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“Uh-huh. You’re cleaning, Nico. I mean, you keep everything neat all the time, but you’re clearly stressed. Just tell me. Is it business stuff or…you know, mafia stuff?”
I finally meet her curious gaze. “My father is coming over for dinner.”
Sybil’s eyes widen, and she slowly swallows the grape she was chewing. If the situation wasn’t so annoying, I would laugh at her comedic expression. “Ah. So...mafia stuff, then. Is he the one they call Johnny Big Man?”
I nod, gauging her reaction carefully. “He wants to meet you.”
She chokes a little, and I quickly grab a glass of water. She thanks me for it and seems to take longer than necessary as she takes a sip. Then she straightens on the stool and clears her throat, offering a small smile. “Gotcha. What are we cooking?”
I squint. “You’re terrified.”
Sybil rolls her eyes. “Notterrified, just…nervous. I’ve never met a godfather before.”
“He’s called thepadrino.”
“That’s good to know. Wait, do I address him as padrino, too? Or just…Mr. Big Man? And why does he want to meet me exactly?”
I avoid her last question, instead taking her chin in my fingers so she can see I’m serious. “Say the word, and we’ll leave. We can go anywhere you want in the world—we’ll take a private charter, and he can show up to an empty penthouse.”
“Yeah, right. I might not know the man, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t take kindly to that.”
“Too fucking bad for him, then.”
She fights a smile, shaking her head. “Nico. I’m not a chicken. Whatever else he is, this is your father. You met my family, so…I guess it’s only fair that I meet yours.”
Her words soothe me. I brush my thumb against her lips, smiling at her. What a brave creature mycrudele tesorinais. “In that case, we’re cooking pasta con le melanzane.”
“Sounds like‘learn Italian’all over again,” she mutters, throwing a grape at me when I laugh.
Chapter 19
Sybil
I smooth my hands over the scarlet button-down blouse, turning to eye the rest of my outfit in the mirror. Business casual but entirely stylish. It's much nicer than anything I've worn in…well, ever.
I don't even want to know how much it all cost. Especially the Miu heels that make my legs look incredible, despite the clunky brace on my sprained ankle. Nico insisted that I try on the haul of high-end clothing that a couple of fashion-forward retail clerks brought by earlier. He ignored all my protests about it.
And fine. Nico was right. These clothes could make anyone look good and totally confident at a dinner with a mafia kingpin.
I adjust my curls one more time and make sure my red lipstick is in place before grabbing my crutches to make my way out of Nico's bathroom. The crutches are annoying, but at least I can get around without him lecturing about putting weight on my ankle.
I take the elevator down to the floor just below, where Nico's massive kitchen and dining room take up half the space. Jazzy classical music that I don't recognize is drifting through the air. When I get into the kitchen, Nico glances up from where he's cutting eggplant and stills. I can practically feel the heat in his gaze as his eyes travel over me not once but twice.
"Fottutamente stupendo,"he growls, dropping everything and reaching my side quickly. His hands curl around my waist, and he leans forward.
I block his kiss with one hand, wishing my stomach wasn't fluttering so wildly because I'm pretty sure he can feel it. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's not smudge the lipstick."
He chuckles and kisses my neck instead, tasting just behind my ear. "No, let's. I want to see it all over my cock."
My chest leaps. I shove him away. "Oh, my God. Stop. We are not doing this right now—your dad is going to show up any minute."
Nico's eyes sparkle with dark, delicious intent. "Fine. Later. Fuck, you look beautiful in red, Sybil. I want you wearing it tonight, too."
My face heats, and I quickly hobble away from him. If I don't put some practical distance between us, I might do something stupid, like try to rip his white button-up shirt off so I can kiss every one of his tattoos again.
I study the cooking pasta and some already-cooked eggplant, my stomach grumbling at the delicious smell of it all. I grin at Nico, who's followed me back into the kitchen. "I see that on top of running businesses under an alter ego and breaking noses as The Undertaker, you also happen to be a gourmet chef."
"Hardly. It's my mother's recipe."
