Page 39 of Ruthless Sinner

“Salvatore, Buena serra. Gracie.” Dante beams, speaking what I think is Italian.

Again, I’m no language expert, but I recognize the greeting from watching movies.

Salvatore—which I guess must be the man’s name—smiles wide and rattles off a series of Italian words to which Dante answers, speaking as fluently as he did Russian.

They seem to be talking about the wine, then Salvatore looks at me. Dante looks at me, too.

“Bellissima, signora,” Salvatore says with a dip of his head toward me.

I do the same and smile. “Thank you. Gracie, I mean.” I giggle.

“Yes, she is beautiful.” Dante smiles at his friend, and I blush even more. “You can go now, Salvatore, and stop flirting with my date.”

Date. Well…I guess thisisa date.

Salvatore laughs, bows to us both, then he leaves, walking back the way he came with a bounce in his step.

“That was a friend of mine. He owns the wine store on Main,” Dante explains.

“Oh, and he came over to bring you wine?”

“We’re like that with each other. This was the wine I wanted you to taste. Salvatore is a fine wine expert. He’s the only person in the city who stocks this brand.”

I couldn’t be more touched. “I’m sure I’m gonna love it.”

Dante walks back to me with the wine and sets it on the table. “You should try this first.”

“Okay.”

He gets the corkscrew, and I hold my breath when he positions it on the cork. I hate wine being opened next to me. The wine Harper got the other night came with a normal screw cover.

I expect the cork to go flying, but Dante handles it like a dream, so all there is, is a little pop sound when it comes undone.

He pours me a glass, and I smell the sweetness as the liquid flows in. It smells delicious and unreal.

“There you go. Try this.” He holds the glass out for me to drink.

I do, allowing him to feed me. The moment the sweet wine touches my tongue, the burst of flavor drives my tastebuds wild.

“Oh my gosh, wow. That is amazing.” I’ve never tasted anything like it. That’s saying something because Dad always have the best. “I love it.”

“It’s Salice Salentino, Il Pumo. The cherries and plums are what you can taste.”

“I think this is going to be my new favorite wine.” I grin.

“Try this one.” He opens the wine we already had and pours some into the other glass. “This is my favorite. It’s Russian wine.”

I taste it when he holds it out for me in the same fashion, and it’s equally as delicious but with a touch of spice that gives it a tangy taste.

“That’s nice, too.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“I like them both, but the Italian wins hands down.”

“I thought so.” He fills my glass with more Italian wine and hands it to me. I take it and drink. He has a glass, too.

When I see how proud he looks, I decide to ask about him speaking Italian. “You speak Italian as well?”