Page 58 of Rescued By the Mafia

“Uncle Cris!” Lucia exclaimed, again leaping from her chair and running around the table. She sprinted right up to the man who appeared as a behemoth in comparison and held out her arms. “You got bigger!”

Iris bit her cheek to keep from laughing.

For the first time, she saw warmth crack the man’s features as he looked down at the girl. “Impossible,” he said. “I stopped growing years ago. You must’ve shrunk.” He dropped to his haunches, crouching in front of her. “No games right now. Your dinner’ll get cold.”

She latched her arms around his neck. “At least carry me back to the table.”

Romeo sighed.

Iris found herself smiling, watching as the man—Cris, apparently—scooped Lucia up and swung her sideways in his arms with obvious familiarity. But it wasn’t a princess carry. She went ramrod straight, letting her head hang back to stare up at the ceiling, and raised her arms up in what should have been a zombie pose.

When her arms started to drop at the sides, fully extended, Cris said, “Wings in, chopper. It’s too tight in here for that.”

She vibrated her lips and pointed them upward again, otherwise not moving as he carried her around the table.

Dante returned to his seat and leaned over to whisper in Iris’s ear. “Lucy’s been making him help her fly for almost as long as she could walk. Someday I’ll show you some of the earlier videos we got of it—Romeo’s reactions are the best part.”

Iris laughed quietly, not taking her eyes off the pair as the large man lowered the young girl back into her seat and promptly ruffled her hair. Lucia finally broke character at the ruffling and pouted up at him.

Cris laid a hand on the back of the open seat Iris had been curious about earlier, paused, and looked across the table at Iris again. “I’m Cristiano. The family calls me Cris.” Then he sat, and staff reappeared to fill his plate.

Iris bumped Dante’s shoulder and whispered back, “I didn’t even know you had a cousin.”

Dante reached down and pulled her nearest hand into his beneath the table, squeezing once.

Iris squeezed back, because in her heart she understood. She understood that a lot had been going on and obviously this singular relative had been, for whatever reason, far enough away not to be at the forefront of his mind. She understood that this was the full picture. The people in this room were the family—the De Salvos, by blood and bond.

Dante had Cristiano follow them back to the house after dinner so they could talk business in private. It was difficult, after all, to discuss the finer points of interrogation and assassination with his innocent niece just down the hall.

“You’re sure you don’t want to sit in?” Dante asked Iris as Cris joined them in the hall.

She gave a small shake of her head. “I was hoping to take a little time this evening to look for dress ideas.”

Dante cupped her cheek and brushed a kiss over her lips. “We’ll talk in the lounge. You can use my computer.” He still needed to get her a new laptop. He’d have Mikey do it if he was sure what she wanted, but since he doubted she was used to picking out her own things, he found he preferred the idea of letting her embrace all of those tasks. At least as long as she wanted to.

Iris smiled warmly, took a small step back, and nodded toward Cris in acknowledgment. “It was good to meet you,” she said. Then she turned and made her way down the adjacent hall, toward his office.

Cris said nothing for several seconds, before quietly saying, “You’re serious about her.”

Dante schooled his features once more and stared across at a man who might as well have been his third brother. “I am. And while I won’t demand you address her the same as the men, understand that family or not, I won’t show you mercy if you lay a hand on her.” His mother wouldn’t approve of that speech, or of the fact that he’d given the same one to Romeo and Mikey. But it was the truth, so he didn’t let it eat at him.

Cristiano inclined his head, unflinching. “I only care that she’s good to you.”

Dante grunted and started toward the small sitting room he referred to as the lounge. It would work well enough for the conversation they needed to have.

Neither spoke until the door was shut and they were seated, facing each other, on the leather furniture. Cristiano sat forward, forearms on his knees, somehow making himself look larger in the process. “Mikey’s email said something about an attack. You all right?”

Dante crossed a leg over his knee and let his hands curl into fists on the armrests. “One of my fucking chefs turned traitor and let in some dipshits from an upstart gang,” he said. “The chef’s dead which means the medical bills we’d been paying will lapse, thereby taking care of the problem of his last known relative. There were three other known conspirators—one also dead, one’s been strung up for you, and one got away.”

Cris’s brow pinched. “You want me to start with the interrogation, then.”

Dante nodded. “He knows shit. He had some link, or awareness of one, to Iris’s fucking bastard of an ex—which is at least the second time we’ve sniffed out a connection between him and the Ink Blots. I want to know about that, and everything else. Like who they’re dumbfuck leader is and where to find as many of them as possible. I’ve lost three men to those shitstains now; I have grieving families to answer to. Which means they’re going to pay.”

Cris nodded slowly, frowned, and repeated, “Ink Blots?”

Dante scoffed. “The gang.”

Cris dropped his head into one hand with a poorly stifled groan. Then he straightened, composed, and asked, “Do you want me to go on a spree when I get the intel, or wait?”

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