Page 4 of Mafia Lion's Plus Size Obsession

He shakes his head. “I wish I could take some time off. This place is a nightmare I don’t know how to wake up from.” He laughs, but I can’t help thinking he’s telling the truth.

“Well, let me take some candy from this nightmare and see how I feel.”

And again, my money is no good. “Anything for Don Leoni’s son, and my old friend, eh?”

I thank him and hurry outside. I’m suddenly not feeling as nostalgic.

I head back to my car and drive home. I keep thinking about Bobby and Paulie and I think about how the family business gets everyone. Paulie and I used to hang out and get into a lot of trouble back in the day. Now, well, it’s different.

And it pisses me off.

I pull into my family home, where I’m staying, but thankfully in the guest house. I hope and pray my father hasn’t noticed me drive past. I really need to think.

Today has felt wonderful and not so wonderful, but there was a highlight. I think of Bella again and I smile like a fool. “She has definitely lived up to her name.”

Isabella, Bella, the bell of the ball. I go back to her time and again the rest of that day.

When I left home, she was eighteen and I could finally see her as a woman and not a girl. Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve noticed it on my visits.

Maybe the food isn’t the only thing I’ve missed since being away from home.

Chapter Three

Isabella

I shouldn’t be here. I absolutely shouldn’t be here!

But I knock on the door anyway, and when Mrs. Leoni answers, I feel really stupid. But I have my excuse so I lift up the box and say, “Mi scusi signora Leoni, I saw Vittorio in town and we were talking about…” I shrug. “I brought some cookies.”

She smiles brightly and says, “I haven’t seen you in a long time, Izzy. Do you still go by Izzy?”

“Except for bothnonne. They’ll never call me anything other than Isabella.”

“My grandmother was like that, too,” she says, “and all I wanted was to be Chris instead of Christina.”

I wonder if she can see how nervous I am. I wonder if she knows I’m not here on an innocent voyage. She says, “Come in, Izzy,” as she takes the box from me. “You did more than cookies, didn’t you?”

“He looked so happy to be back where he could get good food,” I say. I kind of freak myself out saying that because it feels like I’m being a whole lot… um, desperate.

“This looks wonderful,” she says. She gets a tray and puts a plate on it. She puts cookies, pastry, figs, olives, and more on the plate. Then, she pours two big glasses of sparkling water, adds a wedge of lemon in each, and sets them on the tray. “He’s not here in the main house.”

My heart sinks but then she says, “The whole family is here and I want the grandchildren close so they’ve filled up all of the rooms. Vittorio is in the guest house. Do you remember where it is?”

“Si, signora,” I say with too broad of a smile. She hands me the tray and opens the kitchen door for me so I can step out to the side of the house.

Damn it, what am I doing? Vittorio can have any girl he wants. Why would he want a big girl like me? I follow the path down the side of the house past the very impressive tomato garden and a waterfall sculpture that’s interesting as Hell because it has a sculpture, a Medici lion. The lion stands at the top and the water flows around it as well as the marble sphere on which its paw rests.

There are Medici lions all over Italy. This is a taste of the old country. It’s lovely. I stop for a moment and just enjoy the sight and how it also fills me with longing to see Italy again. I’ve been there four times. I want to go again so I can visit mynonnaon my father’s side again. She taught me about cooking seafood. I want to learn more from her.

“Izzy?” The sound of Vittorio’s voice startles me but I don’t jump too much.

“The lion is beautiful,” I say without turning around. I can sense him closer to me now. I slowly turn and I have to stop so the tray doesn’t bump into him. “It makes me feel like I’m visiting my grandmother in Italy.”

He smiles and says, “I get to be Italian and also have a last name that means lions, so it’s even more beautiful for me.” Damn, his smile is perfect.

“I brought some things,” I say, “to, um, welcome you home.” I’m immediately nervous as hell after saying that. I’m about to hand him the tray and add a word or two that suggests I’m doing it for my mom but he speaks first.

“You’re not just beautiful, Izzy,” he says, “but you’re also wonderful. Come with me. You can’t make me eat alone.”

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