Page 26 of Weaponized

“Luca Larozzi,” she says sternly, pointing her fork at me. “We are going to have a nice dinner and get to know each other. Talking. Sharing.” Shit. I must be acting like a barbarian if she has to point this out.“If you keep making sex noises while we eat, that’ll never happen.”

I drop my fork and hear it clatter against my plate. Once again, her laughter is light and airy and absolutely perfect. I shake my head. “Sorry.”

We’re grinning at each other like fools. “So,” she says after taking a sip of her wine, “what are your plans for after graduation?”

Easy question. “I’ll go work for the family business.”

She nods slowly, contemplating. I know she’s aware of what my family does.

“I’m majoring in business, so I’ll take an official role at our real estate development firm,” I clarify. Don’t want her to think I’m going to be running around breaking kneecaps. I won’t be, at least most of the time. It’s what everyone thinks of me. That I’m nothing more than some meathead with an anger management problem. I’m going to be more than that. I’m going to learn the business from every angle. I’ll extinguish my goddamn temper and prove that this monster can protect his family without ever raising a fist.

Matteo and I are already involved in the family business to a degree, but we aren’t spending all of our time there yet. My dad wants us to have a true college experience. Well, as much as St. A’s can offer us one anyway, given that it’s not exactly your typical university. It’s a bit of a hybrid, and I’ve been taking full advantage with one foot firmly in each world. “How about you?”

“I’m majoring in psychology, and I’m only a junior, so I have a little time to figure it all out.”

“Why psychology?” I hate talking but I never want her to stop. I figure, if I keep posing questions, I’ll get my way.I shovel in a mouthful of potatoes. Damn. These are also pretty good.

“I think it’s interesting why people behave the way they do. I mean, look at our families and some of the people we know. There are some serious mental health issues with some of these folks.” She doesn’t say this with any malice, she just looks out her window thoughtfully.

I nod at her. I suppose that is true. I’ve honestly never considered it. It just is how it is. “Do you think you may want to be a therapist?” I ask, curious as to what she’d do with this knowledge.

She shrugs, plays with her food. “I used to dream about being a doctor, a psychiatrist. I’d work to understand these folks and help them get better. Make the world a safer place.” She looks out the window again, blinks. “But, I don’t think that’s in the cards.”

She smiles, shakes off her wistful expression. “I appreciate what I’ve learned anyway. For example, my dad is your everyday narcissist.” Well, I wasn’t expecting that but I’m hanging on her every word. “Learning more about the psychology of such conditions—and itisa condition—helps me cope, I guess. My siblings and I aren’t very close to him.”

“Is he hard on you?” I’m too curious for my own good. Cormac O’Toole is known for his cruelty.

Her eyes lift from her plate and lock on mine. “He is hard on everyone.” That feels like a cop-out, but I don’t push. She continues. “I know there are plenty in the clan who would like to see him displaced. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet.”

I nod at this. I haven’t heard good things, and I am secretly thrilled that she’d share something so personal with me.I guess I’m fortunate, and I tell her so. “My dad is pretty cool most of the time. I mean, we were raised differently than most, given the business he’s in, but overall, he cares. He just shows it differently than some I think.” Pop may have given us hookers for our fourteenth birthdays, but he did it with love. Helping us become men is important to him. He has the best intentions. There’s not much he wouldn’t do for us. Family always comes first. Always.

She nods and takes a small bite. “How about your mom?”

“Uh,” I don’t like talking about this but I don’t want to cut her off. “She died in childbirth with my younger brother, Michael. He’s fifteen.”

Her eyes show her empathy. “That must have been so hard. I’m sorry, Luca.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah. She was the glue that held us all together. My memories of her are vague, but I still remember that. I don’t think my dad is over it yet. He hasn’t remarried or seriously dated anyone since.” I seem to be on a roll with how many words are coming out of my mouth. I’ve probably used up my normal weekly allowance.

“I can’t imagine losing the love of your life,” she says plaintively. “My parents aren’t a love match. My dad essentially bought my mom.” When my eyes pop, she continues, “I’m pretty sure everyone knows it, but it’s not something we discuss. He wanted a beautiful wife—narcissist, remember? The arrangement works out fairly well for them—at least, most of the time.”

I want to ask more questions but don’t want to get ahead of myself. I can’t imagine her father would want her with someone like me. He probably already has her promised to some fuckface Irishman.It’s too soon to be contemplating a future anyway, but the idea of her father keeping her from me gnaws at my gut. I try to think of something else to say but she saves me by changing the subject. “How is it you don’t play football or something like that?”

I smile. I get asked this question a lot, given my size. “I’m not into team sports.”

I usually either get a laugh with that answer because people think I’m kidding, or I get a look of disappointment. She nods in understanding. “Yeah, relying on other people is hard.” Holy shit. She gets it. “What about boxing or something? Shame to put all those muscles to waste.” She’s grinning.

I shake my head. “That’s Matteo’s thing. I never wanted to compete with him in something that he loves so much.” We’d have been in different weight classes, but I didn’t want us to be compared. I also worry about my lack of control sometimes, but I keep that to myself.

“I tried everything growing up. Instruments, ballet, softball, basketball, cheerleading, you name it. I never found anything that stuck,” she shares. “I like yoga. I work out. I try to meditate but I’m terrible at it. I’m also an avid reader of mystery novels.”

I love learning this about her, and I wouldn’t mind seeing her do yoga or work out. The conversation continues to flow and I find myself talking more than I probably have in my entire life. I tell her how Anthony and I binge watched almost two seasons ofTed Lassoin one weekend. Laziest I’ve ever been. I talk about how I’m the one who worked with the interior designer on our house because I hate to be cramped. She tells me about her sister, Maeve, and how she’s Einstein-level intelligent.About how Rowan had a girlfriend in high school whom she hated. It’s easy. Relaxing. Interesting. I’m slowly learning who she is, and I want more. While dinner was great, I’m still starved for any morsel of information she’s willing to share about herself.

When we finish up, I help her carry the plates back into the kitchen. I load the dishwasher while she packs away the few leftovers. We work in compatible silence. Once she’s wiped everything down, she takes my hand. She begins to lead me down a hall, and I have to admit, I get a little anxious and excited. She’s not already taking me to her bedroom, is she? God, please let that be the case.

As it turns out, it isn’t the case. She pulls me into one of the rooms that I think should be a guest room, but it’s been turned into something like our media room, only much smaller. It has a couple large, fluffy sofas arranged in an L shape around a big TV. An oversized chair with a matching ottoman sits in the corner. A bookcase filled with novels takes up an entire wall. There are tons of throw pillows. Gráinne has to move some to the floor in order for us to sit down. I’m wondering what the point is of all those pillows when she shocks me by moving straight to sit on my lap. She doesn’t straddle me this time, but sits with her legs draped across mine. I swallow.

“I was going to put onTed LassoSeason 3, which I still think would be cool—eventually—but since we agreed on honesty, I really wanted to be right here instead. I don’t want to pretend otherwise.” Her voice is a little husky, and she’s tracing her index finger over my jawline.

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