They want money, and we’ve got it.”
She lifted her gaze to his face. “So, you’re saying, if I’m at a nightclub and a wealthy man comes up to ask me to dance, I should say no, because if I don’t, he thinks I’m after his money? That’s ridiculous. I don’t know what he’s thinking any more than he knows what I am. I want to dance. I’m thinking he wants to dance. You all started your game with that premise—anyone asking you or agreeing to dance wants your money.”
“Because they do, cara,” Vittorio said. “It’s the sad truth. We go to a lot of nightclubs, and it’s the same night after night.”