“No, I will.” This detail was important. “But you’ll be there. Dinner, my house. Tomorrow night.”
Don Morelli crossed his arms over his chest. “And why should I trust you not to kill my capo?”
You shouldn’t. Deluca was a dead man breathing. “Because I’m not interested in a war with my allies. But I will make sure he never touches my wife again.”
The don rubbed his jaw. “Deal.”
Chapter 43 – Liam
Finn deposited a plate in front of me and a second to Don Morelli. The pasta strands were twisted in a neat ball. Little pieces of deep pink meat dotted the sauce.
There was no other protein.
I frowned. Didn’t a white sauce come with chicken? Or shrimp? Well, if my wife made it this way, then I supposed it was correct. Someday I would ask her why she served the meat separately. Almost like a second course. I would ask her soon, when we had time to just beus.
Picking up my plate, I slid it to Gabriella’s seat. Her head snapped up. That pretty pink lip tucked between her teeth.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly. Her fingers played with that funny necklace she sometimes wore. It was like a chili pepper, but research told me it had a more significant meaning.
A horn to ward off evil.
I wanted to pluck her fingers and kiss them. No one would touch her. Not here, not in my house.
You’re safe, little bird.
“He didn’t bring yours.” I picked up my whiskey, swirled the amber liquid over the single cube of ice, and brought it to my lips. “You need to eat.”
Gabriella flushed. “I gave him a crash course in waitering. He was supposed to serve you and Signor Morelli first.”
I sucked the booze between my teeth. The icy burn slid down my throat. “And I’m serving my wife first.”
She relaxed a fraction, the worry brushing off her face. “Oh, well…thank you.”
A snort cracked from the other end of the table. It took everything in my power not to stab my fork in the fecker’s eye. He was a guest in my house. He sat at my table. And he still refused to show my wife a drop of respect.
No matter, Gabriella’s father was here to publicly answer for his crimes…before he paid for them privately.
Finn delivered three more plates. Signor Messina picked up his fork and twisted the strands of pasta around the tines. Connor dug in like a starved animal, the entire clump on his fork as he took a savage bite. Deluca sneered at his plate.
“Something wrong with the food my wife spent all afternoon preparing?” I shot down the table.
Morelli, chewing thoughtfully, slid a look at his capos. Messina shook his head, tapped his napkin on his lips, and murmured, “Delicious, Gabby. Truly. It’s so nice to have a homecooked meal.”
Deluca said nothing.
Finn brought the last plate of pasta, looked at my empty setting, and gave Gabriella a worried frown.
I took it from his hands, mad that everyone else was enjoying the fruits of her labor and not me.
Connor, sitting to my left, smirked. “He’s right, missus. It’s good.”
“Thank you,” Gabriella murmured, smiling softly.
I tried to ignore that as I cut into my food. The first bite was an explosion of flavor. Creamy and savory, the little bites were like bacon, which gave the dish a rich quality.
She was going to make this once a week. If I had to get on my knees and beg, I was going to request it. We would make it a ritual. Sacred. No work would keep me from sharing this dish with her.
But first….
