Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
If he could see us now, he’d turn in his grave.
The ache of missing him never fades. The memory of his blank face staring up from the floor of Carlo’s club, his blue eyes fixed to the ceiling, glassy and dead, will never leave me. The sound of Antonio’s cry and Luca’s wounded gasps for breath still come to me as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Worse, the pounding blood in my ears and my own harsh breaths as my heart felt like it had been skewered.
Aemelia follows behind me, wiping the fine layer of dust I leave behind. “I bet you never thought you’d be cleaning with the Venturis,” I tease, flashing her a smirk.
“Why does that sound like a Netflix show?”
I laugh. “Would you watch it?”
“There’s a lot of money to be made in shirtless cleaning,” she says. “Just saying.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “You’re funny,” I tell her, then, just to push her buttons a little, I add, “Since my brother made you come.”
I expect her to blush, to get flustered, but she just seems amused, and my dick perks up in response. “He has a clever tongue, but not that clever. My humor is my own.”
“You ready to come to bed with me?”
She frowns at my quick shift in the conversation, flushing a little at my bravado.
“To put sheets on those old mattresses.”
Biting back another smile, she brushes past me on the stairs. “Now there’s a proposition I can get behind.”
***
Antonio takes food out to the men guarding the house, ensuring they take turns to eat. The cool night air blows in through the backdoor, but the men barely seem to notice, exchanging a few quiet words before he heads back inside, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, braced under the weight of the night’s tension.
Inside, Luca washes the dust from his hands at the kitchen sink, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room. It’s still a shithole, but it’s as clean as we can make it. He even vacuumed the twenty-year-old couches, an effort that hasn’t gone unnoticed.
Aemelia, who seems to have worked up an appetite from cleaning, doesn’t hold back as she digs into her plate. “Oh my god. So good.” she groans.
“He learned it all from our mama,” I tell her. “She’s old school.”
“Shouldn’t this have been passed to Rosita?” she asks.
“Our grandfather was a chef,” Antonio explains. “Mama sees cooking as a life skill.”
“So Luca and Alexis can cook like this, too?”
Antonio pauses serving the food to smirk. “They can cook, but not like this.”
She licks her lips. “You promised me the recipe,” she says.
Luca tuts, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I didn’t know Antonio was so easy with our family secrets. What else has he told you?”
His tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying edge to it—smooth as silk but sharp enough to cut. He’s watching her closely, his expression unreadable. He’s worried. Worried that Aemelia is burrowing under Antonio’s skin in a way none of us anticipated. Worried she’ll find a weak spot and take advantage.
She tilts her head, cat-like, a knowing little smile curving her lips. “That’s for me to know.”
There’s a beat of strained silence as Antonio and Luca exchange an intense look. The way Antonio squares his shoulders just slightly and Luca presses his lips together for the briefest second before taking another bite, tells a story.
In the end, Luca leans back in his chair, draping an arm over its back. “A recipe has to be earned, gattina. How do you propose to earn it?”
Her gaze flits between us, her fingers toying with the stem of her fork. Maybe Luca didn’t realize how his words would sound, or maybe he did. He enjoys playing with people, leading them through a maze when a straight line would do. She arches a brow. “The cleaning wasn’t enough.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Cleaning’s a good start, but maybe you should tell us some secrets.”
She shrugs; an infuriatingly slow, elegant movement. “Any secrets I have about this life are for women’s ears only.”
“So, there are secrets?”
She tips her chin and smiles slowly. “Men think their indiscretions are private, but women have eyes everywhere.”
Antonio leans forward, intrigued. “Who’s being indiscreet?”
She rests her hands in her lap, her expression almost innocent. “Mesina has another family. Did you know that? An African American goomar.”
“Alfonso?” I ask.
She nods, her eyes calculated.
Luca stills, his fork poised midair. “He does?”
“They have three kids.”
Antonio barks out a laugh. “How did you hear about that?”
“My aunt is dying. People tell her things thinking she’ll take them to the grave.”
“Motherfucker.” Luca wipes his mouth on a napkin and drops it onto the counter. “What else?” His voice is calm, but there’s a tightness around his jaw that I wouldn’t trust if I was Aemelia.
Oblivious, she smiles and picks up her fork again, taking a slow, deliberate bite. He watches her, waiting, expecting more. When she’s done chewing, she smiles slyly. “What? You wanted me to earn the recipe. A secret for a secret.”