“Got it,” Seven said with an affirmative nod, almost positive he didn’t have it at all.
“And the two sous chefs are my middles, Rafa and Gio. Say hello, boys.”
They both waved in tandem, then turned back to their duties when prodded by Allegra.
“Come, come,” Mama said, wrapping her arms around both Seven and his mother’s waists and ushering them deeper into the house.
She led them to a…parlor of some sort? It wasn’t a living room or even a family room but some kind of…game room? The kitchen was still fully visible, as was the terrace. It appeared there were usually some kind of sliding glass doors that enclosed the enormous space, but they had been pushed back so that the house spilled onto the patio.
Outside, there was a sparkling blue pool surrounded by rocks, a waterfall, and even a slide. Beside it was the biggest table Seven had ever seen. Inside, there were several comfortable looking sofas and chairs as well as a pool table, a row of arcade games, and a huge flat screen television so large it had to be custom made.
Two boys who didn’t look much younger than the triplets sat side by side, phones clutched in their hands, clearly in a heated battle of some kind, shouting and scream-laughing at each other. One had blond hair and the other red. Both were beautiful, but neither looked like anyone else in the room.
“These are my babies,” Mama said proudly. When she saw Seven’s dubious expression, she chuckled. “I know, I know. They don’t look a thing like the rest of us. They decided to go way back in the genetics closet. They look like Dario’s great-grandfather who came from Aosta Valley,” she said, as if that explained everything.
Maybe it did to anyone who understood geography. Seven had failed that subject…twice. Once in sixth grade, then again in eighth just for funsies.
Mama pointed to the redheaded boy with his floppy hair and freckles. “Ansel.” And then the blue-eyed blond. “Elio.”
The two glanced up just long enough to say, “Hey,” and “What’s up?” but then went right back into their battle.
“Ten minutes, boys. Then you need to finish helping your sisters in the kitchen,” she warned.
There was some grumbling, but they didn’t put up much of a fight. Seven didn’t blame them. He knew better than to argue with his mother, too.
“Hey, Ma,” somebody shouted. Another tall man with broad shoulders appeared from somewhere within the bowels of the large house, sweeping his mother into a hug. “Did you make me tiramisu cheesecake?”
“Dante, don’t be rude,” Mama chided. “At least say hello to our guests.”
He gave a friendly wave as Mama made the introductions for the hundredth time since they’d arrived despite it feeling very much like everyone already knew who they were. Seven waved back.
His mother looked at Mama in wonder. “Is every member of your family as gorgeous as you?”
Mama flushed. “You’re one to talk. You and your son put the rest of us to shame.”
Seven fought the urge to roll his eyes, fearing he’d get smacked by these two women who were probably expert-level hitters. He stood there, zoning out while they made small talk, scanning the room for something. No,someone. But he refused to admit that. Even to himself.
He’d only made it halfway around the room when he did see someone he recognized. The cop. Lucky. It was only when his gaze fell on him that he realized Lucky had already been watching him. When they made eye contact, the other mansmirked, then raised his beer in a mock salute. Seven returned the gesture before turning away.
As the conversation swirled around him, he learned that the oldest son wouldn’t be in attendance due to a conflicting engagement and that another would be arriving later. Was one of them Enzo? Would he show up? Seven wanted to know so badly. The question sat, burning a hole on the tip of his tongue, but he refused to give the man the satisfaction. Even if he gave himself an ulcer worrying about it.
Before Seven could spiral too far down the rabbit hole of bitterness, dinner was announced. He took his assigned seat, his mother on his right and Carli on his left. The conversation seemed to swirl effortlessly with Seven answering everyone’s benign questions politely, his wine glass helping to loosen his tongue.
The Conti family were easy to love. They were warm and friendly and seemed to ask their questions from general curiosity and not out of a sense of decorum. The siblings traded insults, volleying them back and forth as easily as they passed around the many dishes on the table. The air was cool but not cold, the breeze making everything feel a little like being on vacation.
But there was still no Enzo. Seven hated that he cared. But there wasn’t only one empty chair, there were two. Vince was also missing. Were they both running late or was one of them not coming? Seven was almost as curious about Vince as he was about Enzo. What kind of person ran a sex club?
“Sorry we’re late,” someone shouted over the din, earning a cheer from the family.
Seven’s head whipped around so fast he heard his neck crack. His heart rate took off at a dead run. There he was. The bane of his existence. Enzo. Why did he have to be so hot? Seven jumped as his fork fell from his shaky hands to clatter onto his plate.He winced, his face catching fire as he saw the others giving him amused looks, like they knew exactly why his fingers were suddenly clumsy.
It wasn’t Enzo who spoke—it was the man standing beside him. That had to be Vince. The club owner. The one his friends all thought he should talk to.
Seven stared at the two open seats, one directly across from him and the other several seats down on the opposite side of the table. Mama made introductions quickly, guiding people like a five-star general. Seven breathed a sigh of relief when she commanded Vince to sit in the seat across from him. It was only when the other man gave him a polite smile that he realized that Vince and Gio were identical twins.
Damn.
Enzo was sort of hovering near the table when his mother said, “Carlotta, let your brother sit there.”
