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“Thank you.”
“Of course, you already know that. I’m sure everyone tells you that.”
“I’ve never brought anyone here before. Only men that work for me.”
My head jerked up in surprise. “No one? What about family? What about other wom…” the word caught in my throat, knowing it was none of my business who he had brought to his home in the past. But his statement sent me reeling.
He met my eyes. “You are the only woman I have ever brought here. Arianna has only seen it a few times when Matteo has come over.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. Maybe it was stupid, but I felt giddy inside about being the only woman he’d brought home. I noticed he completely avoided answering to the family part. Curious.
I cleared my throat. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“My parents,” he ground out.
Ok.I waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. His tone and body language screamed that he wasn’t going to either. “Where do they live?”
“They’re dead.” His voice turned harsh, his jaw tightening as he angrily dug at his food.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “Were they… involved with the mafia too?”
“No.”
I stiffened in my seat as a muscle ticked in his jaw. Luca was growing more distant by the second. The malice that dripped from that one word was foreboding. I didn’t have to be a shrink to see the hate wasn’t directed at his parents, but rather at himself.
I wanted to know more but his aura turned dark. He was fighting inner demons and I knew what it felt like. Even though he’d created more questions than he gave me insights, I knew the topic of family was over. All I could conclude was, Luca is conflicted inside. I could sense something terrible had happened. Someday I was going to find out, but not tonight.
I started eating my food again in slow motion, not knowing how to continue.
“You said your grandmother taught you the violin?”
My head snapped up at his question. He had finished eating and was casually leaning against the counter. It seemed he was more comfortable taking about me than himself, but he still looked rigid.
“Yes.”
“Were you two close?”
My words turned somber. “Very. My grandparents raised me.”
“What about your mom and dad?”
“My dad died when I was very little.”
“And your mom?”
My fork stilled on the plate and my throat closed up. I could feel the cold of so many awful memories seep into my bones, something I could never seem to stop. The edges of my vision blurred until I was being dragged back into a nightmare I couldn’t seem to outrun.
