“I forgot the code,” I said sheepishly, trying to balance the bag of groceries and my backpack. I wasn’t sure which one was heavier—the backpack. Definitely the backpack. “I should have memorized it or—”
“I’ve been living here all my life, and I still don’t remember it,” Dante said, swiping his hand through his hair. Where Lorenzo was all harsh lines and broodiness, Dante was easygoing and smooth. They were complete opposites, but he still had the telltale Beretta stare, and no doubt the same violence ran through his veins. I shivered, trying to shake the memory of the blood from my wedding night, and focused back on Dante. There was something about him that put me at ease. Something less intense.
He leaned past me, his arm touching mine, and pressed the buzzer. Only he didn’t let go after a couple of seconds. He just kept his thumb planted on it, smiling into the dome above it.
“Does that really—” The gates opened up, and I blinked. “Work?”
“Yep.” He stood to his full height, at least as tall as Lorenzo, definitely over six feet, and took the bag from my arms. “What’s all this?”
I blinked, not overthinking it as I walked by his side through the now open gates. “I wanted to cook…for Lorenzo.”
“Yeah?” Dante grinned. “Do I get to taste it too?”
“If you want.” I hauled my backpack higher on my shoulder. “I always make enough to feed ten thousand anyway.” I laughed, feeling like the tension that had been a permanent fixture in my body was starting to ease. “Lorenzo likes pasta, right?”
“Of course.” Dante’s gaze flicked to the area opposite the mansion doors, and I knew he was remembering what happened in that spot. He’d been there, witnessing it all, and I wondered whether that was what happened on the regular. These weren’t normal men. No, these were Mafia men who grew up with their fate pinned to their backs. They knew they’d be nothing other than part of the family. And for the first time, I wondered if that was what Lorenzo actually wanted.
He hadn’t had a choice in marrying me either. He couldn’t walk away from this. He couldn’t say no, not unless he didn’t want to take over. Maybe I’d misjudged him? Maybe we were more similar than I realized. We were both stuck in this situation, so we may as well make the most of it. Right?
The doors swung open as we got closer, and the action pulled both Dante and me out of our own heads. “You need this taken into the kitchen?” Dante asked.
“Please.” I smiled over at him, trying not to show that it was forced. He headed toward the kitchen at the back of the mansion, and as soon as I stepped inside the bustling room, my shoulders slumped. I felt at home back here. It was familiar, like this was where I was meant to be. Not on the other side, having someone cook for me.
“Mrs. Beretta,” the housekeeper said, her tone shocked. “Do you need something?”
I shook my head and placed my backpack on one of the chairs. “Just your permission to cook tonight.”
The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “You don’t need my permission.” She lunged away from the stovetop. “It’s all yours.”
I laughed as Dante placed my bag of ingredients down. “Only for tonight,” I told her, trying to make it seem like I wasn’t taking over. “I just wanted to cook something special for Lorenzo.” My tone got more and more unsure the more I spoke, but as Dante slipped past me and grinned, I felt a little more confident in what I was doing. I mean, what was the worst that could happen?
CHAPTER 6
LORENZO
I sniffed, my stomach rumbling at the smell wafting through the house from the kitchen. I had no idea what Mrs. Larson was cooking, but it was unlike anything else I’d ever smelled.
“So, we’re agreed?” Uncle Antonio asked, sitting in one of the chairs on the other side of my new black marble desk. Veev had gone to work right away on the office decor, and although it wasn’t exactly my taste, it would be good enough for now. Just until I felt like I wasn’t walking in my dad’s shadow.
“Yeah.” I leaned back in my chair and clicked the top of my pen over and over again. It was hard to think clearly when all I could smell was what promised to be a tasty meal. “What about the guns?”
“What about them?” Uncle Alonzo asked.
“Can we expand?” I asked, trying to get back on track. I had big ideas moving forward, but I knew it couldn’t be done all at once. I had to tread lightly to make sure that when we made our move, it wouldn’t be temporary. We needed new ways of working, new connections, and I’d been working on those connections for a long fuckin’ time.
“To where?”
“Out of state.” I tilted my head. “I have some contacts.”
Uncle Alonzo groaned. “Not the bikers.” I grinned at him. “Your father didn’t want to get mixed up with—”
“I’m not my father,” I snapped, throwing the pen onto my desk and trying not to wince at the loud clang. “Things are changing, Uncle. Nothing is like it used to be. Dad was stuck in the old ways, but the feds have worked it out. If we want to sustain the lives that we have—or make them better—then we need to look at new places and get into business with people that no one thinks we would.” I rapped my knuckles on the desk and stood. “We need to make surprises at every turn.” I walked around the desk and pushed my hands into my slacks pockets. “It’s the future.”
Uncle Alonzo looked skeptical, but the curve of the corner of Uncle Antonio’s lips told me he approved. Not that I was looking for approval, but it was nice to see either way.
“You’re the boss,” Uncle Alonzo finally said.
“I am.” I glanced around the room at the men inside it—the men I trusted most. Uncle Alonzo, Uncle Antonio, Christian, and Dante. Dante was still learning the inner workings, but I knew it wouldn’t take him long. Beretta blood ran through his veins, and there was nothing stronger than that. “Tomorrow we need to discuss the Paolo situation—”
A knock at the door interrupted me, and I narrowed my eyes at it. Everybody knew not to disturb the room when the door was closed.
“Dinner is ready!” a sweet voice sang. I clenched my hands at the sound, trying to shoot daggers through the door.
“Why the hell is she—”
“She cooked for you,” Dante said, and I growled at being interrupted a second time. He acted like he didn’t hear my frustration loud and clear as he grinned at me. “She’s trying to be a good Italian woman.” He winked. “That’s what you wanted, right?” He laughed, walking past me and skimming his shoulder against my arm. “Come on now, Lorenzo. Your wife has summoned you.”
“Fuck you,” I ground out. “I don’t get fuckin’ summoned.”
“So that’s not your stomach rumbling at the smell of her food, then?” My stomach rumbled as if on cue, and Dante let out an obnoxiously loud laugh.
I stepped toward him. “You better fuckin’ run, little brother.”
“Or what?” He backed away, holding his hands in the air. “You gonna chop my hands off too?”