“Please,” I said again.
Kalen stepped out of the car, and my heart skipped. I didn’t know how she’d react to him—even if she’d been nice in this moment, it was hard to tell if that was all for show, or if he’d end up in the basement cellar with Tomaso, ready for someone to decide his fate.
Santo appeared in the doorway just as Kalen walked up, his feet crunching on the gravel with each step he took. I tried looking at Kalen, but Santo was doing his best to distract me, holding out a small glass of scotch. The glasses were monogrammed with a swirling fancy letter B for Bianchi. “Come on,” he whispered, unable to hold back his grin, like he was watching some trashy TV show.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Mom said to Kalen.
I took the glass from Santo and with the lightest clink against his glass, I poured the aged amber into the back of my throat and swallowed hard. “Another,” I said.
He laughed. “Are you coming in? Or are you gonna stand out there all day?”
“We’re coming,” I said through gritted teeth.
They hugged. They were actively hugging, and she wasn’t trying to stick him with a knife—not like she would, especially not out in the open. They were having a moment, and I could ease into it. She’d welcomed him into the fold, and I definitely needed that second glass of scotch now.
Inside, Nonna was there with Santo’s boyfriend, Isaiah. They were in the kitchen, tasting the gravy from the large silver pan. They were doing it in secret, I think, since when Mom arrived, they were rinsing off the spoons and giggling with each other.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Mom said. “Rocco has brought his boyfriend.” She announced it to Nonna and Isaiah who didn’t seem to care at all. “He’s an FBI agent. Analyst. Whatever.”
Nonna’s face changed, and her forehead wrinkled like it had sucked something sour. “You know how to pick them,” she said, approaching me. She pressed a finger into my chest, looking up at me from her hunched position. “I just hope this doesn’t become an issue.” She turned to Kalen. “But it’s nice to meet you.”
Kalen looked at me to guide him. I nodded. It was pretty simple. If they didn’t approve, he wouldn’t have made it inside. I assumed everyone knew everything that had been in the file, and that meant they also knew about his mom, who was going through a lot—even if she wasn’t aware or acknowledging it.
“You know he can’t be around when we talk,” Mom said, whipping a hand towel over her shoulder. She strutted over to the pot on the stove with the lightest flame licking at it. “Now, would you like a taste? It’s all homemade. Warning. It’s addictive.”
He laughed a little. “What’s in it? Cocaine?”
The kitchen erupted into chuckles; he was disarming everyone with humor. The chill on my neck and a drip of sweat were a sign of light relief.
“No,” Mom answered with a big grin. “It’s sugar.”
He tried it, and we all waited for his response.
I took a spoonful of it as well. It washome. The taste of it was like a hug, and maybe it helped that the entire kitchen was like a sauna from the oven being on, the stove lit, and the boiler in the corner cupboard.
“Mhm,” he let out. “It’s nice.”
“Roland wants a jar, actually,” I said. “I should get that to him so he’s not waiting around all day.”
“Of course,” Mom said, pinching my cheek. “I’ll get him two. And we need to talk about tonight. It’s the first time you boys are doing this alone. Without your father.”
Like we needed reminding. It made me feel small to be reminded of him, and how the reputation of this dangerous man was anchored in every part of our lives.
“It’s why it’s important we set a new precedent,” Santo said. “Show everyone we’re in charge.”
Isaiah cuddled up to Santo’s side, giggling.
“Isaiah and Kalen can hang while we talk business,” I said. “They might have something in common.”
Santo laughed. “Besides us.”
“Good idea,” Mom said. “They can go into the lounge. And you two can help me make this focaccia.”
Nonna clapped. She was so full of energy, practically rounding Kalen and Isaiah up to send them out of the kitchen.
There was no need for Kalen to worry now, she’d practically accepted him as he came, and I think seeing that he didn’t look like a threat helped. And threats usually came out guns blazing, so I knew why everyone was apprehensive about Kalen, but he wasn’t packaged like that—even when we’d first met, the only weapon he’d had on him was a sharp tongue he wanted to lash me with up and down.
Talk immediately turned to Tomaso.
