Grinded (The Invincibles Book 3)

by Heather Slade

  She laughed. “Especially if you don’t.”

  “Do you know what I’d like to do more than anything else?”

  She shook her head; I stood and rested my hands on her shoulders, gently working my fingers into her tight muscles.

  “Mmm, that feels so good.”

  “What I’d like to do more than anything else, is keep the stress away.”

  “It comes from many different directions.”

  “I’ll shield you, no matter the direction.” I leaned down and kissed the side of her neck, making her moan.

  “Mylos?” She turned her head. Our lips were close enough that I could kiss her, but first, I wanted to hear what she had to say. “I’m afraid to believe,” she whispered.

  “As the sun sets and then rises again, day after day, you’ll have more reasons to believe.”

  “You’ll be here?”

  “I will. I promise.” I didn’t make them lightly. Ever. I was too aware of my shortcomings, too aware of the commitments in my life. But being here for her, with her, was a promise I’d never break. Even if it meant leaving the rest of my life behind.

  She put her hand on my bare chest. “You’re cold.”

  “I wouldn’t be if you let me hold you.”

  She stood, and I sat in her chair, pulling her onto my lap. I rested my hand on her stomach and looked into her eyes. I wanted so much to tell her I loved her because I did with all my heart. She wouldn’t trust it, though. Not yet. First I had to show her, let her feel my love. Then, when I said the words, she’d believe me.

  21

  Pia

  Why couldn’t I tell him how I really felt? What was stopping me from simply saying how truly happy I was that he was here with me? That being held in his arms did help take the stress away? Not just with the baby, but with everything.

  I loved the feeling of his hand on my stomach. It was as though he wasn’t just promising me he’d be here, he was promising the same thing to our baby. What made me think even for a moment that I could do this on my own? More, how could I have been so selfish? Mylos deserved to be part of our baby’s life, in the same way he or she would deserve to have a father who was present.

  After what happened when I was last in London, a part of me worried I’d wake up one morning and he’d be gone. I feared not being able to reach him, worrying about him, wondering if he was coming back. Only time would tell if my fears would materialize. In the meantime, I couldn’t spend every moment doubting him.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Today is better than the last few days.”

  “You said you’ve been reading books about having a baby?”

  “Sì. It feels overwhelming, but then I realize women have been doing this for thousands of years without the benefit of a book to tell them what to expect.”

  “How many people know you’re pregnant?”

  “Three. Me, you, and Lily.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Lily, but not your mother?”

  “Not yet.” I couldn’t say why I hadn’t confided in her. Maybe I was waiting for it to feel more real to me.

  “I meant what I said about helping you with Valentini, Pia. All you have to do is tell me what you need.”

  I smiled. “A couple million euros would come in handy.”

  “Done.”

  My eyes searched his. He was serious. “I was kidding, Mylos.”

  “If money is what you need, I can give it to you.”

  I’d never thought about whether he was wealthy. It hadn’t mattered. His parents’ house in London was lovely but modest.

  He nuzzled my neck. “Tell me what’s been going on, Pia. All of it. Whatever burdens you’ve carried on your shoulders, I want to take.”

  “Why?” It seemed a silly question, but I wanted to know. Why would he take on the struggles of a place where he’d spent little time, for a woman with whom he’d spent little time?

  He took a deep breath and cupped my cheek with his palm. “I haven’t done a very good job telling you how much you mean to me. That’s going to change.”

  He brought his lips to mine, and I didn’t hesitate. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. He was gentle; I was not. I wanted this man with the same passion I always did.

  I stood and held out my hand. When he took it, I led him inside and up the stairs. I saw the bed was unmade in the room he’d stayed in years before. I stepped inside and lifted my sweater over my head.

  Mylos unfastened my bra and then my pants. He knelt before me and slid them and my panties off my body. As I stood before him naked, he rested his cheek against my stomach.

  “Is this…safe?” he asked.

  I nodded, took a step back, sat on the edge of the bed, and watched the beautiful man remove his clothing. He felt self-conscious about his scars, but they didn’t bother me. They were part of him, and I loved him. Every part.

  I rested against the pillows and spread my legs. Mylos knelt between them. He kissed his way from my pelvic bone up my torso. When he licked my nipples, I squirmed.

  “Ticklish?” he asked.

  “They ache.”

  He swirled his tongue around them both and then continued his journey from my neck to my mouth. I grabbed his butt with my hands and pulled him against me.

  “Impatient,” he teased.

  “Always.”

  We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms all morning. Finally, our mutual hunger for food overcame the endless hunger we had for each other.

  “I should go to the winery,” I said, while we ate the food I’d brought with me earlier that morning.

  “Can I come with you?”

  “Um…okay.”

  “Are you hesitant?” he asked.

  “Georgio, the winemaker, can be…difficult.”

  “It’s better for him to know I’m here and accept it.” Mylos took my hand and brought it to his lips. “I promise not to make things more difficult between you and him, but I won’t hide, Pia. It’s important that everyone here knows I intend to stay and be a part of your life—that includes Valentini.”

  “My mamma,” I gasped, realizing that no one knew where I was, including Lucia and Gabriella. I’d gotten up before anyone else and came straight to the farmhouse after getting food from our kitchen.

  “Why don’t we go and say hello to her before we go to the winery?”

  “Okay.”

  Mylos brought my hand to his lips a second time, turned it over, and kissed my palm. “What’s worrying you?”

  “My mother hasn’t been well. She’s going to wonder why you’re here.”

  “Can we tell her the truth?”

  Which truth was that? That he was here because I was pregnant? That we’d secretly been seeing each other for several years? I had no idea how to explain to my mamma why I’d never shared my relationship with Mylos with her. When he asked about saying hello to her, it suddenly occurred to me that my lies of omission may hurt her. Mylos’ family knew all about me. Mine knew nothing about him. Maybe he would be hurt too, that I’d kept him a secret.

  “I haven’t told her about the baby.”

  “Pia, I know you’re worried, but I promise you, everything will be okay.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “She’ll want you to be happy. That’s all that will matter to her.”

  I smiled. He was right.

  Since the day was as warm as yesterday, we took our time walking up the hill to the house. As we passed, many of the workers who were in the vineyards, checking to see if the vines were ready for pruning, tipped their hats or waved.

  “I remember the first time I was here, they used to make fun of me.”

  I laughed. “What are you talking about?”

  “They knew I was arse over elbows for you, and they got a kick out of it.”

  “Arse over elbows?”

  “Head over heels? Crazy in love?”

  I stopped walking. “Crazy in love?”

  Mylos cu
pped my cheek with his palm like he had earlier. “From the first time I saw you.”

  I looked away. “A teenage crush.”

  He rested his forehead against mine. “No, Pia. Love.”

  I shook my head. “How can you say you love me? You hardly know me.”

  “I know that isn’t what you really believe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve always known how I feel about you in the same way I’ve known how you feel about me.”

  We kept walking, and when we arrived at the house, I saw my mamma sitting on the terrazza.

  “Buongiorno,” she said, waving and not looking at all surprised that Mylos was with me.

  “Mamma, this is Mylos—”

  She stood and rushed over to him, kissing his cheeks. She said something to him that I couldn’t hear, and he smiled.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked at the same time Lucia joined us.

  “We had pastries and fruit,” I told them.

  A look passed between my mother and Lucia. Both of their eyes were suddenly hooded.

  “What’s wrong?”

  My mamma shook her head. “Nothing, sweetheart.”

  She was lying. “Is there a problem with my eating the food from my own kitchen, Mamma?”

  “Of course there isn’t.”

  “Then, explain.”

  “In your condition, I—”

  “Wait. In my condition?”

  My mother led me to the table and pulled out a chair. “Sit, Pia.”

  I glared at her. “I’m not a dog.”

  She looked over at Mylos, shrugged, and smiled. “Sit anyway.”

  My cheeks burned in embarrassment, but I sat down.

  My mother sat in front of me and took my hands in hers. “I know you’re pregnant.”

  I nodded, not wanting to ask how in front of Mylos or Lucia.

  “Next, I do look through the mail from time to time, Pia. I’ve known you and Mylos were corresponding for years.”

  I wished my mother and I were having this conversation without an audience. As it was, I was at a loss for words.

  “What I was going to say earlier is, in your condition, I want you to be careful what you’re eating.”

  “I am careful, Mamma.”

  Again her eyes met Lucia’s. This time, I knew better than to ask why.

  “How are you managing?” Mylos asked as we walked from the house to the winery.

  “Feeling a bit like you get with Lily sometimes.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “I’m sorry, but I know exactly what you mean. You should know it happens with my mum and dad too.”

  By the time we reached the office, I felt fatigued. The last thing I had energy for was an argument with Georgio. Given Mylos’ presence, it was inevitable.

  “Let’s skip the winery today.”

  “If that’s what you’d like to do.”

  “I’ve gotten used to napping in the afternoon. Is that terrible?”

  “Sounds bloody brilliant to me.”

  Little by little, I moved more of the things I needed daily down to the farmhouse. I also spent less and less time in the winery offices. That didn’t mean I wasn’t working.

  When I took over the operations after my father’s death, I automated so many of the things we did manually that I could handle most of the administrative tasks without a staff. Now, I just took it a step further and worked remotely from the farmhouse.

  Mylos and I began most days in the village where we’d buy food that we’d prepare together. When we returned to Valentini, I would work for a few hours, and then in the afternoon, we would read pregnancy books together and then nap—usually preceded by making love.

  Before we fell asleep the night before, we agreed that today we’d discuss Valentini and the struggles I was having. It had been easy to avoid thinking about them during the holidays, but it was becoming imperative that I make drastic changes or consider selling. I didn’t want to do either.

  I began by recounting some of the things that had happened at the winery in the last few years—the theft; the equipment failures, including the one that resulted in our former winemaker almost dying; and my father’s accident. I also told him about the most recent issues, like the corking machine failing and the distributor from London canceling their order citing quality issues.

  “What happened?”

  “I suspect Paolo may have something to do with it.”

  “Was there ever an investigation into your father’s accident?”

  “Yes, but the local police didn’t get anywhere.” I shook my head.

  “What?”

  “I don’t think they tried very hard. I felt the same way about the thefts. I still don’t understand how they couldn’t have any suspects. That wine only had value if it was sold.”

  Mylos nodded. “What about the ventilation failure? Was that ever investigated?”

  “No. I mean, it was the equipment.”

  “How is the former winemaker, by the way?”

  “Elio?” He was a winemaker from days gone by. The reason Georgio had always spoken with my father about modernization was because Elio fought against it intransigently. I wondered now if it had been a mistake not to continue to do things his way after he left.

  “I can see the ideas spinning. Tell me what you’re thinking, beautiful.”

  “It would be nice to pay a visit to Elio and Nonna Carina.”

  “Nonna Carina?”

  “Lucia’s mother. They’re her parents. I’d like to see how they are.”

  I’d also like to pay a visit to Nonna Bella for the same reason; however, I had no idea where in the village her sister lived, and with every attempt I’d made to find out, I hit a wall.

  22

  Grinder

  After our visit to Valentini’s former winemaker and his wife, Pia’s spirits were buoyed. They’d reminisced about her father, and Elio told stories about her being underfoot in the winery when she was a little girl.

  At one point, when Pia excused herself to the loo—something pregnant women had to do with great frequency, I was told—I asked Mr. Cesare if he missed working.

  “There have been many times I thought about going back.” He shook his head, and the look on his face darkened. “Georgio Rossi. I will dance on his grave,” he spat.

  He made no further mention of it when Pia returned, but I found it curious.

  Many of the things she’d told me plagued the winery continued to bother me. The theft, her father’s accident, even the ventilation equipment failure. Taking all of that into consideration along with the loss of wine when the cooling systems went out and, finally, the loss of the order from the English distributor, it seemed more than a streak of bad luck.

  I found the winemaker’s vehement comment about Georgio troubling too.

  My gut was telling me there was far more to this story than met the eye. I had every intention of getting to the bottom of it.

  In the days that followed, Pia and I walked the grounds and vineyards of Valentini. Each time, I was struck by the contrast between the farmhouse and the newer villa.

  “When was that built?” I asked one day, pointing to the sandstone structure that looked almost like a monastery—magnificent in its immense simplicity.

  “In the mid-seventeen hundreds, by my seventh great-grandmother, Estancia.”

  “I thought it was newer.”

  Pia shrugged and followed my gaze. “It’s timeless, I suppose, but then, most Italian architecture is.”

  Like many other villas I’d seen, this one was comprised of three stories. The main level, as in most, was where the sitting rooms, dining rooms, and kitchen were located. The bedrooms, bathrooms, and lounges were on the second floor, and the third was typically reserved for storage as well as a dormitory for the servants.

  I hadn’t been on the second or third floors of this particular villa, but the first had spacious rooms with high ceilings and big windows, offering stunni
ng panoramic views of the estate. Lavish weavings done in an array of colors hung on the light-colored stone walls, giving the place a warmth so unlike homes in England.

  There were more outbuildings on the property than I realized. Many small cottages sat empty and could easily be renovated to serve as guest accommodations. All it would take was money. We hadn’t circled back to that conversation, but I intended to soon.

  I couldn’t say for certain she felt the same way I did, but her fear of me finding “real Pia” less attractive than “dream Pia” were unfounded. I enjoyed every minute I spent with her. My goal of relieving her stress had resulted in lowering mine.

  She’d all but taken up residence in the farmhouse; however, she’d insisted we move to the room with the bigger bed. I was already envisioning making one of the smaller rooms into a nursery like Lily and Wills had done in their house. Not that I’d mentioned that to Pia.

  While I was ready to plan out the rest of our lives, something inside said to take it slower with Pia. I’d promised her that, with every sunrise and sunset, she’d see she could believe in me. I was in no hurry, since I had no plans to go anywhere. I did, however, intend to bring a couple of people here.

  The next afternoon, while Pia napped, I had two calls to make. The first was to Decker.

  “I have a few people I need to look into,” I told him when he answered.

  “Shoot.”

  I gave him three names to start. Paolo Viticcio, Georgio Rossi, and Matteo Casavetti.

  “Anything else?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll call ya back.”

  While I didn’t think it would take him long, I doubted he had any information when my mobile rang with a call from him a few minutes later.

  “You sure as hell have gotten yourself in the middle of a hornet’s nest, Grinder.”

  I scrubbed my face with my hand. “That didn’t take long.”

  “It doesn’t when there’s an on-going investigation being conducted by an international intelligence agency.”

  “Which one?”

  “The AISE, aka the Italian CIA.”