Page 26 of Vow of Silence

“Risotto.” Ignazio stabs his fork into the bowl. “I thought you said the chef had outdone himself,” he booms down the length of the table.

Mama lifts her head from a conversation with Arseni and frowns.

“If you don’t like it,” Dion snaps. “Fuck off home and cook your own dinner.”

“This shouldbemy home,” Ignazio grumbles.

I draw a deep breath and lash out with my left hand, catching the lip of his bowl to upend the contents in his ungrateful lap. Stas gasps beside me, Alessio chuckling at our uncle’s misfortune.

The jackass roars with anger, launching himself backward in his seat, the metal legs screeching across the hardwood floor. “You disrespecting little shit!”

“Ignazio,” Papa hollers, rising to his feet. “Compose yourself.”

I grin at my uncle, relishing in his frustration as he opens his mouth to protest yet remains silent. He and I both know that if he says a thing, his complaints make him sound even more like a child than my brothers and I did just now.

“Here.” Stas rises from her seat, slipping behind me to offer my uncle a napkin. “I’m sure it was accidental.”

“Sure.” Naz rips the square of cotton from her hand. “You must be fucking blind if you believe that.”

I press both hands to the table, prepared to show my uncle the exit. The gentle touch of Stas’s fingers on my shoulder keeps me where I am.

“I’m sure he meant to offend you,” she clarifies in a low tone only for those at our end of the table. “The accident is that he wasted such a lovely risotto.”

Alessio snorts.

I disguise my grin behind one hand while Nastasya takes her seat. She rendered the jaded asshole silent, which speaks volumes. Uncle Naz isn’t one to back away from confrontation, even when it makes an unwarranted scene. He drops into his seat, jumping it toward the table again. Using his napkin and the one Stas offered, he does his best to clean himself off while the rest of us eat the starter course. Rice and vegetables sit on the floor around him like a goddamn three-year-old took his place. I cast my periphery down at the mess and snort.

“Something to say?”

My grin widens, eyebrow raised as though to ask,“Seriously?”

He leers. “Didn’t think so.”

I give him my middle finger in return.

“Kids,” Dion warns. “Plenty of time to sling mud at each other later. But we have guests tonight.”

“Is it always like this?” Stas asks, suppressing a smile—badly.

Alessio lifts his gaze, peering out from under a stern brow. “I’m sure you’ll find out once you’re warming his bed.”

I catch the fucker’s gaze and look pointedly toward his bowl.Want me to throw that in your lap, too?Alessio rolls his eyes and finishes the last forkfuls.

The staff sweeps in again, exchanging dishes for the night’s first course. I lean back in my seat as they set the two giant lobsters in the center of the table, laying my arm along the back of Stas’s chair. She straightens, making her subtle point by leaning the backs of her shoulders against my forearm. A platonic touch, but one that is more sexual than anything I’ve had lately. The simplest gesture means so much more when delivered from her.

Nine years and my attraction for her hasn’t waned. Only my sense of worthiness.

“Not eating?” Alessio eyes Stas as he tears a claw from the lobster.

“No. Thank you.”

Naz huffs, taking the tail. “Don’t tell me our food isn’t good enough for you.” He meets her eye. “Would you prefer something familiar, like borscht?

“Are you for fucking real?” Dion asks. “Nice stereotype, asshole.”

“I hate borscht,” Stas responds with a slight laugh. She pins Naz with a cutting glare. “I have an allergy to shellfish, if you must know.”

The fucker snorts. “Don’t give Nastasya oysters on the honeymoon, Benito. You’ll be fucking a puffer fish.”

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