Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“This is it,” I say, pointing to the tall gates that welcome us to the Rossi family home.
The driver comes to a screeching halt and stares at me in the rearview mirror. “I put the address in but didn’t know it led here. You had me drive here?”
“What’s your problem?”
“This is the Rossi home.”
I sometimes forget that my best friends and found family are all in the mafia, and people around here don’t like that. The Rossis and the Montavios are heroes compared to the fellowship I was raised in, but I guess who’s bad and who isn’t is all relative.
“So yeah, here is fine,” I say.
The driver screeches away before my car door is closed all the way, as if the Rossi family demons are going to haunt him in his dreams.
Jesus.
I wave to the guards at the gate, who wave back.
“Hey, Starla,” one says, though in the dark it’s impossible to see which one. “Good to have you back, kiddo.” What do I have to do to get them to stop calling me kiddo? Ugh! “Tosca expecting you?”
As if on cue, the heavy front door yards away from the gate is flung open and Tosca waves fiercely at me. I put my head down against the biting wind as two uniformed men flank me on my way to the house.
“Fuckin’ pussy driver,” one mutters to the other. “Find out who he is.”
“No, no,” I say with a forced laugh. “No need to do that, now.” All I need is to get on an Uber shitlist because the Rossi guards have a hair across their collective asses. “I appreciate the sentiment, though, guys.”
Their broad shoulders block the brisk wind from assaulting me, as they escort me in. Tosca gives me a huge embrace as soon as I’m over the threshold, and the men go back to their posts.
I hug Tosca a little longer than necessary. When the first beat passes and she realizes I’m still hugging her, she holds me even tighter.
“You alright, love?” One would never call Tosca a gentle sort, but she has her favorites and lucky for me, I’m one of them.
“I’m alright,” I say, stifling the need to cry again because I just cried on Sergio’s shoulder, and it seems crying a second time might be a point against my “I’m an adult” case.
“In, in!” Nonna says from the doorway. “Cold enough to freeze gelato in the doorway. Come, I make you cioccolata calda and biscotti.”
The difference between American hot chocolate and Italian is like the difference between watery broth and a hearty stew. Nonna’s hot chocolate is so thick and creamy it coats the back of a spoon, and even I, Queen Sweet Tooth, can only take a small amount.
Tonight, I want to tell her to make it a double.
“Yes, please,” I tell her, nodding eagerly. In a short time, I’m sitting by a roaring fire in the Rossi family living room. Thick, burgundy carpet under my sock-clad feet, a plush ivory blanket tucked over my lap. Nellie, Tosca’s Siamese cat, her newest acquisition when the last of the Rossi children left home, lays at my feet snoring peacefully. I’m holding a cup of Nonna’s cocoa the size of my head in one hand, a large platter of Nonna’s decadent cookies propped up beside me on a TV tray.
They’ve asked me no questions but sensibly waited until I indulged and warmed up before expecting me to tell them why I’ve come. While Eden and Sergio – my sister and her husband -- were good to me, Tosca and Nonna damn near coddled me.
My heart aches in a way I’ve never felt before.
Honestly, they would probably be fine if I didn’t even tell them, but I want to.
I have to talk to somebody.
“Sergio called,” Tosca says.
I mutter under my breath, “Of course he did.” He can track my phone, and likely knows the exact name and location of the Uber driver as well. “And?”
“I told him you were safe but not to pry,” Tosca says with a wink.
I sigh and lean back against the couch. “Thank you.” I take one more sip of cocoa before I continue. “Did he tell you that Timeo’s back?”
The thump of Nonna’s cup to the carpet tells me no.
Tosca stares, wide-eyed. “No. Where? When? How?”
I shake my head. “Honestly, men. Why didn’t he tell you? Giorgio brought me to Sergio’s club tonight. They were afraid I was in danger.”
Oh, yeah. There’s that pesky little worry about my being in danger. I’m not sure why Timeo coming home puts me in danger, and it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, taking off in the middle of an impending snowstorm when Sergio wanted me nearby, but…
I clear my throat. “They brought me to see him.”
Tosca and Nonna stare at me. I look down at my cup and trace the rim with my finger.