Page 23 of SINS & Temptation

I smile as Enzo’s jaw tightens. “Just have the chef bring me the Nebbiolo,” he demands sternly, then abruptly disconnects the call.

A few minutes later, the bell rings. Enzo’s head is in the oven like he’s evaluating a breach birth, so I hop off the counter and head towards the door. “I’ll get it.”

Playing house with Enzo is definitely surreal. But watching him go gray over whether the cannoli shells need another minute in the oven? It’s like a mashup of MasterChef, The Godfather, and The Twilight Zone.

But before I even take two steps towards the hall, the door swings open. In comes Dante, Sin, Dory, Striker, a guard, another guard, and a man who looks suspiciously like the gardener.

The tray of hot cannoli shells hits the counter with a clang, and Enzo’s murderous brow furrows in a murderous what the fuck expression.

The bodyguards cower behind Dante’s mountainous frame as Dory holds up a bottle. “Someone ask for fancy wine?”

We begin ferrying portions of the lavish feast to a grand table, Dante pulling out my chair with a style that holds an old world charm. As we settle, Enzo’s silent fury settles like mist.

But the storm that was brewing behind his eyes dissipates as everyone takes their seats. Dante leans in close to me, his voice a deep, reassuring rumble. “He can never stay mad for long.

I whisper, “How can you be so sure?”

Dante’s blue eyes dance with delight. “Because he misses this shit. The chaos, the family. Sitting around a table, giving each other hell while we devour comfort food like it’s the apocalypse.”

Enzo arches a brow, clearly having overheard. “You can thank Kennedy for the spread. She made sure we had enough to feed an army.”

Sin lifts his glass, a gentlemanly smile tugging at his lips. “To Kennedy.”

They all follow suit as Enzo’s glass clinks mine. “To Kennedy.”

Within the first few bites, it’s clear to see why Dante referred to it as world famous. The sauce is probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten.

Dante wipes sauce from his lips. “Come on, bro. This isn’t just Nonna’s recipe. What’s the secret ingredient?”

“Crack cocaine,” he teases with barely a grin.

It’s strange to see him so at ease, as if the weight of the world has magically lifted from his broad shoulders.

“How was salvataggio?” Sin asks, and the room falls silent, everyone holding their breath.

“How was what?” I ask, sticking my nose right into the middle of what’s probably something dangerous and very much none of my business.

Enzo’s gaze sweeps across the table, lingering on each person before he sucks in a tired breath. “Fifty,” he says, deflated.

Dory pats his hand with a surprising tenderness. “Fifty is good.”

“Fifty is shit. It should’ve been five hundred.” He yanks his hand away, and it hits me like a ton of bricks that I’m wading into a conversation where I don’t belong.

I set down my napkin, latching onto the quickest escape route. “I’ll just go grab the cannoli.”

“I’ll help,” Dory offers kindly.

We make our way to the kitchen, giving me a chance to take a closer look at Dory. She’s older, with brilliant red hair and the most outlandish, beautiful blue-framed glasses that make her look more like a rockstar manager than a personal assistant.

There’s an air about her that’s completely unafraid of Enzo. It makes me wonder how many people in the world can claim that.

Once we enter the kitchen, Dory inspects the counters and stove. “Spotless,” she says, complimenting how nice and tidy everything is. “It’s not how I cook,” she teases.

“Me neither. If not for Enzo, you’d need a hazmat suit to enter.” I pull the full tray of cannoli out of the fridge, three dozen with assorted dipped ends: mini chocolate chips, pistachio and cherry, and crushed hazelnuts dusted with white chocolate.

“Enzo’s always been like this,” she says, smiling. “Total control is his superpower.”

“You’ve known him a long time?” I ask, curious.

---