Page 50 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

Bella's smile fades slightly at the reminder of our situation, but she recovers quickly. "Well, Scout Master Nardone, what's next on the survival checklist?"

"That's Former Scout Nardone to you," I correct with mock seriousness. "And next we raid the cabinets for anything we can eat without cooking. Unless you want to try earning your fire-starting badge?"

She holds up matches. “Were you planning on rubbing two sticks together to start the fire in the fireplace?”

I laugh at my own ignorance. “Good point.” I’m enjoying this playful side of her. It's strange how natural it feels to joke with her, to let down my guard. In my world, levity is rare. Trust is even rarer. Yet here I am, trading barbs with this girl twenty years my junior who is technically my future stepmother, and it feels… right.

I put on the too-large coat, realizing that I probably don’t look like the big, bad Mafia underboss she always jokes about my being. I open the door, hit by a gust of wet wind. I make my way to the firebox and gather up wood, making several trips to make sure we have enough to last the night.

On the final trip, I find Bella's transformed the living room into a cozy den. Flashlights and candles create islands of light, and she's dragged every blanket and warm piece of clothing she could find onto the couch.

"I closed off all the other rooms," she says, taking some logs from my arms. "And I found more sweaters in the bedroom closet."

"Good thinking." I stack the wood by the fireplace, noting she's already laid kindling for a fire. I wonder how she learned to do that. Perhaps she was a Girl Scout.

"We've got peanut butter too. And those weird dried noodle things."

"Such a gourmet meal." The kindling catches and I carefully add smaller pieces of wood. "Though I've had worse. When I was hiding out in Vegas once?—”

"You don't have to entertain me with tough guy stories." She settles on the couch, pulling a blanket over her legs. "I already know you're dangerous."

The way she says it, more teasing than fearful, makes me realize she accepts who I am. “I was hiding from danger. I had to live on canned water chestnuts and cold corned beef hash.”

She makes a face. “Peanut butter is better.”

“Peanut butter is better,” I agree, standing back to watch the fire crackle, casting dancing shadows across the cabin walls.

“I also found stuff to do unless you want me to readSense and Sensibilityagain.”

“Will Willoughby and Brandon still be putzes?”

“They are every time I read it.” She holds up a deck of cards. “I found cards and some board games. Have you ever played games, Former Scoutmaster Nardone?”

“Not that I can remember.”

She takes the cards out of the box and begins to shuffle them. "When's the last time you played a game just for fun?"

I lean back against the couch, considering. "Define fun."

"Not for money. Not for business. Just… playing."

"Then never… oh, wait, I taught Gia's twins poker last month."

“Poker? Not Go Fish or?—”

“Poker is the only card game I know, except blackjack, and they’re not so good at math yet.”

“So you never do anything just for fun.”

I think of the condoms in my pocket as I tilt my head back to look at her. “I didn’t say that. I know other types of games.” I hold back being explicit in my meaning. The pink flush on her cheeks tells me she understands without my saying the words.

She clears her throat. “Yes, well…” She recovers. "The great Niccolo Nardone, master strategist, doesn't know how to play Crazy Eights?"

"I know how to launder millions through offshore accounts. That's basically Crazy Eights, right?"

"Not even close." She deals cards on the coffee table with fluid grace. "The last time I was here with my friend, we played cards when it rained. Sometimes, we'd bet with M&Ms."

"Hardcore gambling."

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