“I’m neither barefoot nor pregnant, but I am in the kitchen, piccolina.”
“Ha. I hardly see you with the title househusband.”
He chuckles, and it makes my pussy ache. I’ve been a mess since he kissed me. The hot water did nothing to relax me in the shower, and neither did getting myself off twice. The feel of him holding me just soaked another pair of panties. This just feels so damn natural, and I bet the feel of him inside me would be divine.
“Maybe not a househusband, but I like the idea of cooking for you. It’s definitely better than making all this just for me and knowing it’ll be leftovers for the next three days.”
“Don’t you know how to make single servings?”
“That’s rhetorical, right? I’m Italian. Like fully Italian. Both my nonnas were from Sicily, and my nonno on my mom’s side was too. My dad’s dad was second generation Italian American. So, three-quarters of my grandparents were from Italy, born and raised. A single serving means enough for at least a family of six to eat all at one meal.”
“What’re you making?”
“I didn’t think to ask whether you have any allergies or whether you like seafood, so I stuck with something I figured was safe. In other words, nothing with sardines. They’re popular in Sicilian food, but I know not everyone likes them. I’ll eat them since I’ve been doing it since before I could talk, but I don’t like them. This is pasta alla Norma. It’s named after some opera. I have no idea why. But it’s salted ricotta, eggplant, garlic, basil, and tomatoes over pasta.”
“It smells delicious.”
“It’s one of the first dishes I learned to cook. My mom made sure my brothers, my sister, and I could all make it. She said if we could prepare at least this, we would never starve. She warned my sister to never make it for a man unless she was already married. She said it would be enough for any guy to drag Maria to the altar. You know, the whole the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. She was joking, but Mama’s recipe is that good.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Officially? Only two. Lorenzo and Marco. But Marco’s best friend, Matteo, may as well be my third brother. They were born on the same day, and our mothers are best friends. Marco and Matteo have been inseparable since they were three.”
“You’re the oldest?”
“Yes. Maria is the youngest.”
I can tell he hesitates before he lets go to stir the eggplant in the pan. I can see the pasta is boiling in one pot while the other ingredients for the sauce are in the other pot. I look up when he speaks.
“You recognized my last name. What do you know about my family?”
“Only what I’ve heard gossiped. I grew up in Brooklyn, so I’ve heard speculation my entire life. After what I saw last night and this morning, I realize some of it wasn’t far off.”
“Have you seen someone die before?”
“No. Why?”
“You saw me kill last night and today. You saw men who work for me do the same thing. Yet you aren’t running for the hills. You might think I’m attractive, but I doubt my looks would be enough to keep you if you believed me a psychopath.”
“I was thinking about that while we were on the highway. Part of me rationalizes it would be the ultimate sign of being unappreciative if I took umbrage with what you did after you kept me alive twice. Part of me figures you live a life I don’t know and don’t understand, but it’s obviously kill or be killed. I can’t blame you for wanting to live. A huge part of me is glad it was those fuckers who died rather than me. You’ve been kind and gentle with me from the start. I guess, somehow, I’m able to separate the man I’ve seen handling a gun with the man you are with me. Am I naïve to do that?”
“No. I never want to be that man around you. I hate that you’ve seen what you have because I never, ever want you to fear I would be violent with you. I didn’t miss you saying you saw your father mistreat your mother and that he threatened you. I am not that kind of man, even though violence surrounds me outside my home. Where is your father, Livy? You mentioned it was only your mom and you.”
I wondered why he didn’t react earlier. I suppose he figured it wasn’t the right time, but I knew it would come up. He doesn’t seem like the forgetful or oblivious type. I take a deep breath before I sigh.
“My parents divorced when I was nine. My dad still came around because the court granted him joint custody despite knowing he kept intimidating my mom even after their marriage ended. I have no idea how that happened because that can’t be typical in family court. He never struck me, and he wasn’t even verbally abusive, except for the threats. It was enough for the courts to believe I was better off with a father in my life than a deadbeat.”
“Threatened you? That’s the definition of abusive.”
“I meant he didn’t swear at me, call me names, or tell me I was worthless. None of that. But he would threaten me to get me to do what he wanted. He’d point knives at me if I didn’t want to go for my weekends with him. He’d do it to make sure I knew my curfew or to make sure I didn’t hang out with the wrong people. He would just point them at me and wave them. He never said he would slice me or kill me. He never touched me with one.”
“You didn’t answer my first question. Where is he?”
“When I turned eighteen, I cut ties with him. I don’t see or talk to him anymore. It’s been years since—”
“Olivia, answer me.”
“Don’t call me that.”
It shocks me to not only hear the words come out of my mouth but also how sad I sound.
“What?”
Luca’s brow furrows, and he’s not sure what I mean. Maybe he didn’t notice.
“You never call me Olivia. I—I don’t like it. It sounds—”
All I can do is shrug. My cheeks are ablaze, and I feel like a fool. I’m completely embarrassed. He wraps me in one of his hugs, and it’s like the world is back to rights. His hugs make me feel safe, like I really am protected.
“Piccolina, I’m sorry. I guess I wanted to make sure you knew I was serious when I told you to answer me. I didn’t mean to sound distant, or that I was telling you off or something. I call you little girl, but I don’t think you are one. I wasn’t scolding you.”
“I know you weren’t. But it just sounds so—cold.”
“Considering you make me overheat, I didn’t mean to sound cold.”
“Overheat? Are you sure it isn’t just you sweating over an open fire making me my meal?”
He squeezes my ass, and I love it.
“You know what you do to me, Livy.”
“Do I?”
I’m trying my abysmal flirting skills, but they seem to work since he chuckles again. He turns off the burner for the eggplants and lifts me, pulling my legs around his waist before turning toward the kitchen island. He places me on it, and I’m ready to drop my legs, but he holds them in place. His hard cock presses against my pussy, and my nipples are hard.
“If you tease me, I’ll tease you right back.”
He kisses along my neck and up behind my ear as he palms my breast. He squeezes it just like he did my ass cheek a moment ago before his thumb and forefinger catch my nipple between them. He adjusts to pinch it as he sucks my earlobe. I moan as my legs tighten around him, trying to draw him closer. But he resists. He pulls back, actually. The moment I give up, he pulls me off the island and swings me toward a wall. My back slams against it as he grinds his cock against my pussy.