Page 71 of Luciano (Belles & Mobsters 1)

“Piano,” I retorted curtly, aware that my one word responses made this situation worse. I just wasn’t in the mood for chitchatting and pretending everything was great while Ella’s and my lives hung by a thread.

“Where did you study music?” Nico Morrelli asked. He eyed me curiously. I learned he was the mobster that controlled Maryland and Washington D.C. In fact, among all the men at this table, they controlled almost all of the East Coast. I heard them reference Raphael Santos, and I knew from overhearing my uncle’s conversation that the Santos family controls Florida. If Raphael Santos was Luciano’s friend, then that must mean that my uncle lost his Florida connection too.

“Juilliard,” I told him briefly. I had a feeling they all knew everything about me and Ella, so not sure why they bothered making conversation.

“Well, you are a chatty Cathy,” Luca chimed in.

“If you want to talk,” I spat back sarcastically, “-be my guest and talk away.”

“How come you two parked yourself in Sicily?” Cassio asked, ignoring my sarcasm. “Especially knowing that Luciano’s ancestors and my ancestors came from Sicily.”

Matteo shoved the spoon full of spinach that I attempted to feed him out of his face.

“First of all, how in the hell would I know where your mother’s ancestors are from. Second of all, haven’t you ever heard of the termhide in plainsight? And I never told you where we parked ourselves. Which tells me you already know it all so I’m not sure why we are bothering with questions.”

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.Okay, so maybe I was the landmine ready to explode at any second.

“How would you know my mother’s family is from Sicily?” Cassio questioned. That man was sharp.

“The King family is from the Welsh area in England,” I answered him as Matteo kept pushing the spoon away. “Therefore, I assumed you must be talking about your mother’s family.”

“It was good you went there, Gracy,” Nonno interrupted, giving me a comforting smile. “Where was our Matteo born?”

I knew Nonno hoped he was born in his hometown, or the one of his wife. The way he took to Matteo made me painstakingly aware what my son was missing. Nonno and Luciano were his family, just as Ella and I were Matteo’s family. “In Italy, not in Sicily.” I kept my answer short and returned my attention to my son.

“Come on, Matteo,” I begged in a strenuous voice. “Just a bite.”

“No. no,” he objected, turning his face away from me.

I felt on the edge of my seat waiting for another bomb to drop. This felt like living in a mental battle zone for me. I had to keep my guard up at all times. Yes, at night I tumbled between the sheets, but that only impacted my heart and body. This was so much more.

“What have you fed him?” I asked Nonno, cranky.

“We just had gelato for a snack when we came back from the beach but that was hours ago.”

“How many hours ago?” I gritted, my nerves like a rubber band, ready to snap. We were happy in our little town on an island in Italy. Our whole life got interrupted in a matter of a week. At this point, Matteo basically demanded only gelato - for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And now I was having dinner surrounded by ruthless mobsters.

“Maybe an hour ago,” he replied, a guilty expression on his face.

I dropped the silverware with a clunk, everyone’s eyes snapping to me. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in, then exhaled. I reached for any ounce of patience I could muster. It was nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry, Gracy,” Nonno must have sensed I was teetering on the edge. Him calling me Gracy didn’t help at all. It reminded me even more how happy we were in Italy, and now we were here facing danger at every corner. I had no solutions and was tempted to beg someone, anyone to help us. But the people at this table were the reason we were in this predicament.

Well, except Nonno.

I swallowed hard, reining in all the control left within me.Don’t lose your shit. Don’t lose your shit.

“Let’s go get a bath and then bedtime,” I told my son, placing the napkin onto the table and got up. I’d changed into white jeans and an emerald green t-shirt for dinner. I refused to go all out for these men, but both Ella and I agreed, we shouldn’t show up to dinner wearing yoga pants. Although it was awfully tempting.

I kicked off my high heels, ready to pull Matteo out of his high chair. No sense in strutting around the house in high heels. I wasn’t a trophy wife.

“Here, let me try,” Luciano offered. Before I could object, he picked up Matteo’s fork and continued, “Okay, Matteo. I know veggies are kind of gross. But let’s dip them into the sauce, and it makes them taste better.”

“He doesn’t like to mix his food,” I told him but just as the words left my mouth, my jaw just about dropped. I watched in amazement as Matteo accepted a forkful of green beans dipped into sauce and chewed. I waited, holding my breath. He would spit it all out any second.

Any moment now.

My son swallowed it and then grinned at Luciano. “Più,” he demanded.More.

---