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And me, well, I went to the grocery store with Dulles who snuck two king-sized candy bars into the cart, then I made my way back to the warehouse to start dinner.
This time, for the two of us.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Isabella
The tangy scents of red sauce, garlic, onions, and peppers filled the kitchen by the time Primo came waltzing in around six-thirty that night.
“I guess I made the right decision,” he said by way of greeting when he glanced over to see that I’d set the dining room table for two for the first time.
I forced myself to pause, to take a deep breath, trying not to bristle at his words. Because, after all, it wasn’t his decision to tell me who I could or who I could not see. But I was trying to play the long-game here.
My tongue felt slimy when I looked over at him, held his gaze, and forced the words that felt so wrong to say. “Thank you for letting me see Mira,” I said, not sure if my tone came out as sharp as it seemed to my own ears.
In what was probably a good move for keeping the peace, Primo didn’t tell me I was welcome. Instead, he shrugged and shot me a smirk. “She was, ah, determined.”
“Was Vissi still intact after the elevator ride down?” I asked. “He called her ‘Sunshine’ when he came back to pick her up.”
“Can’t imagine that went over well,” he said, coming up to the kitchen island, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes of his.
“It did not,” I said, shaking my head.
“How come Mira isn’t in the Family?” Primo asked, coming around the island to grab a cup of coffee while I fiddled with the garlic bread.
“I don’t think it was, you know, an option.”
“Because she’s a woman,” Primo concluded, leaning against the counter, watching me as I went to the stove to stir the pasta.
“Yeah. I mean, I guess. Lorenzo Costa hasn’t been in power for that long. And before him, his father was, you know…”
“A waste of flesh?” Primo supplied, making my brows pinch.
“If you hated him so much, why were you so resistant to Lorenzo taking over?”
“My resistance wasn’t to the man himself, but his policies that clearly favored the Costa, Morelli, and D’Onofrio Families while leaving the Espositos and Lombardis with shitty deals.”
“Why couldn’t you have just explained that?” I asked.
“I did. Many times. In detail. But Lorenzo is a stubborn fucking ass. Must be a Costa trait,” he added, eyes bright.
“Right. Because you are so flexible,” I shot back, rolling my eyes.
“It’s not something I’m known for, no,” he agreed. “But I’m working on it,” he added, looking at me.
“Will I be able to see Mira again?” I asked, glancing over at him, not realizing how close he was as I stirred the sauce.
That strange, heated sensation spreading through my system, it had to be from the steaming pots. It was the only thing that made sense.
“That depends,” Primo said, voice low, smooth.
“On?” I asked.
Why the hell did I sound so breathless?
“Did she lend you some sort of device to kill me with?” he asked, lips twitching.
“Don’t be silly,” I said, reaching for the giant knife I’d been using to cut up the vegetables and making a show of wiping off the side with my fingertip. “I’m sure if I wanted a weapon to use against you, I wouldn’t need any help finding it.”
And that?
That did something that almost seemed impossible.
It got a low, deep chuckle out of him.
“You realize you just threatened a boss, right?” he asked, putting down his coffee cup.
“What are you going to do? Send me into the ocean with cement stilettos?” I asked, smirking over at him.
“Careful with that sass, lamb,” he said, voice getting rough.
Why did that sound send a shiver through my insides?
“Lamb,” I scoffed, even if a little part of me did sort of appreciate the nickname. A lifetime of ‘babe’ had me enjoying anything with a little more originality. Even if he’d first said it in a pretty terrible way.
“You can scoff all you want, Isabella,” he said, leaning a little closer. “But you’ve got a shit poker face. You like it when I call you that.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I declared, but made sure my focus was on the food and not on him.
“Try saying that again,” he demanded, grabbing my wrist, forcing the spoon out of it, then pulling it down, and reaching with his other hand to force my chin up and over to look at him. “To my face this time,” he added, voice hardly more than a dark whisper.
My chin jerked up a little higher.
“You’re ridiculous,” I told him, keeping eye contact even when something in his gaze told me I should look away.
“You know there are bosses in this world who would never say something like that to me.”
