Page 48 of Dirty Mafia King
“New York?” Don Lucchese exclaims.
“OnceI’m engaged…”
Oh sweet hell. Bastian’s temper flares, his anger barely contained. If I sense it, so does Don Lucchese. Sandro’s doing exactly what he warned me not to do—embarrass his father.
“Godfather,” I interrupt in a soft voice. “I learned to cook in Rome.”
For a heartbeat, Don Lucchese looks startled by how I addressed him. But then he nods. “È vero?”
“Sì, è vero.”
He grins. “You speak Italian.”
“Yes.” My throat tightens. “It was my life’s dream to study in Italy.”
His chest swells with pride, like I’ve offered him a surprise gift.
“If only our paths could have crossed. See, my son, Dante, is over there.” He gestures toward the man seated next to his vacant chair, who looks like a model and holds his audience captive like a Hollywood movie star. I understand the handsome man’s appeal. Yet I’m not drawn to him like … My eyes dart to a scowling Bastian, then away.
“Very handsome,” Don Lucchese continues. “Very Italian. He’d have made you very happy.”
My cheeks warm.Happy, I bet.
“Now Sandro will make her veryfuckinghappy.”
The air charges, like it does during a lightning strike. It happens so fast, and then it’s gone. But I can’t help wondering if the thought of me being very fucking happy with either man displeases Bastian.
“With your blessing,” Bastian adds, with less bite and the slightest hint of sarcasm, “of course.”
Don Lucchese smirks. The sly old man. Pissing everyone off is the game, isn’t it?
“How old are you, cara?”
Bastian responds before I can. “She’s almost a fucking teenager.”
“I’m twenty,” I clarify. “A few years younger than Renzo and Sandro.”
“Do you like older men?”
He can’tknow. I haven’t engaged my soon-to-be father-in-law at all during the party. Heck, I’ve done my bestnotto think about him. But if this isn’t directed at me, then who?
Sandro chuckles.
Bastian curses. “Cristo.”
I feel dizzy.
“Answer him,” Sandro pushes.
My eyes flicker to Bastian. I feel the tug, the undercurrent beneath the surface that’s ready to swallow me up. It’s alive and well, and unfortunate.
Please, Lord, don’t let me ruin this.
“I truly like you.” I lightly touch Don Lucchese on the sleeve. “But aren’t you a bit too old for me?”
Everyone stills. Oh no. Did I insult the old man?
Laughter erupts, and he thumps a hand on his knee. “I like your young fiancée, Sandro. She cooks like an Italian grandma but has a youthfulness about her.” He steps toward Bastian and throws an arm around his shoulders. “It’s time to make a toast. I’ll give this union my full blessing.”
