Seven felt like he’d swallowed a hand grenade, his food threatening to make a reappearance. Enzo looked equally startled, locking eyes with Seven. Fuck. Why did he have to look so fucking good all the time? He wasn’t even dressed up. He wore white pants that moulded perfectly to his ass and thighs and a black polo shirt that—if Seven was being honest—was offensively tight. Was the man shopping in the children’s section?
Carlotta—Carli—looked back and forth between Seven and Enzo, then picked up her plate, using it to gesture grandly at the chair. “I wouldn’t want to come between my brother and his betrothed,” she said wistfully.
“Carlotta,” Mama warned, giving her daughter a look of reproach, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
As Carli passed her brother, he muttered something to her and her cackle echoed throughout the terrace. Seven watched Enzo approach from the corner of his eye, doing his best not tolook at him lest he be turned to stone. Unfortunately, not making eye contact with Enzo left him with only two options: staring at his plate or staring at Vince. He chose option two. Yet, when he risked a glance at the club owner, he found—just like Lucky—the other man was already watching him, his amusement evident.
Seven dropped his gaze, but could see his mother smiling in Enzo’s direction as he approached. If it turned out his mother secretly somehow knew Enzo, too, Seven was going to yeet himself into the sun…or maybe the swimming pool. Annoying Enzo wasn’t worth this level of anxiety.
Seven’s breath hitched painfully as Enzo finally sank into Carli’s abandoned seat, his shoulder pressing against Seven’s, invading his space. Why did he have to be so big?
“Hey,” Enzo murmured.
“Hi,” Seven mumbled back.
When they both reached for the red wine in front of them, Seven pulled his fingers back like he’d been burned.
“Go ahead,” Enzo said, gesturing to the bottle.
“No, it’s fine,” Seven said, shaking his head a little too adamantly.
Enzo sighed, then picked up the bottle. He filled Seven’s glass first, then his own. Seven mentally rolled his eyes. Who said chivalry was dead?
Enzo was about to place the bottle back on the table when Seven’s mother homed in on it, offering her own glass and a blinding smile.
“Would you mind?” she asked, leaning forward around her son to make eye contact with Enzo.
Seven’s stomach roiled as Enzo’s brows went up and he locked in on his mother. It felt like someone was tap-dancing on his insides. He really didn’t want to puke up all the pasta he’d forced himself to choke down in an attempt to look unbothered.
He watched, his mouth a flat line, as his mother laughed at something Enzo said and Enzo laughed back. It couldn’t have been that funny.
After he refilled her glass, they toasted right over Seven’s Osso Buco.
“You must be Enzo,” she finally said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“That’s terrifying,” Enzo countered with a laugh, easy breezy. “Anything my mother tells you is probably an exaggeration.”
This time, Seven did roll his eyes. So witty.Huh-huh-huh.
He heard Vince snort and glanced up to find him still observing him.
“You must be…” Enzo prompted, still ignoring Seven to flirt openly with his?—
“She’s my mother, you idiot. Who else would it be? We look exactly alike,” Seven snarked quietly.
He yelped as his mother twisted his ear and tsk’d. “Where are your manners,habibi? Don’t embarrass me.”
Seven huffed like a petulant child, then muttered, “Enzo, this is my mother, Neith. Mama, this is my…Enzo.”
Enzo seemed to choke on his own spit, wheezing, “Your Enzo…”
“That’s not what I meant,” Seven whispered, nudging him aggressively with his knee.
When Enzo recovered from Seven’s alarming decree of ownership, he looked over him once more. “You’re his mother?” Enzo said. “You don’t look old enough to have a son his age.”
His mother laughed. “I get that all the time. Excellent genetics.”
“I’ll say.”
