“I’ll marry you, Mateo.”
“The other bit.” I brush my lips over hers.
“I love you, Mateo.” Her eyes glitter. “I fucking love you.”
The world is so damn good.
Chapter 19
Mateo Ricci
Isigh as I take a sip of my drink and sink back into my seat. The sunshine, mixed with the fresh juniper tang of my gin and tonic, is going straight to my head. I love it. I love not having to be on high-alert twenty-four-seven. Since we got rid of Whitlock, it’s like the weight’s been lifted. No more constant surveillance, no more constant security presence. I can breathe.
“So, where’s the future Mrs. Ricci today?” Dario asks from his seat across the table from me. Around us, the muted murmur of conversation bubbles. The well-heeled patrons of the country club are all so polite. So proper.
Dario Caraldi…at a golf club. I want to laugh.
“Dr. Carteris doing her rounds this morning. She’ll join us later,” I reply. Dario arches an eyebrow.
“Like that, is it?” He sips his drink.
“Sure.” I shrug. “It’s her name. She earned it.” Despite how fucking Brod Carter may have smeared the family name, Andy has a right to be proud of the career she’s carved for herself. Careers are important to some. I’ve seen that with Reed, who’s racked up a promotion over our little informal collaboration. He may not have officially nabbed Whitlock, but they took down enough high-profile mobsters to make the boys up top happy. And it’s had the advantage of keeping mob activity low. Life is relaxed. It barely bothered me when Andy said she wanted to go back to work.
“How do you feel about that?” Dario asks. “Her not taking your name…”
“I’m fine with it.” I cock my head. “She’ll be a Ricci where it matters.” I put my hand on my chest. Being family isn’t about sharing a name. We know that as well as anyone. “Besides, will Nikki ever stop being Sister Lovvie to you?”
“Good point.” His expression softens as he looks to where his fiancée is out on the practice putting green nearby. She has a hand in the small of her back while she points something out to Danny. He’s waving a kid-sized golf club around enthusiastically.
My God, she’s gotten big. The poor woman practically has to waddle everywhere. I can’t help staring.
“Something on your mind, Ricci?” Dario narrows his eyes at me. I sense him bristling, ready to get all “caveman.”
“Uh…no. Just uh…wondering. How?” I aim a meaningful look at him, then back over at Nikki. Dario smirks at me.
“You’ll figure it out when you get there, bro. Trust me. Baby sex is the best goddamn fucking I’ve ever had.” He stretches his arms languorously over his head, and I’m pretty sure it’s post-coital satisfaction. Come to think of it, Nikki’s skirt is skew. And they’d asked me to keep an eye on Danny when I arrived so they could “get something from the car.”
The filthy fucker!
“Jesus, Dario!” I start to laugh, and his smirk deepens.
“Yeah…that belly. I’m convinced it comes complete with a full aphrodisiac kit for chicks. Now, I get a boner just imagining all that lush-as-fuck roundness.”
I smile, picturing Andy’s growing bump. She’s starting to show now. Bitching about waistbands that are too tight while I’m loving every inch of that ripe flesh. I can’t wait until she’s full-blown…when she’s more obviously filled with my child. Maybe I’ll schedule a photo shoot, so I have some pics to jack off to between babies. But then, someone else is going to see that glorious body. I frown. It’ll have to be a woman. No way any man’s going to put his eyes on my female. Because she’s mine. No doubt about that.
I take another sip of crisp gin and lick my lips.
“You’re thinking filthy thoughts, Ricci. Quit it. You’re in polite company.”
I snort at him.
“You’re kidding, right? Think you can buy your way into a country club and fit right in?” It’s a low blow, but I don’t care. He’s tough enough to take it.
“Bullshit. Of course I fit right in.” He runs a hand through a thick wave of dark hair, and a bicep flexes in the sunlight. Lacoste’s shirtmakers never accounted for that kind of muscle power, and his sleeve stretches tautly. Nearby, a group of expertly highlighted blondes sit staring with their mouths hanging open. I’m pretty sure there’s drool on the table.
“Sure. You go right ahead and believe that, bro.” I roll my eyes. Big, dangerous, and covered in ink, Dario Caraldi’s the least “fit right in” man I’ve ever encountered. And among these pasty pencil pushers and limp-wristed old-money types, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Thankfully his brother managed to be more refined, or the three of us would never be allowed access anywhere. Which reminds me…
“Where’s Raoul?” I look toward the entrance and then glance at my wristwatch. Rolex is not known for losing time, so I’m pretty sure our third companion is more than fashionably late.
