Page 88 of I Would Beg For You

“Oh, I’d forgotten Aunt is Zia in Italian,” she’s saying.

I’m suddenly here warring with the expansive sensation taking over my chest. Zia Naomi. Not only is she my wife, but she’s well and truly a member of this family now.

I finally make it into my own house and close the door behind me. Ina and Carlito step out of the kitchen. I barely have time for introductions. Carlito is grinning like a fool and has cradled Naomi’s face in his big, rough hands to then kiss her cheeks soundly.

“Welcome, figlia,” he says as he releases her, still smiling.

Ina, not to be undone, pulls Naomi to her ample bosom in an effusive hug, none of us really gathering what she’s saying in her rapid Romanian. It sounds like a blessing, though, the kind Mamma and Zia Renata delivered to all of us kids at milestones in our lives.

When another man steps into the foyer, my happiness subsides a little. His presence means there’s business afoot, even though he is part of this family despite us not sharing blood.

“Signora Andretti,” he says with a curt nod. “Antonio Bravi, at your service.”

Okay, he’s laying it on a bit thick. Then again, I’ve never brought a wife home before.

“Pleasure to meet you, Signore Bravi,” Naomi replies.

“Antonio, please.”

“Then you must call me Naomi.”

“Signora Naomi,” he concedes, then lifts her hand to drop a fleeting kiss on her knuckles.

Naomi is blushing now, and I step over to put her out of her misery with this too-charming Lothario.

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her to me. “Antonio is my consigliere.”

“A glorified advisor,” he says with a wink.

Naomi laughs, and this seems to be the cue for Ina to announce breakfast is served. We all head to the dining room at the side of the house, to find a table laden with pastries, ham, sandwiches, and carafes of strong coffee and orange juice. The meal is a lively affair as Naomi gets to know everyone.

It’s over an hour later when we’re pushing our chairs back and stepping into the foyer. I lead Naomi to our room—my bedroom—upstairs.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “They can be a lot.”

“That’s okay.”

When she tries to stifle a yawn, I pull her into my arms and drop a kiss on top of her head.

“You’re tired. You should get some rest.” I sneak in a deep breath. “I have some business to attend to today, and I’ll be out for a few hours. You’ll be okay?”

She looks up into my face. “Is it dangerous?”

I smile at her. “Not really.”

She sneaks in a breath. “Which means it is.”

“This is my life, Naomi.”

She gulps, hard. “I know. Does it have anything to do with…”

She refuses to say his name or use his former title, and I don’t press nor make her hear the sound, either.

“Indirectly, yes.”

Naomi reaches up and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Then go.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

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