Page 1 of Hot Momosa

Leo

Good Catholics had kids.Loads of them. Heck, going forth and repopulating the earth was practically a commandment. Unfortunately, the priests never mentioned how to survive a legion of munchkins armed with sippy cups and Legos.

Kids, ranging in age from two-months to seventeen years, had invaded my parents’ backyard. While I loved my nieces and nephews, swimming in the sea of munchkins made me miss another little boy. A little boy with my eyes who would likely never meet this half of his family.

“Some uncle you are, late for my son’s first birthday.” Gabe handed me a beer and a multicolored hat.

I took the bottle and ignored the ridiculous, cone-shaped, monstrosity. “I got hung up at the hotel.”

I’d spent hours going over the financials, dealing with pool maintenance, and approving the new marketing campaign. It was hell, but the place was mine free and clear.

“You know what they say about all work and no play.” He chuckled, but it ended with a sigh. “How’s business going?”

“Can’t complain. Both the hotel and the restaurant turned a sizable profit last quarter.” Thanks in no small part to me working my ass off twenty-four/seven.

“Good. My bar is finally above water, and to hear Enzo tell it, business has never been better at his restaurant.”

I glanced at our younger brother, Marco, and his new baby. Twelve months ago, he’d pulled the intellectual equivalent of a ninja move and freed us from the Sicilian mafia. Marco himself hadn’t been so lucky. Not only had he been forced to stay in the mob, he’d ended up taking the position as capo of the Marchionni family.

Regardless of his fate, I had a hard time feeling sorry for him. As a member of the Fratellanza, or ruling body of the Cosa Nostra, he had power, more money than God—and because he was a lucky SOB—a gorgeous wife and newborn daughter. Life might have handed him lemons, but he’d carved out the seeds and planted an entire fucking orchard.

As for the rest of us…we were adjusting.

Gabe clamped a hand on my shoulder and nodded toward the festivities. “It’s hard to believe Rocco’s already a year old.”

“No kidding.” I hadn’t spent nearly enough time with the little guy, or any of my nieces and nephews, but I had my reasons for keeping my distance. Reasons like they reminded me of my biggest mistake and deepest regret.

As if he’d read my mind, Gabe asked, “Seen Dahlia lately?”

“Not since she started dating that jackass.” I downed half my beer and walked outside. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Gabe, not precisely. He’d always been more like a best friend than a brother. For years, we’d been inseparable, but our lives had gone in two completely different directions.

Gabe and Maggie were the freaking picture of domestic bliss. They had the white picket fence, the dog, and five kids—including the three they’d inherited when our oldest brother, Joe, had been murdered. On the other hand, the love of my life was dating a douchebag politician and raising my secret baby on her own. Sure, Dahlia and I had agreed to keep our son’s paternity quiet for his safety, but things had changed.

Hell, everything changed the day I walked away from the mob.

Gabe followed me to the kid-friendly buffet. “Then it won’t interest you to know… She’s going to be here today.”

My pulse raced as if he’d slammed a syringe of adrenaline into my chest. I turned from the mac and cheese and chicken nuggets and stared. “Dahlia is coming here?”

“Maggie spoke to her this morning.” He scratched his jaw, a sure sign he had more to say… More to say that I wouldn’t like. “She’s bringing a plus one.”

“A plus one?” I hadn’t met Dahlia’s new man, but I’d seen pictures of them together online, on the news, and splashed across the tabloids in the supermarket checkout lane. The guy looked like a Politician Ken Doll, only with less personality. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand the media’s fascination with a presidential candidate’s daughter and a state senator. Then again, how many politicians had daughters who looked like Dahlia?

Why on earth would she bring Harrison-fucking-Meriwether to the party?It made zero sense. She had to know I’d be here. Unless…her plus one was a two-and-a-half-year-old who looked a lot like me.

Fuck, that’s worse. Ma will lose her shit—and she’s not the only one. As much as I wanted the world to know Gunnar was my son, this wasn’t the time to spring it on my family.

Dahlia and I had made a career out of convincing everyone, including my family, we were just friends, best friends, and strictly platonic. Coming clean about years of lies wasn’t a rip-the-Band-Aid-off kind of thing. It’d take time and planning.

Gabe waved his hand in front of my face. “Are you okay, man?”

“Starved, but I can’t stomach eating off the kiddie menu. What the hell were you guys thinking serving this crap?” My voice came out louder and sharper than I’d intended. So much so, people glanced in our direction.

He nodded toward a second food table piled high with swanky grown-up alternatives to the kid’s food. Lobster mac and cheese replaced the orange goo-covered shells, and there were pecan crusted chicken breasts with apricot sauce instead of nuggets. In addition to the froofroo items, our mother had prepared several traditional Sicilian dishes, including my favorite, Sciusceddu. The mere sight of the little meatballs made my mouth water.

Biting back a sigh, I said, “Sorry I snapped.”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to see what’s in front of you when your head’s up your ass.” Gabe folded his arms. “And I’m not talking about the menu.”

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