Page 76 of Vows of a Mobster
“But you must be used to it,” Antonio spoke up. “You grew up around here after all.”
I turned my attention back to the two men. “Actually, I didn’t. I grew up in California.”
“California?” Antonio asked in surprise. Mateo observed me with interest, like he was studying me.
“Yes. Now do you guys want to show me the kitchen so I can figure out if I can fix dinner?”
Antonio’s expression was comical and I couldn’t resist laughing. “You should see your expression, Antonio.”
“I’m just surprised the younger generation can even light up a stove. Where did you learn to cook?”
“Ouch, that is not fair,” I answered chuckling. “My grandma and our c-” I cut myself off. “Anyhow, my grandmother taught me. Are you staying for dinner too?”
Antonio's eyes darted to Mateo. There was a barely detectable nod but it was there. A permission by the boss. This world was definitely something I wasn’t used to.
“So how are we going to do this?” I asked.
“Do what, Brianna?” Mateo asked amused.
“Well, will you just show me into the kitchen and you two go off smoking cigars,” I cringed my nose at that notion. I hated the smell of cigars. “Drink or watch a game while I slave over the stove? Or will you help? Or at least keep me company.”
Antonio burst into laughter. “You certainly have a way with words.”
“You have no idea,” I muttered, and caught Mateo’s eyes. I felt heat creep up my neck, remembering that dance yesterday. It seemed so long ago and it was less than twenty-four hours ago.
“I can help you, bambina,” Antonio offered.
“Sure,” Mateo said, although I wasn’t sure if his response was offering to help or keeping me company.
“So which way is the kitchen?”
Mateo put his hand on the small of my back and guided me through the house to where the kitchen was.
“Whoa, this is a huge kitchen.” I curiously glanced around. It really was a magnificent kitchen. There were two, large Wolf stoves making me think there must be some serious cooking going on here. White marble floors were a contrast to dark granite countertops and complemented the off-white French cabinets. French windows covering one entire wall of the kitchen brightened the room and made it feel welcoming.
I went to the Subzero fridge, and when I opened it, there was so much food in it, it was threatening to overspill.
I turned my head to Mateo. “There is enough food here to feed an army,” I told him. “How many people live here exactly?”
“A few,” was all he answered.
I shrugged at that response. It wasn’t as if I cared.
“Okay,” I turned my head back to the fridge. “Simple dinner? We could do filet mignon or citrus glazed salmon.” I leaned further into the fridge. “Do we have fresh lemon? Ah, voilà!” I peeked over the fridge door. “Which one?”
“Both?” Antonio suggested.
“No, not both,” I shook my head. “You want someone to cook you two meals, find yourself a professional cook.”
Twenty-Five
Mateo
“Mateo, I’m telling you,” Antonio sounded annoyed again. “There is nothing on her beyond the last four years.”
“That cannot be right,” I told him. “Double check your source. He’s getting sloppy.”
“Mateo,” he threw in a swear word in Italian, then continued, “I don’t think that is her real last name.”
