Page 61 of The Mafia's Bride
The scents remind me of the first night I arrived in this home. Right after the accident, after being cleared to travel to the states, Maria was here with homemade food.
Taking a piece of the hot bread, Maria bats my hand playfully. “I need to talk to you, Lex.”
“Uh-oh.” I smirk, sliding into the bar stool, grabbing a cup of coffee. It might be late, but Maria has a taste for the stuff at all hoursof the day. Probably came from being the wife of the current Capo. “Did I forget to pick up my laundry?”
She swats at me like she always does when I sass her, plating a few things for me to pick on. Like a doting mother, she never lets me leave her kitchen without eating first.
“Watch that smart mouth of yours, piccolo, otherwise you’ll find yourself over my knee like a little boy again.”
I laugh, knowing my aunt has never laid a hand on me, as she flits from the stove and back. Like the rest of the home, this place is an imitation of our home country. The soft reds, oranges, and browns remind me of the Tuscan countryside, the colorful dishes and tiles a spark of life like the town centers where people would stop at various shops to pick up items for home.
Sometimes I miss the easy, simple conversation in my mother’s tongue, with people who I’ve known for years, who have seen me grow. I know Maria does too.
Nico grew up in Boston. He might be Italian by descent, but this country is his home. He doesn’t understand the yearning for our home—the home we left behind.
She places a plate of olive oil and spices in front of me, gesturing to it. “Eat,” she commands in Italian.
Relief swims through me, hearing those words again. She reminds me of my mother, her accent and tone something I fantasize about in my dreams. It always clogs my throat, wondering what life would be like if Mama was still alive. But then I get a glimpse of it, with Zia Maria.
I tear off a piece of bread, dipping it into the concoction. “What did you want to talk about, Zia?”
She chews, wiping her hands off on her dish rag. “About your new wife. Am I right to assume you two are finding your way, now?”
If by finding our way means fucking on a street in Boston, after she finally agreed to stay, then yes, we’re finding our way.
Not something I can tell my aunt.
“We’re learning.”
“Good,” she praises. She sips delicately from her coffee like a retired queen. “Then bring her into the family.”
“Ah, Zia.” I sigh, leaning back, Italian coating my words. “You’re asking too much too soon.”
“Too much, too soon?” She gives me a look. “I finally have a daughter-in-law and you don’t think I should be able to show her off to all my cousins?”
I pinch my brow, afraid to look at my aunt. Not because she’s right, but because she’ll give me her best look and I’ll cave like the good nephew that I am.
Sloane will have to eventually meet the family. She’s to be the new Capo’s wife. She’ll have responsibilities, she’ll have a new role to learn. She’ll be a leader.
But I just got her to stay. I just got her to admit that she’s mine, completely. Whether it sticks is another cause of concern later. I don’t want to share her with the chaos of my family, not yet.
But taking one look at Maria, I know this is a losing battle. I may be the heir, but Maria is the queen. You don’t tell a queen no.
“What do you have in mind, Zia?”
She smiles, clapping her hands. “Bene. Sauce night.”
I groan, dropping my hands into my face.Not sauce night.
Leaning on the doorway,it’s hard not to get fucking turned on by my wife in our bedroom.
She’s done her makeup and hair, and she wears a pair of stretchy yoga pants and a tight tank that shows off every curve. As much as I want to taste every inch of her skin, it’s her words I wish for more.
The roses I had delivered are sitting on the table by the door, a spot of red so dark they match her lips. I like the look of them in this space, so much so, that I’ll send roses weekly.
Her vibrant green eyes look up from her laptop, scanning me hesitantly. She’s not the overconfident woman from the first night inthe club nor the train wreck at her father’s celebration looking for something to ease the grief.
She’s a woman who knows she’s given me a piece of her soul and knows I’m never giving it back. She has every right to be wary.
