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I’m less suspicious of him now. He did his best to assist us during the war. He’s surprisingly good at hand-to-hand combat and is not a terrible shot. In a war where I needed every available man I could get, Ivan was an asset.
“I came to see your mother,” he informs me.
“Yeah, alright.”
He walks into the house and I turn to Tony, who has a scowl on his face.
“What?” I ask as we walk over to my car.
“I don’t like him. Which is unfortunate because he’s top of the list of Elena’s potential husbands.”
I still. Elena Legan has been gone a week and I can admit there’s a part of me that misses her.
“They want to marry her off to mycousin?” I question, feeling a muscle tick in my jaw.
“I don’t like it either. But you said it yourself, he seems like a decent guy,” Tony points out.
Before he can see the murderous expression on my face, I look away and force myself to calm down. I have no claim over Elena. I don’t give a fuck who she marries.
“Let’s just go,” I mutter. “The D’Angelos are expecting us.”
He and I are the only two attending the dinner because Mikey’s an annoying ass that doesn’t care to spend time with human beings. He’d rather play video games and hack into NASA. I worry about him sometimes but there’s not much I can do. He’s been through a lot. We all have.
The street leading up to the D’Angelo home is quiet, almost empty, and full of massive oak trees. There aren’t any houses for miles so the home is pretty isolated, which is actually fucking smart. When we arrive at the large mansion, we’re shown inside by the help, who lead us to the living room.
Inside, we find Christian and other members of his family. They all fall silent when they notice our appearance. Two kids are seated in front of the flat-screen TV, watching a cartoon.
Christian clears his throat before getting to his feet. I’m glad to see Carlo, who approaches as well.
“Roman,” Christian greets.
“Hey. We brought wine,” I say awkwardly, gesturing for Tony to hand it to him.
Technically, Mom forced it onto us, saying it was rude to show up to someone’s house without a gift. One of the women in the room walks forward and plucks the bottle from Tony’s hand.
“Ooh, is this Chambertin?” the red-haired woman asks. Her eyes gleam as she looks up at us. “It’s pretty expensive. What year?”
Christian coughs, getting onto his feet. “Tesoro,chill.”
Her eyes narrow at her husband. “I willchillthis fancy bottle of wine our guests brought. And who knows, maybe I’ll pour you a glass,” she says, winking at him.
“It’s a 1968 Rossignol Chambertin. Mrs. D’Angelo,” I reply politely.
She snorts. “My name’s Daniella. And please never refer to me as Mrs. D’Angelo again. I’m not Christian’s mother.”
The exuberant woman grins while I stare at her, dumbfounded. The D’Angelo men behind her are not nearly as surprised by her actions.
“Of course not, Daniella,” Tony says, butting in. “You’re too gorgeous to be a mom.”
He even winks at her. I inwardly groan, raising my hand to my face. I knew I shouldn’t have brought him along. The bastard is oblivious to the way Christian’s eyes narrow.
Daniella chuckles. “Actually, I am a mom. Of two. Those little rascals right there,” she says, pointing at the kids in front of the TV. “But I appreciate the sentiment…”
“Anthony Legan,” he quickly supplies. “You can call me Tony.”
Daniella smiles. “Nice to meet you, Tony. And you too, Roman. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on the food. And by that I mean oversee the cook because I am horrendous at cooking.”
With those words, she walks out. Another woman steps forward from behind the men, taking her place.
