“I was right. It’s a text from my mamma. She says your uncle is there. He just showed up at my parents’ house, looking for you.”
Nico’s brow wrinkled. Her eyes had a look. Was it fear?
“My uncle?”
“Yeah. Your uncle Mickey.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ROCCO AND NICO
Rocco surveyed the man as they sat around the table eating dinner. He was nice enough, charming enough. He’d definitely charmed his mother and grandmother, Sofia and Beatrice too. He glanced over at his father and grandfather. The particular kind of charm he had wouldn’t work the same way on his father and grandfather, although they seemed to like him as well.
He looked young for an uncle—that is, to be Nico’s uncle. He had a pleasant, handsome face, light brown hair with hints of gold that fell in playful curls around his cheeks, and warm brown eyes with lashes that were almost too thick and long. Rocco tried to find a weak feature—chin, mouth, nose—but he couldn’t find one. He was tall, about the same height as Rocco, and definitely fit. His manner was kind and open, he wasn’t boorish, didn’t talk about himself unless asked, and seemed sincerely happy not only to see Nico but also to meet all of them and to visit this part of Italy.
So why don’t I like the man?
Maybe because he seems too affable.
Nico hadn’t offered much information about him after that text. Her answers to Rocco’s questions had all been vague, perhaps even evasive. What’s more, he couldn’t escape the feeling that his family welcomed seeing the man more than she did.
He looked over at Nico, who was sitting directly opposite him and next to her uncle.
He looked nothing like Nico. There was no family resemblance.
Rocco stretched out his leg, touching her foot with his. But rather than her looking up at him, her eyes shifted to her uncle before darting back to her plate, and she moved her foot away.
He watched the man place his arm around her. He stared at the man’s hand on her shoulder and waited for him to remove it. And then he blinked as he watched the man’s fingers. Was he stroking her shoulder?That can’t be right, he thought, clenching his fists as his heart began to thud so heavy he felt it ringing in his ears.
Rocco felt an urge surging through his bloodstream to take that hand he had resting on her shoulder and wrench it behind the man’s back.
Sofia nudged him, handing him a basket of crusty bread. He took it and placed a piece on his plate. When Rocco looked back across the table, he was relieved to see the man had removed his arm.
I guess he has to if he wants to eat.
Rocco reminded himself that this man was Nico’s uncle. But that didn’t stop the ringing in his ears.
Is he the reason she doesn’t want to talk about her past? About her family?
He needed to get Nico alone. He needed to talk to her.After dinner, he thought, sighing as he heard his nonno tell yet another story about Rocco karting as a kid.
Now Uncle Mickey jumped in with one about Nico. He sounded proud, but Nico’s head was cast down, her eyes on her plate.
Nico thought about that first dinner with his family at this very table. She hadn’t been able to look Rocco in the eye then either. But how she’d felt then and how she felt now couldn’t be more different.
“Competitive?!” Mickey roared. “I know you’ve seen Nico behind the wheel, but she’s like that with everything. Crafty too. Oh, the stories I could tell you.”
Nico’s heart began to race. Stories? He was speaking to her, not them. He was letting her know. He had stories to tell. Plenty of them
What did he want? Money, to be sure, but what was his plan for getting it? Con or blackmail? The con, if it was big enough, would bemore money, but in the long run, maybe blackmail was the smarter move.
She cast a sidelong glance at him as he went on. It was difficult to tell which gleamed brighter, his eyes or his teeth.
“As I always told her and taught her, the mental game is everything. Knowing when and how to make a move. Sizing up your opponent. Recognizing their weakness. My little girl here’s a master at that. You set up your opponent to lose every bit as much as you set yourself up to win. What did I always tell you, topolina? Make every easy shot and make every shot easy.”
Her heart did a swan dive. She even heard it land.Splat.
Swallow. Her mouth was so dry and her throat so tight, she couldn’t.
