Amaranthe bared her teeth at him. “He’s the one with the bad judgment. Ask anyone who knows me.”
Lucca laughed. “You’re like a fierce little terrier about to launch an attack on a tiger.”
“That’s what I prefer all my enemies to think.”
“You’re a dancer in the ballet,” Salvatore pointed out. “I suppose you could attack with your ballet slipper.”
“I suppose I could continue allowing you to make a fool of yourself,” Geno said, his eyes darkening to black obsidian.
“We’re just teasing the little ballerina,” Lucca pointed out.
“Go sit down before I teach you some manners. You’re sadly lacking,” Geno instructed.
“We are just teasing her,” Lucca repeated. “Welcome tothefamiglia. We’re happy Geno found you.” He stepped closer, and Geno intercepted him.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was going to hug her. I think that’s tradition in families, Geno.”
“I don’t think it is in our family, Lucca. Especially when you were supposed to be lying low.”
Lucca’s eyes went flat and cold. “You set yourself up, Geno. And it looks as if you’re setting up your fiancée as well. That’s unacceptable. If she’s your choice and is going to be our sister, we have every right to guard your backs. You don’t get to take that away from us.” There was a distinct edge to his voice.
Amaranthe thought he sounded very much like his older brother. Not only sounded like him, but when he turned abruptly and stalked to the main table, he looked every inch like Geno Ferraro. Amaranthe liked him a lot.
Geno narrowed his eyes at Salvatore. “I suppose you have something to say.”
“Nope, I think Lucca covered it. In case you aren’t paying attention, big brother, feel the air. You’ve succeeded in drawing out the enemy.” He winked at Amaranthe and followed Lucca to the table.
So Geno wasn’t the only Ferraro who had a sixth sense when it came to feeling danger.
Geno swore under his breath. “Things just got complicated.”
“Maybe not. Maybe they got easier,” she soothed him. “You won’t have to worry about them so much. You were, you know. I could feel it.” She looked up at him.
He stopped halfway to the table, his dark eyes moving over her face. “Danzatrice Ombra, I’m not certain you knowing what I’m feeling is always going to be a good thing.”
She laughed. “I think it’s a very good thing.” She tugged on his hand. “I don’t think your brothers believe we’re really engaged. They seem to think you wouldn’t tie yourselfto a ballerina. I’m going to enjoy this dinner immensely, and I think you are, too. You just need to find your sense of humor.”
Geno once more looked from her to his brothers and then sighed. “I don’t think I have a sense of humor where the two of them are concerned.” Placing his hand on the small of her back, he walked her to the table, where the others waited. “This is Amaranthe, my fiancée.”
He proceeded to go around the table introducing her to everyone. Fortunately, she was very good at retaining names, and she knew who they were from prior research.
“I took pity on you, Amara,” Stefano said. “I made most of the family stay home so you don’t have to put up with too many all at once.”
“You only have my annoying brothers and Dario to drive you insane,” Geno pointed out.
“You can’t put Salvatore and Lucca in the same category as Dario,” Emmanuelle objected. “That’s just wrong, Geno.” She dipped a breadstick into salted olive oil. “They aren’tanythinglike Dario. Geno, on the other hand, might be, Amara.”
“What is Dario like?” Amaranthe asked, looking at the man who sat at next to Emmanuelle, seemingly unfazed by her assessment of him. Amaranthe could hear the affection in Stefano’s sister’s voice. If she could hear it, everyone else at the table could as well—even Dario.
“He’s an arrogant, bossy ass and thinks he can tell me what to do,” Emmanuelle said. “I’m head of security, but he thinks he is. I tell him what to do, but does he do it? No, he does not. Half the world wants him dead.”
Dario raised an eyebrow. “Don’t insult me, Emme. Only half? That isn’t the truth. It’s far more than that.”
She rolled her eyes. “See what I mean about being arrogant? Don’t flatter yourself. Darn it, Elie, you ate all the olives again. That second tray was supposed to beourtray.”
“You were busy making eyes at Val. If you paidattention to the food and not to a husband you see every single day, you might manage to get your share of the olives.” Elie was unrepentant.
