Page 90 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“Smart woman.” Tony nodded approvingly. “Even the best chefs need to know when to step back.”

“She makes this incredible herb-crusted turkey with a glaze that’s been in her family for generations. And her stuffing?” I paused, realizing I was getting carried away, but the encouraging looks around the table made me continue. “She uses this mix of wild rice and cornbread with dried cranberries and pecans. Dad always tries to sneak into the kitchen to ‘help’ but she literally stations me and my brother at the door to keep him out.”

“Your mom sounds like she’s got backbone.” Sal chuckled. “Takes guts to tell a chef to stay out of his own kitchen. I know because we have to do it with this one.” He pointed at Rhett, who rolled his eyes.

“Oh, she definitely does. She’ll be bustling around in her apron, making everything from scratch—the cranberry sauce, the sweet potato casserole with those little marshmallows on top, and green bean casserole that somehow doesn’t taste like every other green bean casserole in America.” I could practically smell the familiar aromas, feel the warmth of our kitchen filled with family and laughter. “And Dad just sits at the counter with his coffee, or he’ll watch the game with my brother.”

I caught Rhett watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. There was something almost wistful in his eyes.

“Do you help?” Tony asked.

I smiled. “Yes, but I’m not allowed to do anything except what she tells me. She doesn’t want a chef in the kitchen. She wants her daughter.”

“Makes sense,” one of the guys said. “Holidays are for family, not work.”

“The best part is dessert though,” I continued. “Mom makes three different pies from scratch. Of course, there’s pumpkin, and she also makes an apple pie. But the chocolate pecan pie is absolutely sinful. Dad always jokes that he married her for her pie crust, but honestly? He might not be entirely kidding.”

There were a few chuckles around the table.

“A good woman who can cook is a rare commodity,” Sal said.

“I’m really excited to get back,” I said. “I miss home.”

“Speaking of which,” Rhett interrupted, looking directly at Big Sal. “Why aren’t you there? Shouldn’t you be with your families?”

The men exchanged a look that lasted just a beat too long. I could tell there was something going on. They just had a whole conversation between them without saying a word. Big Sal wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back in his chair.

“We had a business meeting out here,” he said casually. “Someone who forgot where they came from. Needed to be reminded who they were dealing with. You know how it is.”

I looked down at my plate, suddenly finding the pattern on the china very interesting. What on earth did that mean? The way he said it, with that particular emphasis on “reminded,” sent a chill down my spine. I casually looked at each of them. I was definitely picking up on mob vibes. I thought it was just a shtick but were they really?

“Fuck,” Rhett muttered.

“What?” Tony spread his hands innocently. “It was nothing dramatic. Just a conversation, you know? Sometimes people need their memory refreshed.”

“You idiots showing up here like this—” Rhett started.

“Hey, hey,” Marcus interrupted. “We’re just visiting. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Big Sal leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. “Speaking of family, how’s your old man? You been to see Lucky Luke lately?”

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. Lucky Luke?

“Is he running the clink yet?” Tony chuckled. “I bet he’s got a whole operation going—trading ramen and cigarettes for the big-ticket stuff. No way Luke’s struggling behind bars. Guy’s too savvy.”

The pieces clicked together in my head with an almost audible snap. Rhett’s father was in prison. Prison. And these men were talking about him like he was some kind of… what? Criminal mastermind?

I kept my eyes on my plate, but my mind was racing. How had this never come up? I thought I was getting to know Rhett, but there was apparently a big part of him I knew nothing about. I looked at him like I was seeing him for the first time.

He definitely had the Italian blood. But Rhett Voss? That wasn’t Italian. His cousins were all Sal and Tony and leaned into the Italian thing.

“Can it,” Rhett said sharply, his voice carrying a warning that made all three men sit back slightly.

“Touchy subject?” Tony teased.

“I said can it.”

The table fell silent except for the scraping of forks against plates. I could feel the weight of unspoken history. There was a lot that wasn’t being said. What the hell did his dad do to land in prison? Were they legit mobsters? I took another look at them. Suits. Jewelry. A few scars. They were all big and scary looking.