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She wipes down the counter that the old cash register rests on and immediately lights up when she sets her sights on me.
“Ciao, Nipote!” she calls before making her way over to us just as Giana and I find a booth to sit in.
Nonna cups my face, her palms warm against my cheeks. She brings my head down, causing me to bend toward her, and kisses my right cheek, then my left, and my right once more.
I envelop her once she’s done with her necessary greeting and breathe in the scent I’ve come to associate with her—marinara and spices. This is a diner with American food, but there’s a small Taste of Italy corner on the menu, too.
The old woman is barely five feet tall and pushing eighty years old. Vinny is my father’s best friend and also Nonna’s son. Her apron is a wreck from her long day of work, and I want to tell her that she needs to go rest her feet, but I know she’d just scold me.
Nonna customarily greets Giana with a double kiss and the smile I’ve come to love. Then, she turns to me.
“I know what you’re thinking, Dante,” she says, her voice shaky from age. She’s worked hard her whole life, and it shows on her face, in her walk, and even in her voice. “Shush, boy. I’ll rest when I’m dead.”
I just chuckle as one of the waitresses comes over and takes our drink order, and Nonna goes back to cleaning up.
“That’s your grandmother?” Giana whispers, smoothing down her hair. “My family isn’t traditional Italian by any means, and I don’t know much of the language, but I know what Nonna means.”
“No, just a close family friend,” I tell her as we settle into the booth.
She slips the jacket off that I forced her to put on during the walk to my car, and I marvel at how beautiful her warm olive skin is, even in the cold Chicago winter. She’s got a glow to her that makes her even more alluring. I trail my eyes down to her collarbone and to the off-the-shoulder top she’s wearing.
And then she briefly flits her hand up to her ear, pushing her hair back, and I notice the engagement ring on her finger. She quickly moves her hands to her lap, but I saw it before she had a chance.
Fucking Blood Syndicate.
It’s just one of the many things I’ve found out about her since I learned who she is. She’s been sold off to the fucking cartel, of all people. Leave it to Amato to give his daughter away to fucks like them. He’s essentially handing her a death sentence. A ticket to be sold into a trafficking ring or be used and abused until she’s dead.
It’s not going to happen.
Fuck.
I can’t let that happen. The voice in my head is becoming more persistent as my subconscious becomes more protective over the woman I’m meant to be destroying. Still, I don’t know how I’ll stop it, but I can’t let her family do that to her.
But is what I’m planning any better?
Yes. Of fucking course it is. I want to use her against her father, not sell her into a sex ring. Jesus Christ.
When her hands come back up to the table, the ring is no longer on her finger, and I marvel at her wit. She was almost a step ahead.
Almost.
“Dante, I—” She stops abruptly and smiles at the waitress who sets down our drinks.
She must be new, a redhead I’ve never seen before. One I probably would’ve eye fucked before inevitably tipping my chin at her for her to come here. We would’ve flirted, she would’ve leaned in close, and after the rigmarole of lust and anticipation, we would’ve fucked. And then anytime I saw her, I’d watch her blush as she remembered what my cum felt like dripping down her leg. But that was before.
Beforeher.
Fucking hell.
I tell her we’ll need a few moments, and when she walks away, Giana starts again.
“Dante, thank you for what you did back there. I just don’t understand—”
“Right place, right time, angel.”
She looks at me with narrowed eyes, and for some reason, I find myself giving her a piece of the truth.
“I wanted to see you,” I tell her. I did want to see her. I can’t stop fucking thinking about her, and I’m driving myself crazy. “I remembered that you put your volunteering down on your questionnaire at the club, and I decided to come by. I was in the neighborhood.”
