Page 29 of The Don’s Omega

“A little. Nothing like this. When I make spaghetti, I’m ashamed to say I use jarred pasta sauce. I can make a pretty good grilled cheese. My brother isn’t a picky eater, thankfully.”

“Jarred sauce?” Mrs. Foschini says as if I’d admitted to a war crime. “Perhaps I can give you some cooking lessons. While Ornella does the majority of the cooking, I like to keep my hand in it. I’ve always enjoyed cooking.”

“I wouldn’t mind cooking lessons.” I smile. “I know Fabio would appreciate it.”

Noemi tucks a dark strand of hair behind her ear. “Mama taught Carlo to cook a few dishes. I didn’t think that would be possible. He’s kind of a neanderthal in the kitchen.”

Ginevra laughs. “He kind of is.”

I frown. “Carlo. He’s the one who drove me here, right?”

“Yes.” Marcello nods. “He’s my second-in-command.”

Noemi grins. “And the only person on earth who can tell my brother he’s wrong and live to talk about it.”

“According to Marcello he’s never wrong,” I say. It’s a joke, but I glance nervously at Marcello, worried he might not appreciate my sarcasm.

Ginevra snorts and Noemi laughs. Marcello’s mother covers her mouth with her napkin, but it’s obvious she’s hiding a smile.

Marcello’s expression is unreadable for a moment, then he says, “Really, Elio? You’re on their side? You’re my omega. You’re supposed to have my back.”

Relieved he took my joke in stride, I say, “I’ll try to do better, Master.”

His sisters giggle.

Mrs. Foschini gives another one of those funny smiles as she watches us.

Dinner continues, and the conversation flows with surprising ease. They ask more about my life back in Pennsylvania and about Fabio’s upcoming surgery. They include me without making it feel like an interrogation.

Despite Marcello’s promise, he does check his phone a few times, but for the most part, he stays engaged.

Eventually, the conversation turns to the family businesses, which surprises me. I wouldn’t have expected them to discuss anything important in front of me yet. It’s not as if they give me the combination to the safe, but they’re less cautious than I thought they’d be. I’d assumed anything involving the syndicate would fall into “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you” territory.

Apparently not.

They discuss criminal activity the way other families might discuss what they should bring to Thanksgiving dinner. It’s obviously just a part of who they are and it seems as normal to them as working a regular job bartending is to me.

By the time Ornella brings dessert, something with biscotti and chocolate sauce, I’m feeling a little buzzed and almost content. Then the subject of the wedding on Saturday is brought up and my stomach clenches with stress.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have more say in things,” Mrs. Foschini says to me. “It was so rushed, if we were going to pull things together in time, I had to make all the decisions.”

“That’s okay.”

She sighs. “I would have preferred to at least give you some say in the cake.”

She’s acting like this is a real marriage. She seems to have forgotten it’s a contract between Marcello and me. I had no opinions about anything. I don’t give a crap about the flowers or the cake. I’m only doing this for the money, which she knows, so it’s odd she thinks I’d care about wedding details. But I don’t voice any of that because I don’t want to be rude. If it makes her feel better to pretend her son is marrying for love, then so be it.

“There will be a lot of powerful and boring people at the wedding.” Ginevra sighs. “But they’re all important to the success of our syndicate, so you’ll need to pretend you’re madly in love with Marcello.”

Okay, so Ginevra certainly hasn’t forgotten it’s a fake marriage.

Marcello meets my gaze, a tiny smirk on his lips. “Luckily, I’m easy to love.”

I just lift my brows silently and he laughs.

Noemi meets my gaze and says, “Do you think you two can carry it off? Do you think you can convince everyone you’re really in love? I worry it won’t work. Then what will happen?”

“Well…” I frown because I have no idea if I can pull it off. And I too worry about what would happen if we can’t.