I kissed her breast and let go. “I want you to forget what happened to you, what he did to you, with me.”
“It can’t be forgotten. You’ll only replace the marks the monster left on my soul by yours.” She met my gaze. “Just like Tino did with my sister.”
“You’re not your sister, and I’m not Tino Bellomo.” I straightened my back and squeezed her shoulder before I spun toward my seat. “Soon enough you’ll see that for yourself.”
I felt her eyes on my back as I put a serving of chicken and pasta in a plate. When I turned to place it in front of her, she pretended she wasn’t looking. I moved my chair next to hers and sat. Then I dipped a fork in the pasta and moved it close to her mouth.
She licked her lips and gave a little moan. Then she grabbed her own fork. “You don’t have to feed me. Some women find that romantic, but I don’t.”
“Me neither.” I devoured the rich pasta and moaned myself. “Squisito. This is really good.”
She gaped at me, the lovely color of her anger painting her cheeks. “What the… Are you for real?”
“Oh yes. I’ll leave you some so you can taste it for yourself…if you finish your sanguinaccio.”
“Has anybody ever told you how much of a fucking twatwaffle, asshole you are?”
I filled my mouth with chicken, which was as good as the pasta. “Tante volte.”
“Hypothetically, if I accidentally dropped your fucking plates, what would be my punishment? Eat it off the floor?”
“No. You’d clean it up without having a single taste. Then I’d throw away the other dish you don’t like so much, and you’d spend another day hungry because obviously you’re not hungry enough.”
“I figured. So how about you answer me another question?”
“Shoot.”
“How did your parents die?”
I stopped chewing as I got what she was doing. If I wouldn’t let her eat, she’d make me lose my appetite.Smart, little kitten. But not smart enough to know I’d suffered enough losses not to shed a tear or lose sleep or appetite over anything anymore.
I swallowed my food and another spoonful. “My father was poisoned.”
“Wow. That’s…awful. By whom?”
“His wife.”
“What? You mean your mom?”
I shook my head, almost finishing my plate. My hunger for Nicky didn’t make me realize I was starving for real food as well until now. “His other wife. Actually, my real father never married my mother. He…made his brother do it for him.”
“Excuse me?”
I shot a glance at her. “You heard me the first time.”
“But I don’t understand. Your father made his brother marry your mother and give you his name?”
“So I wouldn’t be a bastardo, si, except that doesn’t change the fact that I am.”
“What…I mean… Was it because he was already married?”
“No. That’s what always tore at my mother. He was in love with her, or so he told her, but he had to marry a different woman per la famiglia to keep the peace. My mother wasn’t the daughter of a powerful capo. She was a simple village girl. She stood no chance against Marta.”
“Marta…Lanza?” She blinked in shock. “As in Giovanni Lanza’s wife, Enzio Lanza’s mom?”
That stopped me from finishing up my food. “How do you know that name? She wasn’t at the wedding, and I never told you anything about her.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear even though it was secure in its bun. “I…um…when Lina and I first moved in with Tino, I was doing some digging on Leo. There was a mention of Marta’s funeral in San Francisco where he and Tino attended…”
