Page 13 of I Would Die For You

I frown as the words resound around us. Where did that come from?

“Did you even pause from fucking her to talk to her?”

Yes, all we do is fuck every time we meet; I can’t get enough of her, and by the looks of things, she’s got a love affair going on with my cock. I’m not complaining. But a part of me wants…more. It’s rattling, to say the least.

“I talk to her all the time,” I say.

“Do you give her space to answer? You can be a bit…hyper.”

Anyone else would’ve earned a glare at the bare minimum. But my cousin is right. I tend to take over without realizing it. It’s just who I am, though.

A sigh flares out. “How do I do that?”

Valentino chuckles. “Take her out on a date, Stef.”

“I have.”

“Really? When?”

“Our first time…”

It dawns then. We’ve been fucking ever since. It’s just been two weeks, true, squeezing an encounter after her shift at Demos in her tiny studio on top every night, so there’s been no space for talking. Kaya is also very good at turning the tables on me and getting what she wants, aka my cock filling her in whichever way she desires as I’m not picky with how I end up inside her.

“I need to take her on a proper date again,” I say, the lightbulb going off in my head.

We’ve reached our destination by now, so the conversation is put on hold. Stiffness enters my whole being. It’ll be the first time I’ll be seeing my father since that cursed dinner when he introduced me to Lorena Bruno. I’ve been avoiding him in every possible way since, but Sunday lunch is sacrosanct to my mother, and an Italian man never lets his mother down. Plus she’s makingtagliolinifrom scratch today, and no one would ever say no to her dish made with Alba truffles.

“Breathe,” Valentino says with a hand on my shoulder before we take the stairs to the second floor apartment my family has occupied since my father became the enforcer for Don Giacomo’s father.

Easier said than done. I am dreading this lunch. But he’s right—it won’t help anyone if I blow my top off in my father’s presence, and breathing will indeed keep me in check.

Mammawraps us in effusive hugs when we enter her home. She’s a sing-song whirlwind of blessings and laughter as she hustles us around like we’re schoolchildren instead of grown men with at least a foot’s height on her diminutive frame.

I can’t help but laugh, too. It’s good to be home.

Until my father steps into the room, and a pall of darkness falls on all the light we’d been basking in. As if she can sense trouble brewing,Mammahurries us to the table, where a large dish of pasta in truffle sauce makes it before we’ve even parked our butts in.

Val, bless him, keeps the conversation going around the weather, the upcomingMercatoof players for the Serie A and what Juventus’ status will be when the league starts up again in a few weeks. We thus breeze through lunch, a plate ofcornetto frutti di boscofrom a nearby bakery for dessert.

But it was too much to ask to come out of this meal unscathed.

“How long are you going to string Lorena and Cesare Bruno along?” my father asks.

My gaze narrows on him. We’re almost carbon copies of each other, with him having grown slightly bald with age. This is what I’ll look like in thirty years, except I don’t think I’ll have such a sour expression on my face at all time, my mouth no longer smiling and remaining puckered as if I’m biting into Amalfi coast lemons constantly.

Now is so not the time. It’ll never be the right time, though.

“I’m not doing this with you,” I bite out.

He could at least respect the lunch table, for God’s sake.

My father’s eyes narrow on me. “Is it because of thatputtanayou’ve been seeing?”

“Gennaro!” my mother gasps.

Valentino cuts me a look, warning me not to engage.

Too late. The viper’s nest has been stirred.

---