“I’m keeping up with the coursework. It’s…it’s more vigorous than the public schools.” My smile didn’t wobble, even though I couldn’t keep my knees from bouncing under the table.
“Good, that’s good. I’m glad to hear you’re managing it.” He turned to Vincenzo. “See that you do the same.”
“Si, signore.” Vincenzo’s spine didn’t waver.
With a nod to the lad, the don made to step away. But he paused to say one more thing. “It’s good to see you, Amanda. Come back soon; we’ve missed you, ragazza.”
Just like that, I felt the final piece of the homecoming settle around me. The thing about Don Morelli was that he wasn’t a liar. When he praised me, he meant it. His interest in my studies was genuine. The offer to return was an open invitation, a welcomeback.
“I really shouldn’t stay much longer,” I said quietly to Vincenzo. “It will be the dinner rush soon, and you’ll need to have the table open for paying customers.”
Vincenzo leaned down, knuckles digging into the table. “You’re my guest. You’ll stay as long as you want.”
The possessive tone in his voice shivered over me.
We were friends. Best friends. But the way he looked at me now, it sparked something that made those shivers hot, not cold.
“Well, I can’t stay too long. The cover story of extracurriculars won’t hold up if it gets late,” I insisted.
“I’ll take you back in the car. But first—” He chewed his bottom lip.
My gaze snagged on the motion. The way that lip became fuller. More red. Wet and something I kinda wanted to taste.
“Yes?” I breathed.
“Can you look at something for me?”
The beat of my heart jumped, sending a pulse straight into my throat. Clearing it, and hoping I sounded casual, I arched a brow and said, “I’m not a cannolo expert, Enzo.”
He gave me a funny look, face scrunched up. “What?”
Shut up, you dork!
Lord, I was bad at this flirting stuff. Why was I even trying? Vincenzo likely didn’t see me that way. Right? Arg! Who knew?
“Sorry,” I muttered and shook my head. “What is it?”
“I’ll grab my backpack.” Vincenzo rapped his knuckles against the table and spun around.
I tried, and failed, not to stare at his ass as he walked away. Greek gods would weep.
Jotting down a few more steps to the equation, I slid my work into my own backpack. I didn’t want to go. Mama Ana’s felt more like home than the house we lived in. But if I wanted the opportunity to return, I had to tear myself away now or risk being discovered in the “bad part of town.”
The door banged open. Loud voices chirped, and a group of local kids marched into the space. I knew a handful of them. Cristiano was there, Vincenzo’s younger brother. I tipped my chin up in a casual greeting.
The younger Messina smirked and shook his head. But he didn’t come over.
No, Sal Toscano did.
Sal was a nephew of the underboss by marriage. He was fresh out of high school—if he’d even graduated. Last I heard, the odds were unlikely.
“There’s a pretty face. What’s up, princess?” That title was a classic slur. I supposed I earned it when my dad became rich and turned his back on the famiglia. We had used it on other snobby people; now it was my turn.
Sal slid a look over my body, lingering a little too long on my chest. Since it was almost autumn on the calendar, I was in a fluttery, burgundy floral dress, even if the long sleeves made me roast in the warmer afternoon sun. The dress looked damn good, and I wore it on purpose.
Just not for Sal to stare at the way it hugged my breasts.
“Hi, Sal, I’m fine. How are you?” I sat up straighter, forced myself to be diplomatic.
