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I walk back to the kitchen, irritated and unsatisfied.
All of this leaves a bad taste in my mouth and I don’t like it.
There’s light banter around the table now that Fynn and Dante have joined in, and as I take a seat, Ma asks me how the girl is.
“Fine,” I retort. In reality, I want to tell everyone what a spoiled little bitch she is.
However, Ma will only ask more questions.
Ma frowns. “She’s eating?”
“Of course, Mama.” I smile. “Don’t worry yourself.”
Finally satisfied, she walks over to the sink and starts plunging her hands in to scrub the pots.
I turn to Dante and say, “She’s got a fucking mouth on her.”
“Who has?” Enzo says as he strides in with Rocco, our head enforcer and someone who likes to get his hands dirty in more ways than one.
“Who do you think?” I mutter.
Enzo goes over to kiss Ma on the cheek, as does Rocco, and she proceeds to dry her hands and organize two more bowls.
“You’re a woman after my own heart,” I hear Rocco say, ever the gentleman even though he slits throats for a living. It’s like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
“I’d like to say that it’s the girl,” Dante says, referring back to my question. “But it might actually be you, Marco. I had no trouble with Mia.”
I turn to him. “Don’t look so smug. Mia’s not a Russian Princess with a chip on her shoulder and a mouth like a foghorn, though, is she?”
“What are the fucking chances that she’d be in there too?” my blonde-haired blue-eyed brother Fynn chirps. “I mean, Petrov’s niece?”
I shake my head gravely, then nod toward Ma. She doesn’t need to overhear this. Valentina has taken herself somewhere, hopefully, to keep an eye on Mia and Rayne.
“Tell me about it,” I mutter. “She just threw a fucking hairbrush at my head!”
Dante and Fynn both laugh as Enzo and Rocco sit opposite me.
“Having women troubles?” Enzo enquires, quirking a brow.
“Try zip ties,” Rocco suggests helpfully.
“It’s not fucking funny,” I whisper-shout. “The woman’s out of her goddamn mind. I’ve no fucking clue where the hell Angelo is or what he’s doing, but he needs to get down here pronto so we can have a family meeting. We still need to tell Ma, in the simplest terms, what happened tonight.”
Their faces all look worried, aside from Rocco, he lives for this shit.
“This is the best meatball gravy I’ve ever had, Mama M,” Rocco calls, giving me a wink.
“There’s plenty more, Rocco,” Ma sing-songs while we sit around talking about death, kidnapping, and fucked up little Russian princesses.
“You’re the best!” he calls back.
I shake my head. “You think this can all be solved with Nonna’s fucking meatballs, Roc?”
“No.” He shrugs. “But a man’s gotta eat.”
“I need to go check on the laundry,” Ma says.
“There are people to do that,” I remind her. “Don’t trouble yourself with it, Ma, come sit.”
