“Another?” Don Morelli plucked the glass from her still shaking fingers.
“No, but thank you.” Amanda cleared her throat. “I need to eat something first.”
“Ah, let me fix you a sandwich.” The don strode to his fridge and opened it.
“Actually, signore, I have pancake batter waiting at home,” Amanda said quickly. “I was going to cook dinner tonight.”
Those blue eyes turned to me. Our combined gaze clashed. The other men faded away, their comments about a sandwich now, dinner later, fell to a deaf audience.
Pancakes. My flower was going to cook for me.
I almost launched off the counter and went to her. But Joey chose that moment to splash antiseptic on my wound. I hissed in surprise.
“Want the lidocaine this time?” the doctor chuckled.
“No,” I said tightly.
Amanda inched forward. She placed her fingers in mine.
I squeezed her hand gently. Those slim fingers were warm and strong in mine.
“Pancakes?” I arched a brow.
Amanda shrugged. “I was hoping you’d be home from New York by now. The batter’s been in the fridge all week. Google said it would keep until the weekend.”
“I didn’t think being a lawyer left you much time to be domestic,” I teased.
Amanda huffed, but her gaze flicked to where Joey was stabbing my arm with the needle.
Squeezing her fingers, I demanded her focus. “How do you like your job?”
“Love it!” Her enthusiasm was infectious. “And the hours aren’t long, so Icancome do some of the cooking.”
Our pleasant little banter was cut short when the front door banged open.
“Where the fuck is the little son of a whore?” a peeved voice boomed.
I shot upright, or would have, but Joey’s elbow in my rib forced me back down. He might be a grizzled old man, working at his deli six days a week, but a legacy in the mob, he was not to be underestimated.
“Watch your language in my house,” Don Morelli snapped. He handed Amanda a plate. “Mangia, carina. Mangia.”
Amanda set the plate down and still holding my hand, gingerly plucked the sandwich. It was thick, more than a mouthful. She tore a slice of bread with some meat, knowing that the don wouldn’t let her be until she showed some interest in the food.
“Apologies, Don, but do you have any idea the kind of damage your boy there did?” Matteo Deluca stormed into the kitchen.
“His father called with a report.” Don Morelli stared evenly at his capo. He knew how to handle this rabid dog. It had been years since the brute bit him. The lesson the don doled out showed that Deluca had learned his lesson, keeping his fangs away and only barking when shit went south.
Which it unfortunately had today.
A gang tried to make a quick buck by taking our export of black-market antiques.
“Mat, have a seat,” Don Morelli commanded.
The capo seethed, shoulders shaking. “What’sshedoing here?”
Red clouded the room.
I launched from the counter, ripping stitches as Joey shouted. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter.
