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I hadn’t seen the boss since this morning when I walked into his kitchen after a night of drinking with him and Giovanni. That interaction had been unexpected, fun even. I’d relaxed for the first time ever. I slept better last night than I had in years. But then I had to go and insult Domenico, and we all know how that ended.
“They arrived at the villa a couple of hours ago,” Lorenzo informs his father. “I’d say they’re probably making babies as we speak, but then again, they did that before the nuptials, didn’t they?” He barks out a laugh, but my eyes widen in shock. I didn’t know Sienna was pregnant. I knew Sasha was because Tony told me. It’s why I bought non-alcoholic and regular beer to go with tonight’s meal. He didn’t mention anything about his daughter.
Gliding my eyes to my right, I peek at the head of this family. Slight irritation mars his handsome face, but there’s not one ounce of surprise to bear witness to as he brings his spoon to his lips.
“Is that why you made Matteo bleed?” Giovanni asks, his head tipping to the side as he awaits Tony’s reply.
Tony pulls the spoon from between his lips and swallows the beer and cheese soup. Then he returns the utensil to the bowl in front of him.
“No,” he simply says before picking up his glass of whiskey and taking a sip. Everyone except the boss has a bottle of beer with their meal. I didn’t even consider sitting one out when I set the table. During conversation last night, he revealed he’s a glass of fine wine or whiskey over ice kind of man. “He took two fists to the gut before I did that.”
“The blood was so everyone knows he’s one of us now,” Domenico chimes in before picking up his beer bottle and bringing it to his lips. I can’t stop looking at them every time I glance at his end of the dinner table. His pink lips tip up as the rim of the glass touches his flesh, then his eyes slide to mine for the length of a breath as if he knew he’d catch me staring before sliding those dark orbs back to his father.
“Everyone bleeds for this family,” Tony says casually. There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “In one way or another.”
Picking up my amber bottle, I lift it to my lips and drain the remaining liquid, wondering if it would be rude to leave the table to get another one from the refrigerator. My soup is only half eaten, as is everyone else’s, though I don’t think Sasha has even touched her meal, nor the non-alcoholic beverage. I didn’t tell her it was free of alcohol, but the bottle has it clearly labeled.
“And just how are you planning on making this one bleed for us?” Domenico says with a challenge laced in his tone as his gaze flicks to his brother’s wife.
“You broke my finger, asshole,” Sasha spits out before her hand lifts from the edge of the table, and she wiggles her pinky finger.
I’m about to push my chair back when Giovanni stands, picking up his bottle in the process as his chair scoots across the hardwood floor. “Do you need something to drink, rainbow?”
“Yes,” I look up and then hand him my empty bottle as he walks behind Tony’s chair.
Giovanni started calling me by that nickname last night or early this morning after Tony had gone to bed. I changed into a pair of silk shorts and a matching black tank top and tried to sleep, but after two hours of tossing and turning because I hadn’t drunk enough for sleep to come easily, I went to the kitchen in the pool house to get a glass of water.
I was leaning over the sink with my arm stretched out, filling a glass, when he said, “Nice rainbow,” causing me to jump and splash water all over my hand and wrist. He hadn’t gone to bed as I figured. Instead, he was in the corner, still sipping a glass of whiskey.
When I learned my great-uncle was planning to ship me back to America, I got a tattoo of a small rainbow on the right side of my ribcage, just behind the side of my breast. I was taking a risk, knowing I could get caught, and if Liam O’Donovan found out, he’d do his worst to not only my flesh but my mind too.
How Giovanni even saw it, I’m not sure. I would have thought he’d need perfect eyesight since the only light on was the ambient one over the sink. Surely a man of his age, who’d been sitting at least fifteen feet from where I stood, couldn’t see a small tattoo the size of a quarter in a dimly lit space. But I guess he could.
“Sasha is carrying one of us,” Tony answers Domenico as I dip my spoon into the bowl.
The feeling of being watched pricks at the back of my neck, but I force my eyes to remain down as I scoop out the creamy goodness of what has to be the best meal in the world. Their boss continues as I lift the silverware to my lips. “As will Ciera, soon enough.”
The spoon slips between my fingers, splashing into the bowl as my bottom lip falls open. My gaze snaps to Tony as his words sink in, and my eyes widen with surprise. He told memarryinghis son was revenge enough against my father. He never said I had to sleep with Domenico or have his babies.
“Are you still so sure of your choice?” Domenico asks. “She looks positively horrified at the thought of having my kid.”
Shocked? Yes.
Horrified? No.
Though I should be, that right there tells me something is wrong with how I view Domenico Caputo. My mind is banjaxed. I should be repulsed by everything about him: the way he’s spoken to me or about me, the way he’s manhandled me on more than one occasion.
“Don’t worry, a pheata,” Domenico says, using the Irish term for “my pet.” As much as I should eat the head off him, the way “ah-fat-ah” rolls off his tongue has my thighs clenching together instead. “I don’t plan on knocking anyone up, especially you.”
“Good,” I bite out in the harshest tone I can muster. “I wouldn’t want to chance him or her turning out to be an eejit like you.”
Sasha smirks while Krishna barks out a laugh. “Oh, kitten, you’re quickly becoming my favorite Caputo.”
I can see the broad smile inching up Krishna’s face through my peripheral vision without taking my eyes or the snarl on my lips away from Domenico. Giovanni places something to my right, but my stare remains locked on the brooding man at the other end of the table.
“I see this morning didn’t fully sink in,” he says, then his eyes drop to my neck before flicking back to my stare with one brow arched as if to remind me what he’s capable of. “I don’t keep pets. They’re nothing more than varmints you feed. I don’t have a use for one. If you’re smart, you’ll run back to whore it up for someone that actually thinks a Fitzgerald holds any power.”
“You’re a dick, Dom,” Sasha chimes in, her lips pursed.
