Page 85 of Mafia Shade's Reluctant Bride
I groaned. “Can we not gang up on me this early in the day? I brought her back, didn’t I? That should count for something. Plus, she ran.”
“Because you were impossible,” Maria quipped, smirking as she slipped her coat off.
“She’s not wrong,” my mother said, already turning toward the kitchen. “Come, sit, both of you. I made tea. Lorenzo, be useful.”
Ah yes, nothing humbles a man like returning to his childhood home and being ordered around like he’s still thirteen and can’t be trusted with a kettle.
I followed her into the little kitchen. Nothing much had changed in there—the wallpaper still had that faded blue print, and the window above the sink still let in just enough light to make everything feel golden. I grabbed the tea tray while Ma pulled out her good china—cups that were only used for people she liked. That was a big deal. She even brought out the almond cookies. I hadn’t seen those since before Dad died.
We sat in the living room, the three of us. Maria was perched beside my mother on the sofa while I poured the tea and tried not to feel like the world was gently shifting under my feet.
“This is lovely,” Maria murmured, cradling the cup between her hands. “I forgot how good your tea is.”
“She never forgets,” I said, taking my spot in the armchair across from them. “She just pretends to be humble.”
My mother waved me off like I was a fly. “Don’t listen to him. He’s always been too mouthy. But he makes good tea. I’ll give him that.”
She turned to Maria again, her voice softening. “Did he ever tell you how much he gave up for me?”
I tensed. “Ma—”
“He put his whole life on hold,” she went on, not even looking at me. “He took care of me when he should have been living his own life, running the streets with that wild brother of his. Falling in love. Making mistakes.”
Maria looked at me, and there was something in her eyes—sadness maybe, but also something fierce and unspoken. Understanding, maybe. A realization of all the things I never told her.
“It wasn’t—”
“It was something,” Ma cut in gently but firmly. “And I always thought that’s why he never settled down. Maybe he was too busy worrying about his old mother.”
I glanced away, rubbing the back of my neck. There were things I never said out loud, and my mother was airing them out like laundry on a sunny day.
She reached for Maria’s hand and squeezed it. “But now, I finally see the light in his eyes again.”
“The light never left,” I muttered under my breath, just loud enough.
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it did. Like someone switched it off. He walked around like a ghost for a long time.”
Maria’s laughter broke the tension like sunlight cracking through storm clouds.
“Ma,” I groaned. “Can you not ruin the little bit of cool I have left in front of my fiancée?”
“Sweetheart, that left the building the day you cried over burnt garlic bread.”
Maria snorted into her tea, and I slumped in the chair, defeated but warm. I’d forgotten how good it felt to just sit with them like this. No danger. No secrets. Just peace and almond cookies.
After tea, we sat there for a while longer, listening to Ma retell stories from when I was a boy, the kind that made Maria laugh so hard her eyes watered and made me regret ever being a teenager with poor decision-making skills.
When we finally stood to leave, Maria lingered by the door. She hugged my mother again, tighter this time.
“I’m glad I came back,” she whispered, and I saw my mother nod against her shoulder.
Outside, we walked in silence for a while, hand in hand. She hadn’t said anything in the car. She just looked out the window like she was watching her memories float by. At a red light, I glanced over at her. “You okay?”
She nodded, then reached for the necklace around her neck, fingers brushing the pendant absently.
“She really loves you,” she said softly.
“She’s my Ma,” I shrugged. “She has to.”
