Page 42 of Dangerous King
"You must be Catalina. Dante told me about you." She steps forward and takes my hands. "Welcome. And thank you for saving my baby girl."
At the tears forming in her eyes, my face flushes more. I'm not prepared for the embrace she enfolds me in next, but it's more than welcome. It reminds me of my mamma, so much so that my arms move around her automatically, and I'm not sure who is more reluctant to let go, her or me. The simple gesture makes it clearer, too, that Enrico's hug earlier did more to my body thanjustgive me comfort.
"Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts. You are a Godsend and very welcome here. Whatever you need, you name it, eh?" The deep voice of a man interrupts our hug.
The man I see when the lady lets go of me looks exactly like Enrico, only about thirty years older, with graying, dark hair. It's not as black as Enrico's, more of a dark brown. He also looks a few inches shorter, but no less impressive than his son.
"I'm Fabrizio, Rizio, and this is my wife, Eliza," he introduces, before he kisses me on both cheeks. "And these, up, up," he yells at the other two men, also carbon copies of their dad, who promptly rise, "are my other sons, Mattheo and Tommaso."
"Nice to meet you," Tommaso mumbles, while Mattheo kisses both of my cheeks like his father did.
"Come sit, cara." Eliza pulls out the chair to her left. I feel a little uncomfortable, sure this seat is usually taken by someone else.
As if reading my mind, Izzy pushes me forward. "It's just Enrico's. You can sit there tonight. He won't care."
Relieved, I sit down, forcing a smile at the family, who are all still staring at me.
"Move! Sit over there tonight," Izzy pushes Mattheo out of the way, taking his seat.
"Manners," Eliza scolds her daughter.
"It's good for a girl to be assertive." Rizio smiles indulgently at his daughter, giving me the impression that Izzy could get away with murder with her father. Then I remember that they're all mafia andduhmyself, barely holding back a nervous snicker.
I get that I'm not with the Giordanos any longer, but staying in the shadows, trying not to gain any attention, has been second nature to me for so many years that the attention being lavished on me now is… unsettling.
"What do you like to do, Catalina?" Eliza smiles at me, just as I pull my courage together and use a pair of tongs to grab a piece of meat from the platter in the center. My hand begins to shake so badly that I have to put the tongs down.
"Would you like some?" Mattheo doesn't wait for my answer; he takes the tongs and the same piece of meat I selected and puts it on my plate.
"How about some potatoes?" Tommaso asks next.
"Yes, please," my voice is barely a whisper.
"Steamed or mashed?" He wants to know.
"Mashed."
"Here, let me see your plate." Dante is next, and Izzy pulls it from under my nose and holds it out to him to fill with vegetables.
Proudly, Eliza looks from one of her kids to the other, and the love that's written over her face for them takes my breath away. A deep yearning for my mamma fills me. It's been so long since anybody looked at me with anything other than disdain.
My plate emerges back in front of me, loaded with different vegetables, meat, and mashed potatoes.
"Thank you." My voice is still barely a whisper, but since all eyes are on me, it's audible enough.
"So?" Izzy pushes her mother's question.
"It's silly, really." I squirm in my seat, but the probing eyes won't go away. "I'm on Pinterest a lot, I like… fashion."
"Really? What's your handle?" Izzy pulls her phone out.
"No electronics at the dinner tab—" Rizio's voice trails off until it becomes inaudible under his wife's scorching glare.
"LaModaDiCat," I whisper my username.
I should be grateful that all eyes are on Izzy now, as she scrolls through my account, chattering about the outfits I pinned and asking a million questions. But still, small beads of sweat trickle down my back. The Giordanos always made a big show of dinner; four, sometimes five nights a week, everyone seated at the long table like a twisted royal court. And while the Sartoris clearly value family meals too, the energy in the room couldn't be more different.
With the Giordanos, there was always an underlying hostility, a sharp tension beneath every word. Camilla and Roberto constantly sniped at each other, vying for their father's approval like it was oxygen. Giovanni barely spoke unless it was to issue a command or a threat. Constancia, their mother, usually ducked out after the first course, wine glass in hand, eyes already glazed over. She existed on the fringe of the family like a ghost with a silk scarf and a drinking problem.
