Not…ever.
It became painfully obvious that we were going to run into one another at some point. I immediately resolved to delay the inevitable for as long as humanly possible. But there was no way to hide from him for good. Dominico was going to find out I worked for his grandpappy. Then I was screwed. He’d mock me. Tease me about being at the bar.
At least he won’t pin the theft on you.
“Dominico?” I changed my voice to a more nasally tone.
A beat of silence passed. “Yes?”
“Could you be a dear and run to the kitchen? Fetch me a glass of water?” I croaked, imitating the snooty Eastern accent.
Please work. Please, merciful heaven let him leave.
I crossed my fingers, then made the sign of the cross. Whatever fortune was out there, I needed it on my side right now.
“Aunt Eleonora? Is that you?” He tapped a finger against the door.
“Quick, boy!” I snorted. “Water!”
Dominico let out a strangled growl, and I crept to the door, pressing my ear against the wood. Footsteps sounded down the hall.
Heart hammering in my throat, I dashed from the sanctuary, dragging my bucket with me. I slid down one hall and around the next. Bursting into a service entry point, I slammed my back against the door.
“I just need some water, Franky.” Dominico’s voice carried from the kitchen. “My damn aunt has had too much wine and is going to hurl.”
A grin split my face despite my best effort. I successfully avoided detectionandtricked the little mafia prince.
Not that he was little.
I forcefully held myself back, keeping to the shadows and resisting the urge to peek into the kitchen until he left, presumably with the water.
Chapter 6 – Nico
Don Francesco Grimaldi was nothing if not ostentatious. The blazing fire in the hearth, which was too hot for summer, was a visible testament to that. He held his liver-spotted hands to the flame, posture relaxed, a cigar puffing between his gummy lips.
“Where are your bags, ragazzo?” he pushed.
I’d avoided the topic the entire night. Diverting my living situation had been easy. The immediate family members had been too eager to discuss their obnoxious lives to truly care about anyone else’s situation.
But when Nonno Franco asked, he expected an answer.
“They’re unpacked.” I folded my arms over my chest, leaning back into the stiff leather of the couch in his study.
The don plucked the fat smoke from his lips. “Unpacked?”
I nodded. “In my loft.”
“Dominico,” my grandfather warned.
A sigh vibrated through my lips. “Sir, I don’t mean any disrespect, but no man wants to live with his grandparents. It’s the twenty-first century.”
Spit flew from his mouth as he blustered. “What? What’s this? The twenty-first century? No, that means nothing. We’re your family, Dominico. You stay here. This is your home. The famiglia is your legacy. We’re where you belong.”
Before tonight, I felt both mentally and physically prepared for the attack. But after a tedious evening and a tiresome dinner, I was done.
“I’m living close by. I can still be here whenever you require,” I argued.
“That’s not good enough!” The don pulled himself up to his full height. For a full-blooded Italian, he stood erect and proud. “It’s already a disgrace that your mother and sister don’t reside with us. You are a Grimaldi, first-born son to my first-born son. You belong here.”
