Oh God…
Oh…
"My brothers will be thrilled to see you. How long has it been since we last saw you? A year?” she asks, practically skipping to what I assume is the groomsmen table, seeing as three of the Rossi boys—men really—are seated there. My eyes shift from the youngest brother, Lorenzo, then to Dante, and finally stop on the second oldest Rossi brother…the one who’s owned my heart for as long as I’ve known this family.
I’m not ready.Sweet heaven, I’m not ready to talk to him just yet.
Suddenly self-conscious, I resist the urge to run a hand through my hair or fuss with my dress.
Do I look okay?
Shit, why is the lighting in here so bright?
Breathe. Emilia.Please don’t embarrass yourself by passing out!Slow and deep.
We stop next to the table, and I find my eyes moving to his. It's a skill, how he's managed to look better every time I see him. Closer now, I take in his chiseled jaw, shadowed by a dark beard, and those golden hazel eyes steal my breath. A single lock of his raven black hair artfully falls over his forehead, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and smooth it back. Then kiss him.
No, I was wrong to assume that time would help me fall out of love with Antonio Rossi.
“Emilia!”
A voice bellows through the air and startles me out of my trance. I watch as Leonardo Rossi rises from his seat, his teddy bear body making me smile with memories of how warm his hugs always felt when I was little. Looking at him, no one would guess that he's one of the most dangerous men in New York City. The elder Rossi has always been a father figure in my life, and at some point, I wished that he would marry my mother so I'd have him permanently in my life. But then, that would have made me Antonio's sister, and the feelings I have for the man are not sisterly. Thank heavens that never happened.
“Ciao, Leonardo.”
“Oddio, who do we have here?" he booms, taking my shoulders and yanking me into a hug with nearly as much strength as his daughter did. “I’m glad you could make it,figlia mia. I know you’ve been very busy settling in.”
That he regards me as his daughter even when we’re not related by blood tugs at my heart. A twinge of guilt follows—I've noticed how he lights up around me in ways he doesn't always with Gabriella, and I've never understood why. She's his actual daughter.
Regret storms in viciously for waiting this long to visit the Rossi family. I’ve been in New York for a month and used workas an excuse to not go see them. After everything, the Rossis have done for me and my family…
Christ, I should have visited them sooner.
My gaze involuntarily moves to Antonio as I’m reminded yet again why I put off visiting the people who helped care for us when we had no one. I shouldn't have let my feelings for Antonio keep me away.
“You’re aging backward, Leonardo,” I tease, smiling when he laughs.
“Come now, you must dance with me and tell me how you like your new job at the hospital,” he says, taking my hand and tugging me toward the dance floor, leaving me no choice but to follow. I pass my purse to Gabriella and follow Leonardo to the dance floor. He holds my hand, and I feel the warmth of his touch as we begin to sway to the music. The first thought that slips into my mind is how I’ll never get to dance with my father at my own wedding. Or even have him there.
Does he even know we exist? That he has two children out there in the world?
Mama told us he never knew about the pregnancy—she never even got his last name. Just a single night that gave her two children and a lifetime of raising us alone.
I shake off the thoughts as they come and instead focus on the man who helped raise us. Leonardo smiles, and I can’t help but mirror the gesture. “I’ve been meaning to thank you,” I start as we sway to the music. “The apartment you found for me is perfect and with the most stunning view ever.” I don’t bother asking how a perfect apartment so close to my job conveniently “turned up” or why my lease is half that of my neighbors. “I would not have made it this far without your help—”
"None of that," he scolds, good-naturedly. "You did all the work yourself, and now, I can brag to my friends that we have a trauma surgeon in the family. And all at the tender age of twenty-six. You’ve done well,mia cara.”
His kindness has never wavered—not since his late wife, Antonia, brought my pregnant mother into the Rossi home all those years ago. He's been honoring her memory ever since, caring for us as if we were his own.
"Thank you." My voice cracks as I try not to think of what would have happened to my family if he hadn’t stepped in to help. We chat about my work as we dance and when the music winds down, someone steps behind Leonardo and taps him on the shoulder.
“Papa, you don’t mind if I cut in, do you?” My stomach flip-flops, and my heart starts racing when I meet those hazel eyes I love over Leonardo's shoulders. “Some of us haven’t seen little Emilia in years.”
Little?
“Of course,” Leonardo laughs, trading his spot with his son.
I nearly gasp when Antonio’s hand finds mine—warm, steady, unhurried. A jolt shoots up my arm at the contact, subtle but electric. My palm, clammy with nerves, fits awkwardly against his, and I pray he doesn’t notice. Then his arm slips around my waist, firm and deliberate, and the heat of it blooms across my skin, rising all the way to my cheeks.
