Catarina
“This is delicious,” Massimo says, moaning around a bite of omelet. “Where did you learn to cook?” he asks when he has finished chewing.
“My mother was a lousy mother, but the one good thing she did was teach me how to cook. She passed down all the traditional Italian recipes that have been in her family for generations.” I point at the bread basket on the table. “That bread is an old family favorite.”
He stares at me curiously for a few seconds before his features even out. “It’s tasty. So, does this mean I can expect more home-cooked meals?”
“Definitely. I enjoy cooking but rarely have the time. I will make the effort to get home earlier, at least a couple of nights a week, so I can prepare dinner.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Thank you.”
Heat crawls up my neck and stains my cheeks. “For what?”
“For trying.” His fingers sweep across my cheek. “I don’t think anyone would believe me if I told them the fearsome Donna Greco was blushing because I paid her a compliment.”
I swat his hand away. “What happens at home stays at home, Massimo.” I narrow my eyes at him.
He throws back his head and chuckles. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
“I mean it.” I rotate my suddenly stiff shoulders, feeling like an alien in my skin.
“Mia amata.” He clasps my face in his large hands. “I would never do anything to jeopardize your reputation and never divulge secrets of what we do in our private time.”
“Not even to Fiero?”
“Especially not Fiero.”
“I thought you two were close.”
“We are. He’s more my brother than my flesh and blood.”
“How did you become friends?”
“As sons of dons of the New York families, we are all encouraged to form friendships and socialize together. Fiero and I were close in age, and we instantly connected from the moment we met as kids.”
“That’s how you were friends with Cruz,” I surmise.
He nods. “The three of us were thick as thieves as young kids, but after we initiated, things changed.”
“In what way?” I ask in between mouthfuls of my breakfast.
Massimo leans back in his chair, staring off into space as he sips from his mug. “Fiero and Cruz are both the heir apparent, and I was the youngest son of four. An unwanted mistake Don Greco barely tolerated.” A muscle clenches in his jaw, and he looks lost in thought. “My father only had me initiated because it would’ve reflected badly on him if he didn’t go through the motions with me.”
I sit up straighter, deeply invested in this conversation. “You didn’t get along with your father?” I tentatively inquire, wanting him to keep talking.
Fire blazes in his eyes. “I hated him with every fiber of my being.” The venom undercutting his words and bleeding from his eyes verifies that statement. “He was a bastard, and I celebrated the night he died.”
Shock splays across my face because I never even contemplated Massimo could feel like this. From what I saw, Carlo and Primo were cut from the same cloth as their father, and Gabriele and their mother were slaves to their whims and wishes. Massimo was the unknown. Too young to be involved in what went on in the basement of their house, I always surmised.
“You think I’m disrespectful?” he asks, noting the surprise on my face.
“I’m just surprised. I didn’t know you felt like that.”
“I was an accident. An oops baby. The result of one of the many times that asshole forced himself on my mother.” He rubs at his chest, and I don’t question him because this kind of marriage is all too familiar inmafiosofamilies. “He already had three sons. He didn’t need an heir or want any more screaming babies. He left me to my mother to raise, keeping me separate from my brothers a lot of the time. As we got older, he focused more on Carlo and Primo. He recognized Gabriele’s sensitive nature and did his best to beat it out of him.” He grinds his teeth, and his jaw is locked tight.
“Is that why you are so close to your mother?” I trace my fingers along his tight jawline, softly caressing his tense features.
He nods as he works his jaw loose. “She clung to me, and as I got older, she looked to me to protect her. I tried my best to intervene, but Father would beat me to a pulp and then tie me to a chair and force me to watch as he hurt her. Often, he raped her in front of me.”
