I force what I hope looks like a pleased smile onto my face as I feel Benito’s eyes watching my reaction closely before he bids us farewell, leaving behind Gabriela’s chaperone, Phaedra, and the strong scent of his Gurkha.
Our practically silent walk lasts all of five minutes before I escort her back to the main house, desperately needing to get the Salvatores out of my hair.
“Thank you for spending time with me, Don Rafael.” Gabriela smiles softly. “I know you are a busy man.”
My lips curl upward in a semblance of a smile. “You are welcome, Gabriela. And please, call me Rafael.”
Something on her face shifts when her big gray eyes fill with emotion. “I was so very sorry to hear of Alessio’s passing, Rafael.”
My heart twists at the mention of my brother, and I nod my thanks as she continues softly.
“I have known for the last twelve years that I was to be the wife of Alessio Caruso, future Don of this family. I’ve been reared to fulfill my duty to my family, and though we were not intended for one another…” she trails off shyly, her cheeks staining bright pink. “I will do my best to be a good wife for you. A good mother to our children.”
We regard one another for a long moment, as I attempt to think of an adequate reply that won’t back me into a corner. Thankfully, I’m saved when Emiliano’s boisterous laugh from farther inside the house interrupts.
I’ve kept my distance from Elodie in the two days since the music room incident, ensuring that Enzo watches the security footage while Emiliano babysits her. But there’s one thing I’m unused to from my friend, and that’s laughter. He’s a dour motherfucker at the best of times.
Unable to curb my curiosity, I hold up a single finger, glancing in the direction of the commotion with a deep frown. “One moment, please, Gabriela.”
Without waiting for her response, my feet move swiftly through the house, directly to the kitchen. I come to a sudden halt when I take in the sight before me.
Dish after dish of desserts covers every inch of the entire kitchen. And not just any desserts, but stereotypical American desserts. I spot peach cobbler, cheesecake, and key lime pie among trays of assorted cookies.
Emiliano is smack bang in the midst of it. His eyes close in apparent bliss, his cheeks stuffed. As he chews slowly, he moans in pleasure.
“Holy shit,Coniglietta.” The words are muffled, thanks to his full mouth. “I’ve died and gone straight to Heaven.”
Elodie’s head pops up from the other side of the island, and a giggle escapes her plump lips as she drops another tray of steaming cookies onto the surface between them.
“You’re lucky I like to stress bake, Sasquatch.”
Emiliano booms another laugh, causing my jaw to practically unhinge as I step farther into the space. Both sets of eyes turn to me, surprise etched on their faces, and I arch an eyebrow in silent question.
Elodie recovers first, tugging off her oven mitts to drop them on the counter. Disdain fills her eyes as she looks me up and down for a beat. Then, without a word, she stacks the cookies into Tupperware, giving me her back in order to ignore me completely.
I spear Emiliano with a glare. “You and that fucking sweet tooth of yours,Fratello.” Stepping closer, I poke my index finger against the rounded stomach he’s amassing. “I’ve already told you, you’ll be as fat as a fool if you keep this up.”
Emiliano grins—the sight alone almost disturbing to me—before stuffing another cookie into his mouth.
“Leave him alone.”
Elodie glances over her shoulder. “He’sfreeto do what makes him happy. Bet he can screw whoever he wants, too.” Then she looks back at the task at hand, her words low-pitched when she speaks again. “You’re not his damn keeper.”
My oldest friend puffs out his chest with a shit-eating smile plastered to his face. I can’t help thinking he looks slightly deranged as I step closer.
“Excuse us for a moment, Emiliano.”
He’s gone in the space of half a heartbeat, and I can see when Elodie’s spine stiffens even as she continues to box up the cookies.
“I’m getting the feeling you’re pissed off?—”
She pivots about, launching a cookie at my head that I easily dodge. “Whatever would give you that idea, Mr. Tall Dark and Dumbass?”
Another cookie follows as she steps closer.
“Could it be that you’vetakenme against my will? That you’ve told me practicallynothingabout returning me to my home? That you won’t even let me contact the people I care for? People who need me!”
I bristle at that, flames stirring to life within my chest. Clearly, she means Domenico fucking Conti, and the realization doesn’t sit well with me. The reminder that she belongs to another man—thatfucking worthless cunt—makes me see red.
