The Don’s Blind Indulgence
The sun was scorching. As smoke curled up from the grill, Juliana showed up, putting her hips to work.
She was smoking hot in the red little number.
Holding nothing in her hands, Juliana approached and instructed, “Alessia, flip those skewers over before they char. She then barked, “Jesus, Vittoria. Go grab some napkins. My hands are all sweaty.”
Her tone was airy, like a queen born to command.
I held my peace, saying nothing.
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