Page 42 of Vicious Games

No wonder these people make a big deal of having family meals together. If I lived here, I’d also be the first one at the table for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

My mouth waters as the waitstaff begins circling the room, filling plates with practiced ease.

“What would you like, Miss?” the waiter assigned to me asks politely enough, though there’s a thin edge of impatience behind his smile.

“I’m not sure,” I admit, eyes darting across the spread, completely overwhelmed.

If I were alone, I’d want to try everything. Unfortunately, I’m not, and the last thing I want is to embarrass myself. It’s not like the nuns ever taught us the proper etiquette for five-star feasts like this.

“Salad, perhaps?” the man offers, his voice clipped, clearly ready to move on.

My cheeks burn before I can stop them, heat rising from embarrassment at his barely hidden annoyance.

“She’ll have a bit of everything,” Lucky says, cool and calm. “And Marco, when her plate’s empty, make sure you come back and ask if she wants seconds… without the attitude. Or else.”

It’s theor elsethat has the man working double time to fill my plate.

Any other time, I would have scolded Lucky for acting as if it were his God-given right to order people around. Still, I’m actually grateful he stepped in and stood up for me when I couldn’t.

By the time the waiter hurries off, my plate is a mountain of deliciousness. I turn to thank Lucky, only to find him completely absorbed in his phone, thumb scrolling, his expression unreadable.

Figures.

He’s probably scrolling through his socials, trying to find his next victim to bully.

Even though he made a point of telling me to be on my best behavior before I even stepped foot in his house.

What an asshole.

I roll my eyes and transfer my focus to the food, fork halfway to my mouth until something down the table yanks my attention.

Giovanni is leaning in close to Mrs. Romano, whispering something in her ear, their fingers now completely entwined. She laughs at his words, her gaze flicking across the table to her husband, who casually winks back at her.

Okay, yeah.

That… is officially weird.

But am I really that stunned?

Normal couldn’t raise a guy like Lucky Romano.

After lunch is over—and the most delicious soufflé I’ve ever eaten has been devoured—I place my napkin on the table, ready to hightail it out of here.

“Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Romano. It was lovely.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Lucky’s mom replies, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. However, when she decides to turn her attention to the boy sitting next to me, something tells me that I won’t be going home anytime soon. “Lucky, why don’t you show Frances around?”

Lucky groans like a child being asked to take out the trash.

“Fuck, do I have to?”

“Language,” his father snaps, his authoritative tone sharp enough to make even me straighten up in my seat.

“It’s fine,” I interject quickly. “I should be getting back to the orphanage anyway.”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Romano waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll spend the afternoon with us.”

Damn it. So this isn’t a cut-and-run situation like I’d hoped.

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