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Then, unable to resist getting back at him, I say, “Speaking of, Dante, you should brace yourself for the dinner talk to shift to your bride-to-be and upcoming wedding. I just wonder what you’re going to do with all that red wine you’re hoarding.”
A shadow crosses Dante’s face before he masks it with a chuckle. “All disposed of, fratello. I can’t stand the taste anymore. The cellar’s now empty, and I’m planning to open up my palate to different options and blends.”
“That’s an interesting thought,” Sophie joins in, though the wine-centric humor is lost on her. “I should explore something other than my current wine preference.”
“Err, no, cara, you’re perfect just the way you are,” I give her a warm smile while shooting daggers at a darkly chuckling Dante. There won’t be any ‘exploring’ for Sophie beyond my body or mind.
Dante presses on, knowing he’s struck a nerve. “Surely, Nico, how harmless could a vineyard in the south of France be? I’m sure that would change your palate significantly. What do you say, Sophie? We can even bring Nico along.”
“Oh, I’d love that. Nico, we should do it,” Sophie says with enthusiasm, still seemingly unaware of the subtext. The idea of a holiday in the south of France doesn’t sound half bad, actually.
Dante gives her a look that’s both playful and a bit serious. “If you can find me a twin of yours, we’ll make it a double date, bella,” he smirks, then heads back inside, his shoulders tense.
Stronzo.
“Is it just me, or did Dante look like he was about to either smash something or shoot someone? You, maybe?”
I can’t help but chuckle, appreciating how quickly Sophie has come to read Dante’s true emotions behind his practiced smiles. “It was something I mentioned, cara. ‘Red wine’ is actually a euphemism for Adele.”
“Who’s Adelly?” she asks, her pronunciation slightly off.
“Adele,” I correct gently, with an Italian accent. “She’s a woman from Dante’s past.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Let’s just say it was a bad breakup a couple of years back. A very sore spot for Dante. The only sore spot he has, it seems.”
Sophie takes a moment, absorbing the information. “Oh, wow.”
I quickly add, “And before you get any ideas, don’t try to psychoanalyze Dante. He’s fucked six ways to Sunday.”
“But I’d simply be offering the tools,” she protests lightly. “It’s up to him to use them.”
“Sophie Vitelli—” Damn. “Sophie Kellan.” I quickly correct myself. I admit I might have been trying it out too often in my head.
Her raised eyebrows and slightly hesitant smile tell me she caught that. “Nico, what was that?”
“Just a slip of the tongue, baby. You know English isn’t exactly my strong suit—”
“That is such bullshit, Nico.” She interjects with a vigorous shake of her head
“What? So, I jumble the languages occasionally. Sue me.” My grin is teasing.
Her reluctant smile and the rosy flush on her cheeks hint that perhaps she liked my slip more than she cares to admit.
“Anyway, now that you know my thoughts on the matter, what are you going to do about it? Run back to Harmony?”
She snorts, “I don’t think they’d take me back, Nico. The brothers are somehow convinced you walk on water or something.”
It seems Grease and I get along even better than Phoenix, whose jury is still out on me, depending on how I’m treating his daughter. “You’re right. The only person who’d eagerly rescue you from me is Cade.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. “Good thing he’s too busy wiping perps off the streets. Looks like I’m well and truly stuck with you, Nico.”
“I love the sound of that. So, come on, let’s go shock my parents.” I take Sophie’s hand and lead her through the marble foyer to the large living room where Vito and Antonella Vitelli are lounging on the sofa.
They form a striking pair, both with dark hair. Father’s is more heavily streaked with gray, while Mother’s dark bob looks like it’s been dusted or sprinkled with silver at her temples. Dante has joined them, and they are all laughing over something.
“Mother. Father.” I step in, pulling Sophie in behind me. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
