Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Oh, look who came for a visit!” my mother said, turning from the stove in her red apron, her dark hair half pulled up, her cheeks a little flushed from standing over a hot pot. “It’s almost like you knew I was making stuffed shells for dinner.”
“Heya, Ma,” I said, walking over to press a kiss to her cheek, then accepting the glass of wine that my brother passed me. Most of us would rather something stiff, or even just a beer, but our mom always served the wine from our brother Massimo’s winery. “I knew I could count on you for making something good.”
“Well, I was just making this for our little hero, but then your brother showed up, so now I’m making double. Speaking of,” she said, putting down her massive slotted spoon, and turning to give me her full attention. “You should have told me how beautiful she was!” she gushed, pressing a hand to her heart.
“You went to the restaurant today?”
“The word got out that it was open. Of course I had to drop in and pick up some pastries, show them some support. Oh, don’t worry,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t tell her I was your mother. I wish I could have. And given her a big hug, told her how much I appreciate her. She was so lovely,” she added, turning back to the stove as Dante shot me a knowing look and Santo shook his head.
You could always count on our mom for having wedding bells ringing in her ear whenever a reasonably attractive woman was even a satellite in one of her sons’ lives.
Though in this case, unlike the time she’d tried to hook up Dante with her book club friend’s daughter who turned out to be a lesbian, she would be happy to know that there was attraction on both sides when it came to Savannah.
But I was damn sure not going to tell her that. What with the whole plan to try to keep my hands to myself moving forward.
“I felt so bad for her, seeing her working so soon after being so hurt,” my mother went on.
“I went in this morning and took over for a while,” I said, only realizing what I’d just said after the words were out of me, and my mom was turning, eyes wide.
“That’s my boy,” she said, eyes working overtime, and I only barely managed to hold back a wince, all but able to hear the shit that was going to be crossing telephone lines the next day between her and the aunts.
Santo caught my eye, jerking his head toward the back porch.
“We’ll be right back, Ma,” he told her. And our mom, sensing Family business, gave us a curt nod. “Dante, you’ll help me,” she declared, gesturing toward the oversize pot that I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to lift herself.
“What’s up?” I asked as soon as the door closed behind us.
Santo, the fourth in the birth order, tall and lean with honey-brown eyes and lashes chicks were always commenting on, and long dark hair that he almost always had pulled up, let out a sigh. “August,” he said.
I went ahead and bit back amusement at his exasperation regarding his only younger brother. Oh, how the tables had turned.
“What about August?” I asked, brows lowering as I thought of our youngest brother.
As a whole, he was beyond his ‘starting shit for the sake of starting shit’ phase he’d been stuck in for all of his teens. He was still young, sure, a late in life baby, but he was Made. He’d shown enough maturity for that. And he was eager to prove himself, so he’d been knuckling down and busting his ass the past year or so.
“He’s gone.”
“What do you mean he’s gone?” I asked, frowning.
“He’s out of town.”
“What? Did he get sent on some kind of job?”
“Not exactly,” Santo said. “Actually, Luca doesn’t even know yet. Which is why I’m talking to you,” he added. “Figure it might be better coming from you than me.”
“Chickenshit,” I shot at him. Because we were brothers. And you never missed a chance to sling a little shit at one of your brothers. “But what am I supposed to be telling Luca? Where did he go? What’s he doing?”
“So remember when we had to go handle that shit with Mass a while back?”
“What? You mean saving Cammie?” I asked, meaning Massimo’s woman. A woman whose life he’d inadvertently fucked beyond measure when he’d put a bullet in her then-boyfriend’s head.
“Yeah, that.”
“Fuck, Santo. Spit it out. Mom keeps shooting us looks,” I said, seeing her through the window, pretending to be busy arranging big shells into baking dishes, but her gaze kept shooting up at us.
Her mom senses were tingling.
She knew something was wrong with one of her kids.