“Why don’t you help my daughters and granddaughters prepare our meal for us?” Adalberto said.
Luca’s mouth twitched but I doubted anyone but me noticed. “Yes, Aria, why don’t you?”
The snappy comment didn’t leave my lips. I would make Luca pay later when we were alone.
I followed the women into the huge kitchen, and hoped they’d give me a task I could handle. Several pots were set up on the stove, and a whole lamb hung from a hook at the ceiling, already skinned, its dead eyes staring at me. Soon I found myself surrounded by chattering Italian women, who spoke so fast even I had trouble understanding every word they said, and set up with the task of preparing artichokes. I had never seen anyone prepare them, and had absolutely no clue what to do. When my cluelessness became obvious, Livia, Alessandro’s youngest sister who was only twelve, took the knife from me and showed me how to do it, and soon took over completely when my incompetence ruined two of the vegetables. Eventually I was given the task of stirring the soup in one of the pots. The women were kind despite my uselessness, but I could tell they were surprised that I couldn’t cook.
“I suppose men in America don’t expect their wives to cook?” one of Adalberto’s daughters, a round woman in her forties, said. I doubted most Italian men expected their wives to be perfect cooks, but these were mafia women, and the mafia was stuck in the past.
“Look at her hair, who cares if she can cook?” Livia said, her cheeks tingeing red when I smiled at her. Her comment was greeted by a wave of nods. The role of stupid blonde didn’t sit well with me, but I knew they weren’t trying to be mean. Everyone knew Luca hadn’t married me because of my wit. Neither he nor I had been given a choice in the matter.
When we served the prepared food to the men later, and Adalberto asked how I’d done, the women praised my abilities. Only Luca knew it was a blatant lie. I’d never be a decent cook, or anything close to it. I could tell by the tightness around his eyes that his conversation with Adalberto and Alessandro, who sat with them but avoided Luca’s eyes, must have worried him.
Later when we were finally alone in our airplane, I got the chance to ask him about it.
“Things are getting difficult for the Famiglia around here. My great-uncle asked if I would take Alessandro and his sisters in if things got out of hand.”
“And will you?”
“Of course. We are family. Honor dictates that I do, but Alessandro is destined to become Capo. He won’t bow down to my rule easily. I hope it doesn’t come to that.” His expression shifted from worry to something more relaxed. “So I hear you turned into a chef all of a sudden. Can I expect elaborate dinners in the future?”
“Of course,” I said sweetly. “You know how much Marianna enjoys going all out.”
Luca chuckled. Our housekeeper was a lifesaver when it came to food. She often prepared several meals in advance and put them in plastic boxes in our fridge so we wouldn’t starve. “You are a horrible housewife.”
I huffed. “I wasn’t raised to be a housewife. I was raised to be a trophy wife.” The words left a bitter taste in my mouth, but it was the truth and I needed to own up to it.
Luca shook his head, his eyes reverent as they trailed over me. “You were born to be a queen.”
chapter 4
LUCA
The days passed quickly after our return to New York, and soon November rolled around and with it Matteo and Gianna’s fucking engagement party. The girl didn’t even try to hide that she didn’t want to marry Matteo.
If it had been up to me, I’d have let Scuderi marry her off to whatever old creep he’d chosen for her before Matteo played the fucking hero and asked for her hand.
She would bring trouble to New York, and I was glad that the wedding was still more than half a year away because additional trouble was the last thing I needed at the moment.
Dante entered my mansion with Scuderi and nine-year-old Fabiano, who trailed after them like a lost puppy. Gianna and Liliana had arrived earlier with their mother and immediately gone upstairs to prepare for the festivities. Neither of the women felt comfortable around me.
Dante and Scuderi wouldn’t be spending the night under my roof. They preferred a close-by hotel, and I was fucking relieved. Maybe our fathers had agreed on a truce, but Dante and I didn’t trust each other. I didn’t want him under the same roof as Aria. Not that he had any interest in her. He hadn’t officially taken over as Boss from his father Fiore Cavallaro yet, but everyone knew he was already running the show in Chicago.
“I still can’t stand their fucking faces,” Matteo muttered. “Especially Scuderi makes me want to optimize his face with my knife.”
One day maybe, but not today.
I walked toward them and held out my hand to Dante as tradition dictated. “Dante,” I said neutrally, which was the friendliest tone I could muster. “I hear you got engaged only recently. Congratulations.”
Dante inclined his head. “The wedding won’t be a big affair like yours with Aria.”
“We’re honored to attend anyway.” Of course, we had gotten an invitation and were required to go, even if I couldn’t have cared less if Dante married or not.
Dante inclined his head, his eyes cold and wary. I shook Scuderi’s hand after that, and squeezed a bit tighter than was called for, remembering what Aria had told me in Sicily—that he had hit her even after our engagement, even after I told him she was mine.
His brows drew together. “Luca.”
I released his hand. “Rocco.”
“Where is Aria?”
“She is talking to the caterer about some last-minute changes, but she will be here any moment.”
“Is Romero still her bodyguard? I never understood how you let an attractive man close to her age guard her. I wouldn’t allow my wife an opportunity like that.”
The moment this truce was over, I’d hunt him down and show him what it felt like to drown in his own blood. I smiled coldly, my voice steel. “My men know she is mine. No one would dare look at her the wrong way. Men like your nephew Raffaele would have been skinned in New York, their skin left to dry so it could make a nice carpet for my office.”
Scuderi’s face turned red.
Dante only met my gaze with the same cold appraisal as always. “We’ve come to celebrate an engagement, not skin anyone, I assume.” His eyes said he would have preferred the latter.
I inclined my head. “Of course. We want to further our bonds, right?”
“Right,” Dante clipped, and silence followed.
Beside me, Matteo looked like he was only waiting for a sign from me to pull his knives and carve a smile into their throats.
My eyes went to the small figure behind Scuderi who watched us with huge blue eyes, Aria’s eyes.
“Fabiano,” I said, trying to soften my voice but succeeding only marginally. He peered up at his father, who gave a jerky nod before Fabiano stepped forward and held out his hand. I took it and shook it, and then the kid narrowed his eyes. “Where are Gianna and Lily?”
Protectiveness rang in his young voice, and I had to stifle a smile.
“He’s buried them in the backyard,” Matteo said with a grin.