Page 60 of Inescapable Ties
“Not that I’m questioning your judgement, Chef Jaws,” I said. “But don’t you need noodles to make pasta?”
Her laughter echoed through the kitchen as she cracked eggs into a bowl, their shells clinking against the ceramic surface. “I don’t use store-bought pasta, Emilio.”
“You make the noodles?”
She nodded, continuing to crack the eggs one by one into the bowl. No wonder her pasta always tasted so damn good. She had been making each ingredient with care and skill, creating a masterpiece of taste in every dish.
“How can I help?”
Luciana looked at me hesitantly, as if me helping in the kitchen would cause it to burn down. Despite her apprehension, she selected a handful of mushrooms and a sharp, gleaming knife from the countertop.
“Chop these into tiny bits,” she said.
Our movements were synchronized, like two perfect cogs in a well-oiled wheel. As we worked together to prepare dinner, our laughter echoed through the kitchen. Luciana, with her culinary skills, would occasionally (or rather, often) step in to guide me and ensure that each dish was prepared to perfection. The smell of sizzling spices and bubbling sauces filled the air as we chatted and joked, enjoying each other’s company. In that moment, it felt like time had slowed down and all that mattered was the warmth of our relationship and the taste of the delicious meal we were creating together.
“I can’t believe you do this almost every night,” I said, looking at our finished meal.
Our main course consisted of a bowl of delicate angel hair noodles covered in a rich, velvety mushroom sauce. On the side, we prepared a fresh salad and slices of warm garlic bread to complete the meal.
“Mhm. What wine should we have?” she asked.
“You pick.”
Luciana made her way to the wine rack, taking her time to examine the selection before selecting one. She handed me a bottle of Pinot Noir and I uncorked it for us to enjoy.
I filled our cups to the brim, the ruby liquid swirling and forming a mini tempest in the confines of the crystal glasses. We clinked our glasses together, and a toast was made to a successful dinner preparation.
As we took our seats across the beautifully laid table, with the candlelight casting a warm glow over the meal we’d prepared, I couldn’t help but look at Luciana in admiration. She lifted her fork, twirling the angel hair strands effortlessly before savoring each bite as if it was her last.
“It’s delicious,” she said.
“Well, you prepared it. Of course it is.”
She reacted to my teasing with an eye roll, having grown accustomed to my playful jabs. I took a forkful of pasta of pasta myself. And she was right - it was divine.
With the last bite of pasta savored and the final sip of wine drank, a warm contentment settled around us like a soft blanket. Luciana leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed in satisfaction. Chef Jaws had worked hard tonight.
“I’ll clean up,” I said as I stood up, grabbing our empty plates off the table.
“Huh? I can help.”
“I got it,” I said.
“Thank you.” Luciana smiled at me. And although she had done it countless times before, it never failed to make my heart flutter.
Chapter thirty-two
Luciana
Itwasararemorning that I had woken before Emilio. The first golden rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains, illuminating his peaceful face as he lay in bed. His chest rose and fell with each steady breath, his features relaxed and serene. Most people’s hair gets wild and tangled during sleep, but not Emilio’s. His dark locks were perfectly styled, framing his face in an effortless yet alluring way. Not a single strand out of place. Even in slumber, he exuded a sense of perfection.
As the light grew stronger, it danced upon his eyelashes, highlighting their thick and luscious nature. Emilio’s eyes, hidden behind these delicate shutters, were a wonder of their own. They held the mysterious depths of a fathomless night sky, contrasted by flickering stars that seemed to twinkle with each beat of his heart. Their twinkling reflections whispered secrets that made even the morning sun seem less significant.
Would I ever truly know my husband? I knew he did dark things for the Mafia, but not the extent. The better question was, did I want to? Were any of those dark deeds cruel enough for me to not want to be with him?
I suppose we all had a shadow, a side of ourselves we didn’t want the world to see. And I would never see his.
“If you want to stare, you might as well take a picture,” Emilio mumbled.
