Page 42 of Ciao, Amore

Wrong. Judging by the sparkle of mischief in Nonni’s eyes when Steffi and Fabrizio appeared, she’d probably worked a personal miracle herself to make sure Steffi would be there. Just in time for her favorite to get a chance to press up on Nico before the evil Harlem Harlot could snatch him up for good.

After the brother and sister were seated, Nonno and Nonni took their places at each end of the table. Nonno cleared his throat and spoke in Italian to the assembled guests.

“I would like to welcome you all to my home for our annual gathering to commemorate the miracle of Saint Gennaro in this beautiful city. I am grateful to see another year. Grateful to have another chance to gather with my beloved family and my dear friends. I pray that you all have a wonderful evening and that another year of blessings and prosperity will allow us to gather again. For tonight, eat well, drink deeply, and celebrate the sweetness of life.”

Nonno’s words were spoken poetry to Dani’s ears. The pride and love for his family, forla dolce vita, had shone in every sentence. He’d probably been an awesome professor in his day—or would have been if family honor hadn’t led him down a different path. The same path he was asking his grandson to take.

When he raised his glass of wine for the salute, she and everyone else followed suit. Nico was looking at his grandfather with that echo of love and pride, and when he turned his eyes to hers, she smiled at him, wishing she was on the other side of the table, in his arms. His slow answering smile filled her with warmth, with peace.

That peace was clipped and tossed to the side when Fabrizio began to talk, bringing her back down to reality.

“Bravo, boss. Anyway, Daniela, I hear you are from New York,” Fabrizio said, his heavily accented English spoken in a low, sexy tone.

It took a minute for Dani to realize who he reminded her of: a young Robert Redford. He wasn’t hard on the eyes at all, but his approach was a little over the top as he leaned close and stared into her face.

“I would love to visit New York someday. Maybe you could show me around. The Statue of Liberty, the Central Park, the Forty-Second Street.”

Nico’s eyes blazed from across the table, staring at Fabrizio’s obvious flirtation. He hadn’t been that enthused to see strange men looking her up and down when they’d been in Rome; now, with his jaw ticking, he looked minutes away from reaching over and snatching Fabrizio by the throat.

“Brizio, give her some room. You’re embarrassing yourself,” Steffi admonished her brother. She spoke English with much more polish, in a pitch that was light and almost musical. “She’s here with Nico.”

Dani was surprised again at Steffi’s remark. Swiftly, she searched the other woman’s face for any hint of sarcasm or shade and found none. Yet she was still holding on to Nico’s arm like it was perfectly fine for her to hang on Dani’s man—or who she believed was Dani’s man.

“Yeah, Brizio. I don’t like that. Chill,” Angelo muttered, craning his neck to look at him. The politicians’ wives exchanged glances as if anticipating some juicy fireworks with the Americans.

“It’s okay,” Brizio said, hands up in surrender. He tossed back a handful of nuts from the colorful bowl nearby and swallowed some spumante. “I am starving. Daniela, you will love the meal. The food here in Napoli is the best. Second only to Parma, of course.” He said that as if he was the host, not Nonno, who looked down from the head of the table with a watchful eye.

After the servers had laid out the charcuterie board loaded with salami, other cured meats and a selection of cheeses, Brizio drizzled olive oil on his bread and popped it in his mouth.

“Mmm, try this bread. You will die and be reborn inil paradiso. In the heavens, where you must come from.”

Even the politician’s Dutch wife had to laugh at that one. He drizzled more oil onto another piece and held it up to her mouth. Gasping with indignation, she pushed his hand away, glancing at Nico’s sisters-in-law and Tommy, who smirked as he watched the display. Angelo and Tino, on the other hand, did not look happy.

“Brizio, stop. Now,” Nico said, his tone flat.

“I said it’s okay,” Brizio answered with a shrug. “Anyway, Daniela,bella…”

This continued through the next several courses, but at least he didn’t try to feed her again. Steffi kept trying to draw her into conversation, asking questions about work and what she did in her spare time.

Brizio had been right. The food was excellent. After the mouthwatering wild mushroom risotto with truffle oil and the fresh lobstertagliatellewith a side dish of savory grilled vegetables, dessert was served.

She knew Nico had been looking forward to Nonni’s fresh cannoli, but now he ate it with a snap, staring at Brizio like the crunchy treat was his bones. With her stomach already full from the main courses, Dani struggled to finish her refreshing lemon sorbet, served in a tall glass, while Brizio droned on about his responsibilities as Nonno’s second in command.

Fucking shut up. That position should be Nico’s if it was anyone’s. If that’s what Nico wanted. And, selfishly, she was starting to hope it was. Knowing she had a friend a short drive away from Milan would be wonderful. Because that’s what Nico was…her friend. So far, a good one.

A friend you want to fuck again? she asked herself. The answer was yes. Yes, she wanted to experience that again with him because a man who knew what he was doing when it came to sex was too great a rarity to pass up.

But her heart—that was still firmly in the no-go zone.

Finally, with a stomach full of gorgeous food and several glasses of wine, Dani was relieved the dinner portion of the night was over. Especially since it meant escaping Fabrizio’s incessant chitchat. Nico stood when she did and came around the table to collect her without delay, pulling her into his arms and kissing her lips gently. They went to the area to the left, the small open space lined with purple LED strips designated for dancing.

With a sigh of relief, she sank into his arms to the moderate-tempo song spun by a DJ as the live trio sat nearby, enjoying some wine.

“Had a good time with Fabrizio?” Nico asked stiffly.

“That muh’fucker cantalk. If I never hear another word about vintage Italian suits again, it’ll be tough, but I’ll live.”

Nico snorted, rubbing her lower back with slow fingers that made her almost sleepy after the food and wine.

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