Page 59 of Deadly Little Sparrow

It sounds perfect.

Chapter 21

SPARROW

“This is… not what I expected,” I say as I get out of Xaviaro’s car in front of a cozy single-story house that sits on a quiet street lined with mature trees and whimsical mailboxes, like the entire neighborhood was plucked straight out of a picture book of propaganda about the virtues of Middle America.

He chuckles, stuffing his keys into his pocket and looking at the house with a fond expression. He’s wearing his usual suit today, but for the first time since we met, he didn’t strap the holster to his chest before putting on his jacket. As far as I know, he’s not carrying a single weapon this afternoon, and neither am I. It feels strangely quaint.

“Enzo has tried talking her into an upgrade, something a little fancier, but Nonna Moretti is a tough old broad. She knows what she wants and she’s not hearing a word from her grandson or anybody else,” Xaviaro explains with a chuckle.

“I think Nonna Moretti and I are going to get along famously,” I decide, grabbing the bottle of wine and bouquet of flowers I insisted we stop for on our way over.

The driveway is already lined with expensive cars. I can’t help but wonder if the neighbors ever peek out their windows and whisper about who’s over here for dinner. Do they know that the sweet old lady they live right next door to is actually the Moretti matriarch, holding Sunday dinners for the most dangerous men in the city? When we reach the front door, Xaviaro puts one arm around my shoulders and raises the other to knock. It flies open within seconds, and we’re greeted by Elio, wearing a huge grin and dressed down in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

I look him up and down, completely thrown off by the sight of any of these men dressed so casually. Part of me has been assuming they all sleep in their suits, somehow waking up unwrinkled and immediately going into Terminator mode.

“Looking good, Row,” Elio yanks me out of Xaviaro’s grasp to pull me in for an unexpected hug.

I caved and agreed to add a few more items to my wardrobe. I figured having one pair of jeans without holes in them wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“Row?” I repeat, wriggling out of the hug after a few seconds before the oaf can crush the flowers I brought to charm Nonna Moretti with.

“Sparrow is a mouthful,” he explains.

I snort and open my mouth to make a crude comment, but Salvatore appears behind Elio and does it for me.

“I’ll bet he is, eh, Xav?” He waggles his eyebrows and Xaviaro simply fixes him with his signature expressionless stare, refusing to give an inch for them to run with.

I’m unsurprised that Salvatore opted to stick with a suit in spite of the apparently casual option of today’s get-together. It’s royal blue and paired with a stunning silver tie.

“Listen, we could stand out here and make dick jokes all night.” I give them a sweetly threatening smile and make a shooing motion with my full hands, hoping they’ll get the hint and move out of the damn way so we can come inside.

“I’m game for that,” Sal agrees with a smirk.

“Same,” Elio says with a shrug.

“Move.” Xaviaro takes a more direct approach, saying the single word with the weight of authority that’s hot as fuck as long as I’m not the one he’s trying to boss around. When the chuckleheads don’t do as he says immediately, he simply takes a step forward, his hand on my lower back propelling me forward until they’re forced to scatter before we plow right into them.

“My boys.” An elderly woman with a thick Italian accent shuffles down the hallway to greet us.

Her hair is steel gray with a few streaks of black remaining, swept up in a fancy bun on top of her head. She’s dressed in a cream pantsuit that brings out the olive tones in her skin. She’s even smaller than my own petite stature, but there’s something in her eyes that dares a motherfucker to refer to her as frail.

“It’s good to see you, Nonna.” Xaviaro greets her with a delicate hug like he’s afraid to break her.

“You’re too skinny,” she chides him, letting him go and turning to me. “And you must be the one my grandson keeps complaining about.”

My smile widens. “Enzo’s complaining about me?”

She laughs, I’m assuming at the inappropriately cheerful tone of my response. I doubt most people are quite so amused to hear that a mob boss is bitching to his grandma about them.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Enzo argues, appearing in the same doorway Nonna emerged from. “I said you’ve got Xaviaro twisted into a pretzel.”

“And I told him that’s a good thing,” Nonna says, standing in front of me and looking me up and down. “If love doesn’t twist you up into someone you hardly recognize, it’s not worth it. And my boys are all long overdue for that kind of love. I don’t care if it’s a man or a woman, I just want to see them all settled before I go to my grave.” She shoots each of the guys a pointed look. “The clock is ticking.”

I stifle a snicker at the chastised expressions on all of their faces.

“Oh please, Nonna.” Alessio joins the conversation from behind Enzo. “You’re going to live forever.”

---