Matteo led us through an open archway beneath the staircase in the foyer, past what appeared to be a playroom filled to the brim with toys—and if I wasn’t mistaken, an inflatable ball pit—and several other living spaces, until we reached the open-concept kitchen where a blonde woman was bustling about.
“Dolcezza.” The single word uttered in Italian by my brother-in-law was enough to get her to pause her frantic motions.
Big blue eyes lit up when they landed on us. “Oh! You’re here!” Then she rounded the large marble island and threw her arms around me. “It’s so nice to meet you!”
I stood there stunned, my arms hanging limply by my side. She was far younger than I expected, maybe mid-twenties toMatteo’s mid-thirties, and way more chipper than any of the mafia wives I’d encountered in the past. Though, to be fair, all of them had been born into this criminal underworld and had seen more than their fair share of death and destruction. There was a whole rack of black garments hanging in my closet meant for funerals.
By the time she pulled back, I’d found my voice. “Uh, hi. I’m Rory.”
She nodded so enthusiastically that she resembled a bobblehead doll. “Yes, I know!” But when she turned to the man standing by my side, her gaze grew wary, and she seemed to sober up. “And you must be Gio. I’ve heard a lot about you both.”
Despite her initial excitement at our arrival, it was easy to tell that much of what she’d heard hadn’t been good.
Matteo moved so that he could loop an arm around the blonde’s waist. “I want you both to meet Summer, my wife.”
The young woman’s cheeks pinkened as she brought a palm to her forehead. “I always forget to introduce myself.”
Gio chuckled. “It’s a pleasure to meet the woman who has my brother so smitten.”
As she turned to her husband, a dazzling smile lit up Summer’s pretty face. “Feeling’s mutual.”
Gesturing to the countertops overflowing with food, I asked, “Can I help with anything?”
Summer sagged in relief. “That would beamazing. Thank you.”
Gio spoke to his brother. “Those papers?”
Matteo dipped his chin. “Right.” Pressing a kiss to his wife’s temple, he murmured, “We’ll be in the office.”
Summer shooed the men with both hands. “Go bond over being big bad mafia men.” There was a hint of teasing in her voice as she downplayed the dangerous nature of the world she’d found herself in by virtue of marrying Matteo.
Once the men left, I surveyed the kitchen. “So what can I do?”
Pursing her lips together, my new sister-in-law’s gaze darted about the room. “Think you can handle placing cupcakes around the base of the cake while I set up the snack platters?”
“Sure.” Sounded easy enough.
Already busy creating individual veggie-and-dip cups on a serving tray, she replied, “Great. Everything you’ll need is in boxes by the fridge.”
Moving to where I’d been instructed, I paused. “Why are there two cakes?”
“Oh, the other one is for—”
“Up!” The demand from a tiny voice was accompanied by an insistent tugging on my pant leg.
When I peeked down, my heart nearly burst at the sight of a raven-haired toddler.
“Up!” she cried again, reaching for me with grabby hands.
My eyes lifted to Summer. “May I?”
Smiling warmly at the little girl, she nodded. “You’d better do as she says. Our tiny dictator runs the show around here.”
I bent down to scoop up who I could only assume was my youngest niece. Propping her onto my hip, I gave her a little bounce. “And who might you be?”
“That would be Aurora,” Summer answered for her daughter. “And the second cake is for her. She turns two a couple of weeks after Bianca, so we’ve turned this party into a double celebration.”
“She’s beautiful,” I remarked. “And her eyes . . . they’re so unique.” One was blue, and the other was brown.
