He belongs to me

The call about Alessandro being responsible for the cameras setup in Saint's apartment came hours before breakfast. Saint couldn't remember being so furious in his life. He wanted to hit something, someone. Anything.

Saint knew he was bound to snap if he kept up with the pacing. Siri would've been so proud to close his fitness ring with a new high score on his steps only if he was wearing his watch. He certainly needed a distraction. Coffee, he decided. Soft murmurs of conversation inside the kitchen welcomed him. He found Octavio breaking biscotto while Roman sat across from him with a cup of espresso in hand.

Roman glanced up when Saint entered, his gaze meeting with Saint's for a fleeting second before returning to his drink.

"Don Bertinelli," Octavio acknowledged him. "You're up early."

"Didn't sleep much," Saint mumbled, pulling a mug from one of the cupboards.

"Something on your mind?"

"There's always something going on in my head," Saint poured himself coffee. He didn't bother with sugar or milk. Always preferred it bitter and black like his soul. "Nothing to give yourself a coronary about."

"If you say so." Octavio turned back to Roman. "You're still interested in touring the vineyard today, sì? We'll head out soon if you're ready."

Saint's eyes flicked to Roman who appeared engrossed in Octavio's words as if he wasn't even there. The pure indifference was starting to scrape against his nerves. Not that he didn't deserve it.

"Of course," Roman said. "I'm glad to see what you've got going here."

Octavio tore another biscotto. "Good. I might use a new perspective on some things as well."

Saint cleared his throat cutting into the conversation. "Roman."

The man finally looked at him for more than a second. Why did it even matter to him if a fraudulent priest looked at him or not? It was pathetic, really.

"Yes?"

"I was hoping we could talk."

"Maybe later," Roman took his cup to the sink and washed it. "I have somewhere to be."

And just like that, he walked past, leaving Saint to stew in silence.

Octavio watched the exchange with raised eyebrows, then turned back to Saint. "Are you going to be joining us this morning Don Bertinelli?"

Saint let out a long breath, drained his coffee and nodded. "Sì."

What else was he going to do?

***

By the time Saint caught up with them at the vineyard, Roman and Octavio were strolling between rows of lush green leaves. Saint had changed into casual khaki shorts, a light polo and a pair of sunglasses atop his head. His appearance effortlessly screamed preppy rich guy with a huge trust fund.

He didn't announce himself, simply fell into step behind them, close enough to hear Octavio saying, "We grow mostly Nero d'Avola here," he gestured to the plump, deep purple grapes. "It's the pride of Sicily, a bold red wine with hints of plum, cherry, and a little spice. Perfect with rich meals."

Roman stopped to feel the soil texture between his fingers, "And the process? You harvest by hand?"

"Always," Octavio replied with palpable pride in his voice. "The grapes are delicate, and machines won't handle them properly. We pick early in the morning when it's cool, so the fruit doesn't ferment before it reaches the cellar."

Roman seemed genuinely interested, asking necessary follow-up questions. Saint, on the other hand, was starting to feel like an outsider in his own home. This whole winery business was his personal project for god's sake!

If Roman wanted to ask any questions he should've been asking him. No one on this estate knew about wine production more than he did. Saint tried to ignore the pang of irritation building up inside his chest as Roman continued to ignore him entirely when he tried to offer his input. His whole attention was locked on Octavio like he was the only person there who mattered.

"After harvesting, we gently crush the grapes without the stems," Octavio continued, leading Roman toward the cellar doors. "The juice ferments in these stainless steel tanks for about two weeks before we transfer it to oak barrels. The barrels give the wine its depth, hints of vanilla, sometimes even tobacco."

"And how long do you age it?" Roman ran a hand over one of the tanks as they stepped inside a cool, shadowy cellar.

"It depends," Octavio said with a shrug. "For our reserve wines, sometimes years. But for our table wines? Six months to a year. Each batch tells us when it's ready."

Roman glanced at Octavio, "You're really passionate about this."

"Wine isn't just a business, amico mio," Octavio said, spreading his arms to emphasize his point. "It's a story. A history. Every bottle carries a little bit of this land, a little bit of our family. That's why Santino insists we do everything the old way. No shortcuts."

Saint's lips twitched at the unexpected mention of his name but Roman didn't even look in his direction.

The vineyard tour finally ended at the stables as Octavio insisted he needed to checkup on a newborn foal. Octavio was feeding the older horses when Roman found interest in a midnight black stallion at the far end of the stable. He looked... lonely.

"This one has a stunning coat," Roman said, stepping closer.

"Careful," Octavio quickly warned. "That one's not as friendly. He's... anxious around people."

"Why's that?"

"He'd know better than me," Octavio glanced at Saint. "He's the only one the beast trusts. No one here can ride him without sending themselves into the ER except Santino."

Saint moved to the stallion's stall and the horse tossed its head backwards as it dangerously stomped its feet to the ground, but as soon as Saint approached murmuring soothing words, it stilled.

Reaching out, Saint gently ran a hand along its neck. "This is Pepsi," he said softly. "Found him last year tied up and half-starved for dead at a local farm. His previous owner wasn't good to him."

Roman moved slightly closer, watching as Saint pressed his forehead to the horse's. The stallion huffed.

"Can I pat him?"

"You can try," Saint glanced over his shoulder. "Approach him slowly, Pepsi hates sudden movements."

Roman hesitated, mismatched eyes set on Pepsi's massive frame. "He's not going to kick me, is he?"

Saint smirked. "Only if he doesn't like you."

Roman tentatively stepped forward, hand outstretched to reassure the animal he was harmless. Pepsi snorted, ears twitching yet he didn't move away. Saint stepped aside motioning Roman to come closer.

"Keep your hand steady," Saint instructed. "Let him smell you first."

Roman did as he was told, letting his palm hover near the stallion's nose. Pepsi sniffed at him then gave a huff which Saint took as approval.

"There you go," Saint murmured, stepping closer until he was right behind Roman. The space between them was almost nonexistent, and Saint's breath tickled Roman's ear. "He likes you."

Roman ran his hand cautiously along the stallion's soft coat. The horse let out a soft nicker, leaning slightly into his touch.

"My horse whisperer," Saint's low deep voice sent a shiver through Roman's body. He didn't miss it.

Roman turned his head just enough to catch the golden flecks around Saint's irises, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, however nothing came out.

Pepsi gave another contented huff and Roman chuckled nervously, hand still stroking the horse's frame. "Guess I passed the test."

Octavio then appeared from the other side of the stables saying he was now headed back to the villa and Saint informed him Roman and him were going to take a scenic route home.

On the way, Saint slowed his pace until he and Roman were now walking side by side.

"I'm sorry."

Roman raised a brow. "For what?"

He's really going to make me say it. "I shouldn't have treated you the way I did yesterday."

"You're damn right you shouldn't have." Roman glared. "Why were you so mad? Surely, you weren't angry at me."

"I never expected you to actually find anything when I asked you to look into my brother. Honestly, it was just an excuse to keep you around." His eyes darted everywhere else but at Roman. "And now the thought that my own brother could be plotting against me? It's too much. It's fucking with my head."

"So you were taking out your stress on me?"

Saint ran a hand through his hair. "I was," he admitted. "And I'm not proud of it."

"Just so you know it was kinda shitty of you."

"I know."

Roman opened his mouth to say something else, but Saint suddenly stopped. Roman nearly bumped into him only to realize they'd walked to a mariner with a huge yacht docked right in front of them.

Roman stared. "Wow, this thing is ridiculous."

"Efficient," Saint corrected, already boarding the yacht. "Don't pretend you're not impressed."

Of course Roman was impressed. "This is your idea of a scenic route?"

"It has its perks, no?" Saint motioned at the gangplank. "Get on. We're running on a schedule."

Roman didn't move right away. "What schedule?"

"I've a meeting with a Ndrangheta Don in a few hours," he explained. "Then the two of us will have dinner in Roma."

Dinner in Roma sounded nice. Roman had a shit eating grin on his face, "Is this you groveling, Don Bertinelli?"

"Is it working?"

"You'll need more than a fancy trip and dinner to make up for your little outburst." Roman stepped onto the yacht. "But it's a start."

Saint shook his head. Bratty Roman was infuriating, but he'd take that over distant, nonchalant Roman any day. It was ridiculous how he'd sort of missed that big mouth.

As soon as they boarded the yacht, Saint instructed a crew member to show Roman to his cabin. It was nothing short of luxury, basically a five star hotel floating on water. The closet was already packed with clothes and laid out on the bed was a new swimsuit. A barely-there piece of red fabric that left very little to imagination.

If Saint wanted a show, he was going to get a show.

Moments later, Roman emerged on the deck clad only in that sinful red speedo. He headed for the pool and lowered himself into the cool pristine water, sighing in relief as it washed away the heat of the day. The crew had been accommodating, handing him a cocktail the second he stepped outside of his cabin.

He took a sip and immediately choked. "Jesus!" he sputtered and immediately set the drink aside.

"Strong, isn't it?"

Roman glanced up to find Saint at the edge of the pool, watching him. "You could've warned me," he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"And where is the fun in that?" Saint came close to him and crouched to his height. "Listen," he lowered his voice. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't entertain the stronzo I'm meeting."

"Yes, sir, Captain Saint," Roman gave an exaggerated salute. "Shall I avoid eye contact too?"

"I'm serious, Roman." Saint's tone left no room for arguments.

The other Don arrived in a helicopter a few hours later when they were already sailing. He was tall, broad, around Saint's age or just a few years older and his company was a much younger woman. Delicate, perfectly styled like a decorative accessory.

"Santino," the Don greeted, his voice deep and gravelly. "A pleasure as always."

Saint offered a curt nod. "You're late, Cavallini."

Don Cavallini chuckled. "A man of my stature is never late." He gestured to the young woman on his arm. "My companion, Emilia."

Saint didn't so much as glance at Emilia. "How is your wife?"

The Don's smile faltered. "Pregnant and irritable, as expected." He motioned for Emilia to take a sit on his right, then added, "But you know how these things go. Hormones, cravings and the usual theatrics."

Saint kept his expression neutral. "I imagine your wife must be thrilled to endure it all for your benefit."

"Of course, it is an honor to carry Cavallini heirs."

What a prick.

It was not unusual for most Dons to have mistresses on the side and no one would bat an eye. Even Ciro used to have a lot of mistresses and one of them was Nico's birth mother. Saint however thought the whole idea of mafia men normalizing cheating on their wives was utterly disgusting. Not that Cavallini's sexual endeavors or any other Don for that matter was any of his business.

They moved to a shaded area near the pool to discuss business. Roman remained in the water, lounging lazily while nursing his cocktail and pretending not to eavesdrop on the discussions the two Dons were having. The topics however were extremely dry—something about securing supply chains and ensuring mutual interests. Boring as hell.

Through his sunglasses Roman could easily tell how Cavallini was barely paying attention to the meeting as his gaze kept on wandering to the pool. "Scusami, Santino," he suddenly interrupted Saint's words. "Where did you find such a stunning specimen?"

The sun caught on to Roman's olive skin as he stretched. He saw Don Cavallani blatantly checking him out and offered him a lopsided smile.

"Don't even think about it," Saint's voice dropped an octave. "He belongs to me."