Page 76 of Sins of Bliss

“I’m sorry,” he whispers with his lips against my head.

“It’s not your fault.”

Guiding me into the kitchen, we rejoin the rest of his family—sans Enzo—and gather around the kitchen island while Val finishes cooking. The aroma is mouthwatering. Garlic and onion mixed with a fragrant sauce. The scent of freshly baked bread. A beautiful salad sits in the middle of the island, topped with an array of vibrant vegetables, and three bottles of homemade dressings sit beside it.

“Do you enjoy cooking, Mrs. Lucchetti?” I ask, unable to ignore my curiosity. I had always wished my mother cooked a meal of her own from time to time, but we always had a full kitchen staff. To this day, I have no idea whether my mother knows how to do anything in the kitchen outside of pouring herself a glass of wine.

“Oh, sì, my dear. Cooking is incredibly relaxing for me. Nothing makes me happier than knowing my boys are happy and fed.”

“Have you always cooked for them?”

Her features scrunch slightly at my question, but then she must recognize the deeper meaning behind it. “I have. Cleaning is a task I cannot stand, so we have always employed a housekeeper, but never a chef. Mia madre had me in the kitchen with her the moment I could toddle.” She laughs, smiling to herself at the memory. “I did the same with my boys, but it seems none of them have the cooking gene.”

“I resent that, Mamma. I can hold my own in the kitchen,” Sly chastises playfully.

“Well, I sure as hell can’t,” Guilio chimes in, making us all laugh.

“Give me another few minutes and dinner will be served,” Val singsongs.

“Grazie, Mamma,” Sly tells her, then turns to me. “Can I get you something to drink, amore mio?”

“Water would be great, thank you.”

Sly steps away to grab me a glass, and I watch him navigate his parents' kitchen naturally, affectionately squeezing his mom's shoulder as he passes by her. A smile forms on my lips as I watch the interaction.

“Vinnie?” a deep rumble says hesitantly behind me. Turning, I come face to face with Antonio. I had been too drawn into watching Sly and his mom, I hadn’t heard him approach. “May I have a word with you?”

“Of course.” My upbringing has me painting a smile on my face, even though I’m suddenly terrified.

Not of Sly’s father, but more of what he might want to speak to me about.

“Let’s have a talk in the study.” His hand ghosts the middle of my back as he ushers me through another door off the kitchen and into a lovely room with rich leather seating and an exposed brick fireplace.

We both take a seat in adjacent chairs, and I sit up straight, crossing my feet and tucking my legs to the side with bent knees as I place my hands in my lap. My posture feels rigid—too proper—but I can’t relax. Worry plagues me as I wait for what Antonio might say, my brain conjuring the worst-case scenario of how this talk might go.

You’re not fit for this family.

My son deserves better than you.

Your father murdered my brother, you’re nothing to me.

You and my son need to get an annulment immediately.

“You can relax, Vinnie. I didn’t ask you to speak with me for the reasons you are probably thinking. Unlike my nephew, and until recently, my son, I learned to let go of my anger and resentment toward your family years ago.”

Stunned, the only thing I can manage to say is, “Oh?”

“Life is too short. Being a surgeon, I have spent my entire adult years watching how a person's life can change faster than the blink of an eye—or from the bullet of a firearm.”

I flinch, and Antonio leans over and pats the top of my knee in a fatherly way. “I don’t blame you, Vinnie. I never have. You being with my son may have come as a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. I would never place blame on a child, regardless of what her last name is. Orwas.”

“You’re not upset with me?” My voice is small, like a teenager being scolded after being caught sneaking back in at five a.m. The last five minutes spent with Antonio are like resurfacing years of fatherly conversations that should have happened with my own father but never did.

Strangely, it feels comforting.

Hearing that he doesn’t resent me unleashes some of the anxiety built up in my chest.

“Of course not. I just have one question, and I wanted to ask it in private, without distractions, so I can look into your eyes and see the truth reflected. I am a very good judge of character, and an even better human lie detector. Answer truthfully, and I’ll welcome you into this family with open arms. But if your answer is a lie, or I suspect you have ulterior motives, make no mistake, there will be another conversation happening after this one, but with my son. I do not mean that as a threat, I just want you to know that there is nothing more important to me than family, and if you intend to be in it, there will be no lies between us.”