“It’s good to meet you as well, Daisy,” he says as he releases me a moment later. “You may call mePapáStefano.”
Holy shit, a mafia boss is letting me call him by his first name? Does this mean I’m officially in the mob? No, scratch that, does this mean the mob and I are besties?
Mean Daisy’s low groan doesn’t even touch me. Michelle’s going to shit her pants when I tell her that we’re officially in the mob now. Well, I guessI’mofficially in the mob, and she’s, like… mob adjacent, but same difference.
“Please sit,”PapáStefano says, his weathered hand still cupping my hip. The grip he has is firm, but I don’t mistake it for anything other than a steadying brace since he’s now only holding his cane with his left hand.
I hold his arm and wait for him to take his seat before moving alongside him. When I get to my chair, I find it already out and waiting for me. Giulio’s expression is solemn as he gestures for me to sit and then helps shuffle my chair forward when I do. He doesn’t chastise me for how I greeted hisPapá, as he called him, so I’ll take that as a win.
Across from me, Dante smiles at me. Giulio doesn’t say a word, but I can feel his rapt attention burning into the side of my face.Play it cool, I tell myself.No one needs to know that none of that was planned. You’re totally good with the Don, and if you’re good with the Don, Giulio can’t say shit about it.
Because I can’t help it, though, I cast my new husband a smug look as a server appears to take our drink order. My arrogance dims a bit when I find Giulio squinting at Dante instead of me. My gaze trails back to the other man, but as soon as I look, Dante straightens and pastes that same polite smile on his face as before.
The moment the server is gone,PapáStefano turns to me. “So, Daisy,” he begins, “you’ve married my Giulio.”
An uncomfortable itch starts up on the back of my neck as I glance from him to the placement of the settings on the table. “Uh, yes,” I say absently as the silver glints under the lights of the chandeliers overhead. My eyes linger on the flat edge of the knife at the side of my plate as I try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes to mind.
Looking up intoPapáStefano’s face makes it easier to shove down my inner panic. It’s hard to imagine him as a mobster now, with his silver hair pushed back away from his face and his hand placed on the bulbous end of a cane sitting against the table. He looks like any grandfather figure ready to bounce little kids on his knee as he offers them candy regardless of whether their parents approve or not. Oh, wait, kids. Oh my God. He doesn’t expect me and Giulio to start trying for kids now, does it?
I jerk my head to the man at my side, but his face is as stone-cold as ever. He’s no help.
The silence that permeates the space makes me exceedingly aware that no one is speaking and that we’re alone in the dining room. Huh. Thatisweird, isn’t it? It’s the middle of the day. Surely we can’t be the only customers here. I glance around the massive dining room with a wall of arched windows on one side, though a half wall separates most of them from view. All of the tables remain empty.
“Where is everyone else?” I ask. “There aren’t any other diners.”
“I thought it would be best to meet my daughter-in-law in private,”PapáStefano answers.
I spin back to look at him. “Why?” He bought out the whole restaurant for the afternoon? Would it technically be rented?
He arches one bushy gray eyebrow. “Family time is important, and the public can be”—he waves a hand—“intrusive.”
I… can’t exactly argue with that.The public isn’t the only intrusive one, I think snidely as the tarp over inner Daisy’s cage is punched again.
PapáStefano sets one age-spotted hand flat on the white top of the table as he leans closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there for the wedding,” he says.
“Oh, that’s all right,” I reply. “I heard your brother was sick, right?” At least, I was sure someone had mentioned something like that at the reception. I pat the old man’s hand. “Like you said, family is important.” I might not have any blood family, but Michelle is my sister, and I’d die or kill for her—so I get the gist.
PapáStefano’s eyes brighten and as I stare at them, I realize that the lidded shape is exactly like Dante’s. Huh. Guess thegenetic apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. “Very true, my dear girl,” he says with a bob of his head. “Now, tell me, how did you and my son meet?”
Cue record scratch. Um… what? I glance to Giulio. He said he was forced to get married by this very man. Surely,PapáStefano knows that we weren’t previously in a relationship. I glare at the man sitting next me as I try to send my thoughts to him via invisible waves—and a lot of facial twitches.
Help me!I practically scream in the silence.
In response and with a small smile, Giulio reaches for his water glass and lifts it to his lips.
My jaw drops.What theactualfuck?I hope he can read my mental projections right now because I’m so ripping him a new dick hole. I react to the glint of amusement in Giulio’s eyes with fire, snapping my leg out until the tip of my low-heeled pump collides with a hard leg.
Dante jumps. “Shit!”
My eyes widen, and I quickly draw my foot back. Oops. Wrong leg.
Innocence, Daisy, I tell myself.You are pure innocence, now fucking look like it.
With eyes so round, I feel like they’re about to pop out of my head, I turn and glance at Dante with an expression I hope portrays guiltlessness. “Are you all right, Dante?” I blink at him.
He glares, not at me but at Giulio, as his hand disappears beneath the table to, I assume, rub the spot I kicked. At my side, Giulio’s face cracks into a smile that’s both smug and amused. My brain short-circuits, and all thought of maintaining my perfect, angelic innocence evaporates. He’s got a nice smile—no,not just a nice smile. I’m pretty sure Michelle would dub this man’s smile “panty-melting,” and I have to admit, I think mine are currently in danger. All perfect pearly white teeth against that bronze skin, it’s a brilliant, unexpected dazzling effect for a man who looks large enough to eat small children for breakfast.
PapáStefano chuckles lightly. “I’m teasing,” he confesses. “I know the marriage was arranged.” He taps the side of his nose conspiratorially as I look back at him. “But I’m quite pleased to find that my son has chosen an amusing young woman for himself. To be honest, I half expected a hired lady at this luncheon.”
