Page 29 of Dante

Especially when she asks about the wedding night.

“Come on, Gina, spill,” she implores. “We always tell each other everything!”

Alice is right. We always did tell each other everything. But I can’t explain Dante to myself, let alone my best friend. At least not yet.

Instead of answering her, I explain I must get ready for the dinner party. Which is partly true.

Once I’m dressed, I hear the pleasant sound of Dante joking with his brothers and smell the aroma of baking pizza. I realize the party has started.

As soon as I enter the living room, Dante’s middle brother Lorenzo heads towards me with a dazzling smile, taking my hands in both of his.

“Good evening to my amazing new sister-in-law.”

I manage a smile. “I don’t know how amazing I am yet,” I tell him. “I haven’t been proven.”

“You’ll do just fine,” says Luca, the youngest brother, coming to shake my hand.

Then he kisses me on both cheeks, as if this is an afterthought.

I sense Luca is not as effusive as Lorenzo. But they both seem sincere in the way they welcome me.

“Wow. I grew up an only child, and here I am hit with two brothers at once. This is going to be a major step.”

“I always wanted a little sister. But I’ve got to be honest,” says Lorenzo, still with that broad smile. “Now that you have Dante as your husband, he’s your boss.”

I smile, but inwardly I cringe. Boss?

It’s only been a few days since I left Irvine for the Big Apple to take my place in its biggest crime family. It’s taking a while to get used to this male dominance.

Back in Irvine, Mom was the ruler. Dad silently played out his role as the slightly balding tax accountant, always burrowed up in his office, crunching numbers.

At least that’s the answer he always gave me when I asked what he did all day. “Crunching numbers, kiddo, crunching numbers.” Even then, it sounded like a boring way to spend a lifetime.

There’s a bustling sound from the kitchen, and Ciro lays out a series of Neapolitan-style pizzas on the island table.

Even from here, I can see the melted mozzarella and grilled tomatoes. As a pizza aficionado, I can tell by the aroma alone that this is going to taste incredible.

“That pizza smells good,” says Lorenzo, actually rubbing his stomach.

I’ve never seen anyone do that outside of a TV sitcom. But Lorenzo strikes me as the kind of man who grabs for the gusto life has to offer.

“Shall we dig in?” he asks me, leading the way to the open kitchen.

There, I’m surprised to see Ciro wearing a frilly pink apron.

“Yo, Ciro,” teases Lorenzo. “You look like a Julia Child drag queen. Get Dante to buy you a decent apron.”

“Leave him alone, boys,” says Dante, smiling himself now. “The man knows what he’s doing. What he wears is nobody’s business.”

Surprised to see Dante in such a good mood, I flash my husband a tentative smile.

What brought this on after the tension earlier this afternoon? It must be that his brothers are with us, I think to myself.

Dante seems to be a different man when he’s around them.

I stand back to let the men fill their plates first. “Never get in the way of a hungry man,” my mother always warned.

But Lorenzo hands me my empty plate with a bow and ushers me forward. I take an extra one, to fill Dante’s at the same time. When I serve him first, Dante looks up at me in surprise.