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A throat clears from behind me. “I’m Reed. Good to finally meet you.” I turn to face the voice and find myself awestruck at his handsome face. He has thick dark hair, reminding me of my Italian ancestors, green eyes, and broad shoulders. His sharp jawline gives him an edge, making him ideal for a modeling agency. He’s the only one wearing dress pants and a shirt, whereas the other guys opted for jeans and t-shirts. Reed stands stoically still, making no effort to disguise his perusal of me. “You’re not his usual type.”
I swallow back the emotion at the shock of hearing those words. They cut far deeper than I could have ever imagined. My heart thumps at knowing I’m not what Shaw prefers.
He tilts his head to survey me and takes a step forward, but I take a step back. Reed clears his throat again. “Apologies, I think you misunderstood me, Emi. What I meant was, you’re not his usual type, that’s a good thing.”
I startle as my mind works over what he’s saying. My throat clogs, making it clear I’m emotional. “Why would you say that?”
Reed’s lips tip up at the side. “Because the others have all been a bunch of conceited bitches. Materialistic, manipulative, and only after his money.”
I raise my chin higher. “How do you know I’m not like that?”
His smile is gorgeous and no doubt makes women drop their panties. “You’re standing here covered in flour, have an army of men outside, and the financial backing of the Mafia. It’s safe to say you’re none of those things.”
I stare down at my black t-shirt covered in flour. “My brother would kill me for entertaining guests like this,” I huff.
“I won’t tell.” He winks at me, making me smile at his lightheartedness. “Come on, you best get us fed before Tate orders in, apparently he could eat an army.” His lips tip up at the side at his joke. I like Reed a whole lot more than I did a few minutes ago.
“Where the fuck did you learn to cook like this?” Tate moans around another slice of pizza, rolling his eyes.
“She’s Italian. All Italians can cook, dipshit.” Mase clips the back of Tate’s head with his palm.
“Pretty fucking sure that’s not true, am I right?” Owen laughs toward me.
I point my pizza in his direction. “You’re absolutely right.” The idea that any of my family actually know how to cook is absurd. I smile to myself, imagining Luca having to serve his own breakfast.
Shaw kisses the top of my head again as I rest lazily against his chest. He’s been doing it all night, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed by the others.
“How far along are you now?” Mase asks. He’s the quiet one of the group; he seems lost in his own head a lot of the time, and I can’t help but sense his unhappiness. He’s the fairest-haired of them all but equally as handsome. All of the guys have bodies sculptured by the gods, and Mase is no exception. In fact, when he leans forward, his shirt stretches over his chest.
A sharp pinch on my thigh has me darting my eyes toward Shaw’s. His blue eyes have darkened and his jaw tics... he’s jealous. The thought makes my heart flutter like a schoolgirl. I push back against his cock and trail a hand over his thigh, making him tense below me, then I entwine our hands and, as if on cue, his body relaxes into mine with the reassurance.
“She’s seven months and three days,” Shaw replies.
“Do you know what you’re having?” Tate asks, taking a swig of a beer.
“No, we want a surprise.” I smile triumphantly at the fact I have a say in the matter.
“How’s things going with Luca?” Owen asks with his eyes latched onto Shaw.
My throat dries at the mention of my brother, knowing the obvious tension around Shaw and Luca.
Shaw drinks from the bottle of water. “Things are going fine. We have an event with him next week to celebrate the wedding.”
“Nice. A Mafia event.” Tate grins mockingly, making Owen kick his leg.
“What the fuck, man? I nearly dropped my pizza,” he moans back, shooting daggers in his direction.
Owen bends his pizza slice in half and crams it all in his mouth, and my eyes widen in shock at how easily he can make it all fit. Not for the first time, I consider how much he looks like a Viking with his broad shoulders, blond hair and rugged good looks. “Owen, you deal with the security side of the business, right? So how exactly do you know my brother?”
He grabs another slice from the coffee table. “Yeah.” Folding it in half, he pushes it into his mouth again.
“Jesus. You’re eating those like they’re chips.” Mase stares at him in disbelief, his mouth dropped open in disgust.
Owen grins, showing the pizza hanging from his mouth.
“Fucking disgusting,” Shaw grumbles in my ear, making me laugh.
“I know a guy on your brother’s security team. So, I met him before.” I nod at Owen’s basic explanation. In the Mafia world, I wouldn’t have even dared to ask the question, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have received an answer.
