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Even though we had appetizers, my stomach rumbles at the thought of deliciouspasta alla Trapanesewith spaghetti. “Yes, please!”
True to his word, Antony leaves the room and comes back a minute later with a bottle of red and a corkscrew. “From my private cellar,” he announces, showing me the label on the wine. “Etna rosso. I always have some of this wine on hand.”
I allow Antony to pour me a glass, and enjoy the spectacle of a handsome man rolling up his sleeves and getting to work in the kitchen. He puts the sauce on to warm and some water to boil. “I can’t believe you never told Fay you could cook,” I say. “Here you let her serve you all these meals and pretended like you hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in forever.”
“I haven’t. I don’t have time to cook, usually. But that doesn’t mean I can’t. I just need a good reason for it.”
By the time we sit down to eat, I’m pleasantly buzzed and enjoying the warmth and the delicious smells. Antony serves the pesto over bucatini and grates fresh parmigiano reggiano over the top. From the first bite, I’m in heaven: the rich, tomatoey sauce is perfect. Fay would be proud. “God, Antony, this is amazing,” I say around the mouthful.
“Glad you like it,” he says, looking genuinely pleased. For a few minutes, we do nothing but eat. It’s companionable, our silence. Not uncomfortable. I’m surprised to realize that I feel truly happy right at this moment.
God, if only marriage could actually be like this. Just… normal. Mundane, even. With a man who I could be friends with, as well as lovers.
My face heats up at the thought of the lovers part. Because as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve been thinking a lot about Antonythat waylately. I had an incredibly steamy dream about him last night, which left me turned on and unsettled. And it wasn’t the first time.
“Sera?”
Startled, I look up at Antony, who is regarding me with a curious expression. “You look like you’re thinking some deep thoughts,” he murmurs. He has pulled his chair closer to mine, until we’re almost touching.
Shit shit shit.Grasping for something to say, my mind latches onto something Stan mentioned earlier. “I was just wondering. Iheard… I mean… word on the street is that there’s been trouble between the D’Agostino crew and the Vincenzi crew. Is there anything to that?”
“Word on the street?” He looks amused. “Are you out on the street a lot lately?”
I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him. “You know what I mean. It’s just something I heard.”
Antony makes a rude noise. “The Vincenzis are vile pigs. No honor. No respect for thefamiglia. They would be nothing, if Terry Vincenzi wasn’t Luca Pagano’s underboss.” At the mention of Giovanni’s uncle — his father’s brother —Antony looks as though he wants to spit on the floor. “There’s some bad blood between us, yeah.”
“Oh.”
His expression turns sour. “Word on the streetwas that your father was trying to secure your engagement with Giovanni Vincenzi. I thought that was gonna be a done deal until the night of your party. Until I saw you with him.”
“You… you saw that?” I gasp, thinking back to that night. I still remember the tight grip Giovanni had on my arm. The smell of the liquor on his breath.
“I did. And I would have shot him where he stood, had you not managed to pull away from him and escape out to the pool.”
I push my plate away and gape at him. “I didn’t even know you were there,” I whisper.
“I was. As I said, the Vincenzis are pigs. Giovanni has a rep. He likes to hurt women. When I saw him follow you into that room, I decided to stick around. Just in case.”
My throat grows a lump. I want to tell him about Giovanni’s words to me at the party — how he said the idea of me struggling against him excited him — and about how he came to see me today, but I can’t get my voice to work.
“It makes me crazy to think of you with that punk, Sera,” Antony rasps. “You deserve so much better than him.”
“Like you?” I say, trying for a joke, but it falls flat. The truth is, something has changed in the air. Like arcs of electricity sparking between us.
“Like me, Sera.” He pulls my chair closer, until my legs are between his. “I am not a good man, Serafina. I would never pretend to be. But I would know how to treat you. How to treat your body.”
My breath catches in my throat. Suddenly, this conversation feels deadly serious.
“How?” I whisper.
I know I’m baiting him.
I hope it works.
A groan rips from deep in his throat.
“You,bella mia, are about to find out.”
