“Boys,” Sandro says. “Have a seat.”
“Hey, sis,” Killian says with a wink.
Despite myself, a little smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Hey, yourself.” I turn to Sully, who’s looking a little uncomfortable. “Hi, Sully. Glad you could make it.”
He runs a hand over his beard and gives me a quick nod. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The waiter returns with a rolling cart and proceeds to open a bottle of red wine. He pours a mouthful into Sandro’s glass.
Sandro swirls the glass, sniffs, and samples it, then nods his approval.
The waiter fills our glasses with the deep red wine, then places a few baskets of steaming bread in the middle of the table along with two dishes of herb-infused oil. He does this silently and efficiently, leaving us as soon as his task is done.
Sandro raises his wine glass. “A toast.” We all follow suit. “To family. Both discovered and created.”
“Sláinte,” Killian and Sully say, clinking our glasses.
The door opens again and a tall, gray-haired man strides in. I freeze. My stomach clenches. This is really happening. I’m meeting my father.
His eyes lock on mine and he pauses for a moment. Then shaking his head a little, he pulls his suit jacket closed and crosses the restaurant to stand in front of me.
I rise and offer him my hand, so many emotions waring for dominance—trepidation, excitement, fear, guilt. I’m trembling a bit as I say, “Hi. I’m Lennon.”
He takes my hand between his palms like it’s a fragile bird. His gaze is sweeping over my face, his blue eyes glassy. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Well, if you aren’t the spittin’ image of your mother. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
I see it then. The raw emotion, the pain. He did feel something for my mother. What exactly that is, I don’t know. But it’s enough to believe I made the right decision meeting him.
Sandro stands and holds out his hand. Maybe he noticed me starting to feel uncomfortable under Mac’s intense gaze. “Mac, good to see you again.”
I take my seat as they exchange pleasantries and then Mac pulls out the chair next to Killian, clapping him on the shoulder in greeting. “Son.” He nods at Sully. “Good to see you lads.”
Sandro pours some wine in Mac’s glass. “Appreciate you making the trip here. It’s hard for Lennon to get time off work right now.”
Mac takes a sip of the wine and nods appreciatively. Then his gaze returns to me. “Tell me about your work.”
I spend the next twenty minutes telling him about my job. He asks questions and seems genuinely interested, which is unexpected. The waiter brings appetizers and the conversation flows as everyone eats and drinks and gets to know one another.
At one point I feel a warmth pool in my gut as I listen to Sandro, Killian and my father discuss the value of a yacht Killian found for sale. I snort when it comes out that Killian is going to make it a strip club.
Sandro winks at me, more relaxed than I’ve seen him since his return to Tampa. It hits me that this beautiful, protective man is going to be my husband.Husband.Last week, getting married wasn’t even on my radar.
Could this really be the start of a different kind of family for me?
I take a bite of stuffed mushroom and take in the men around me. They are dangerous, yes. But also loyal to a fault. Loyal to family.
I move my attention to Mac. I can see why my mom was with him. He’s charismatic, charming, and makes you feel seen when he talks to you.
Did you love him, Mom?If she did, maybe she wouldn’t mind so much if I got to know him.
As if Mac senses my question, his eyes flick up to meet mine. “Lennon, I have somethin’ for you.” He pulls an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “Look at it when you get home, yeah?”
I accept the envelope with a curious smile.
The waiter brings the main course, explaining the ravioli is filled with burrata imported from Campania. I press my lips together to suppress a laugh. I have no idea what that means, but I’m sure it's better than canned Chef Boyardee.
As we dig in—and I moan, because yes, it’s a million times better—I finally get the courage to ask the one thing I really want to know. I clear my throat and get Mac’s attention. “So, how did you meet my mom?”
Mac’s blue eyes soften as he wipes at his mouth with the cloth napkin. “She was a waitress. She actually spilled a drink on me.” His gaze focuses on the table as he recalls the memory. “The way she got so flustered with the most beautiful blush and sweet, sweet apologies. I just wanted to protect her from the world.” His head lifts and sadness pinches the corners of his eyes. “And I did. For four years.”
