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“Our girl is very special,” Stavros said in a brusque tone. “I hope you realize that.”
“I do,” I finally said when they gave me a break to speak.
“So why did you make her cry?” George demanded to know.
I paused, searching for the right words, and once I had them, they spilled out of me, fast and furious. “Because I screwed up. There’s no better reason. I lost my wife a long time ago, and I used my hurt and fear to make Frankie feel bad about herself, because I was too afraid to think about why I felt so bad. It was a shitty thing to do, and I plan to spend the rest of my life making it up to her.”
I was really building up some steam, and I could hear myself getting louder as I talked even more. “I’m just…just like some fucking planet that rotates around her like she’s the sun. She’s everything. She lights up my whole world. Maybe you think she deserves a better guy who didn’t screw up as much as I did, but that’s not how this went. She picked me, even though maybe I don’t deserve her. And now my job is to find a way to be the person she does deserve. Because I love her with my whole heart, too. There’s nobody else for me.”
By the time I finished, I was almost out of breath, snorting like a bull and ready to throw a fucking punch at the next person who suggested that I couldn’t be with Frankie Pallas. But the guys stayed quiet for a few seconds, eyebrows raised as they glanced at each other in silent conversation.
“That was a good speech,” Stavros finally said, the hard lines of his features softening a bit. “That’s the kind of thing I like to hear when it comes to my only daughter.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled weakly. Somebody—Ian, I think—shoved a beer into my hand and I gratefully accepted it, draining half of it in one sip.
Jesus Christ, these men were intense.
Nicky stepped forward and pressed an index finger against my chest in an intimidating manner. “But remember, I’m a cop. I have three brothers and my dad is a fucking lunatic when provoked. So if you screw up again, we’ll make sure your body is never found.”
Behind him, his brothers and father just nodded in agreement, stone-faced.
“So what did you guys talk about?” Frankie asked when she found me a few minutes later, standing alone in the corner of the family room, still sipping the beer that Ian—or maybe it was George—gave me.
I leaned down and pressed my mouth to hers, unable to resist those plush lips even though it had just been a few minutes since I last kissed them. I lingered for a minute, savoring the taste and texture of her, heedless of the dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles who milled around us.
“Just the important stuff,” I said against her lips, feeling very optimistic about my talk with her brothers and father. “It’s all settled now.”
