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When Monique was putting away my stuff, I spotted the lingerie section and picked out two sets, one black and one red, all lace and silk. Back in New York, I had half of La Perla in my dresser, of course, but I wasn’t sure Flora Maria packed my bag for seduction, and I didn’t want to leave it to chance. The ones that I picked were from the same lingerie house, and I was pleased with that. No one made prettier thongs than Ada Masotti. La Perla still used silk imported from Bologna, so I knew it was good because it came from the land of dolce lusso – sweet luxury.
I took all the boxes and walked out of the store, careful not to trip and hit the sidewalk with my face, but it was hard with all of that in my arms. I could barely see over, but somehow, I made it to the car, and Hugo walked out when he saw me, helping to put everything in the trunk.
“God, my arms are hurting,” I said after dropping everything and getting comfortable in the passenger seat.
“If you wouldn’t have let the jealousy get to your head, I could have picked you up.”
“Shut up,” I said and hit him playfully in the chest, but he caught my hand and took it to his lips, kissing it, and damn if that didn’t make me stain the seat under me.
When we got back, he rushed me into the house and carried all the boxes alone. I, on the other hand, went straight into the kitchen. I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, and I was starting to feel it. It wasn’t a surprise to find the fridge and pantry fully stocked, but I was in no mood to cook so I just took one of the premade casseroles labeled creamy chicken with quinoa and broccoli and shoved it into the microwave. I had to remind myself to write a thank you note for the couple that took care of the house when we weren’t here because even in such short notice, everything I needed was in the kitchen.
While I took care of dinner, Hugo kept busy doing something in the garage and doing things around the house. I put the food on the small coffee table in front of the living room fireplace right when he walked through the front door.
“Hungry, big guy?”
“A little,” he murmured, a little uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.
“Great, I figured we could sit on the floor and eat here. The dining room seemed too formal.”
“Sure.”
“Can you start the fire, please?” He just nodded and knelt down in front of the fireplace while I fixed him a scotch on the rocks and poured myself a glass of lemonade.
When the fire was crackling, Hugo came and sat on the floor next to me, and I gave him the glass. To sit more comfortably, he took out his Desert Eagle and threw it on the table.
“Don’t throw the gun like that, Hugo, damn it.” I scowled at him.
I knew how to shoot a gun. My grandfather thought it would be funny to teach me when I was seven, and I was pretty good at it. The most important lesson I learned was not to play with the guns.
“Calm down, woman, the safety is on.”
“Don’t be cocky,” I snapped.
We ate in silence but not the weird type. It felt domestic. Conjugal. I never would have believed I’d associate The Albanian Monster with those words, but here we were. For the first time in a long time, he was relaxing and letting his guard down.
When we were both done, I took it upon myself to take the dishes to the kitchen and put everything away. I also found a big vase and sent Hugo to the car to bring in the flowers. He came into the kitchen when I was preparing the water.
“Why are you putting sugar in the vase?”
“That’s what my nonna taught me. It will keep the flowers fresh.”
My nonna was a very wise woman. She never finished high school, but I never met another person as smart and sharp minded as she was. She always wanted a daughter, but Santa Madonna didn’t bless her with one; the only child she ever birthed was my father, Umberto. Nonna was the matriarch of the family; she helped my mother every day, and then when I was old enough, she passed all she had onto me. She sat me down one day and told me that our family was special, that we made our own path in the world, and one day, I’d have to pay my dues to the Nucci name like she did and like my mother did. Nonna made sure Gino and I always made it to our Italian and piano lessons and that I knew how to run a house like any respectable lady should. “Listen to me, little bocciolo di rosa,” she said with a calm and warm voice, with one affectionate hand on my face, “your papa will find you a good man someday, and they will tell you you’re just a wife, but that’s not true. The husband might be the head, but the wife is the neck. You can turn any man in whatever direction you want. Do you think your grandfather takes decisions all on his own? No, piccolorosa, he has me to guide him. Someday you’ll do the same, and I will teach you.”
I didn’t fully understand what she was talking about until after she passed away. Nonno distanced himself from the family to grieve the loss of his wife, and that was a turning point for my father. Those were hard years for the family. Without my grandma to be this family’s neck, my father stepped on his honor and meddled in business that brought shame to our name. We were a crime family, true, but if you took away the principles from the Nucci family, we’d be left with nothing. My family never hurt the innocents, never took violence into the streets of the people. In the territories Gino controlled, the people were protected by our name, but my father strayed from that. Everyone tried to hide the truth from me, especially my brother, but people talked regardless. In the last years of his life, Umberto Nucci trafficked girls against their will, not caring about the fact he had a little girl at home himself. His betrayal was still a dark stain on our cheek.
“Cat?” Hugo took me out of my reverie.
“Huh? Sorry. I got nostalgic thinking about nonna.”
Shaking away the unsettling feeling, I took the bouquet from his hands and put it into the crystal vase, then added a few ice cubs in the water. He really did a great job picking the flowers.
When I looked at him there was another single white rose in his hand.
“Oh, no, did that fall from the bouquet?”
“No, I got it for you,” he told me without looking in my eyes, and my jaw fell at my feet. “You said you liked them.”
“I…do.”
