Page 92 of Of Grief And Gratitude

Sam nodded. We both knew that somebody was just as likely to come for Romeo if things went south in Chicago. The minutes on the ornate wall clock ticked by as we waited in silence. Sam might look relaxed, but his eyes held a sharpness that belied his heightened alertness.

An hour later, Romeo and Sean came in through the back door, locking it behind them. Romeo sat on my other side and took my hand in his.

“We didn’t find anything,” he said, his brows furrowed. “I think it’s possible you saw an animal. There were no signs of human movement out there like I’d expect if somebody were lying in wait.”

“Okay.” I nodded, still not entirely convinced. My internal alarm had blared, and I thought I could trust my gut. Maybe it was unreliable in the wilderness, where I didn’t know my surroundings well. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Sean added. “There’s nobody out there, red.”

“It’s easy for the woods to play tricks on the eye,” Romeo explained, stroking his thumb across my knuckles. “Especially when you were looking down through the trees. The breeze can make branches move like an animal or person.”

“That makes sense,” I said slowly. I had to shake my concern if there was no threat. I didn’t think two men who spent their lives understanding the stark and grim reality of life in crime families would be easily fooled. “Thanks for checking.”

“Any time, mia fiamma.” Romeo pulled me into a hug, and any traces of my earlier anger vanished as I nuzzled my nose into his throat, breathing him in and feeling secure in his arms. “We’ll start patrols to make sure you feel safe.”

“I appreciate that,” I said, my voice muffled as my lips brushed his neck. His hands tightened around me in response, and he pulled me onto his lap, removing my shoes and letting me curl up with him while they turned the show back on.

I didn’t bother watching. I was too wrapped up in Romeo’s presence surrounding me.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sean was trying to be a fucking matchmaker or some shit. Fairy fucking-godmother of healing broken hearts, he’d said. It was his way of apologizing without apologizing for causing the shitstorm between Riona and me.

Every day for the last week, he’d tried to throw us together somehow. First, it was the goofy grin as he brought me grapes to feed Riona after the scare in the woods. Then it was the box of chocolates he handed me the following day when Riona refused to get out of bed. He’d known before me that she was on her period, which pissed me off because he shouldn’t know her better than me. My anger abated when he admitted it was Sloane who sent the comfort stuff with him, along with the basket of girl shit Riona would need because she wasn’t sure her friend had remembered to pack it.

I’d grown up with my sisters, but my mother had always handled girl stuff and that time of the month. I wouldn’t have known how to buy the period diapers if Riona had asked me to make a grocery run. So I did the only thing I could in that situation—I cooked. Lots and lots of pasta, even when what she wanted was fucking boxed macaroni and cheese. My mother would have had a fit if we’d requested pasta from a box. It seemed her Italian standards had rubbed off on me more than I thought. For the first time, her memory made me smile instead of tear up.

Then I felt guilty for not feeling awful. Grief was a real bitch.

Earlier, Riona had taken a bath that lasted hours, and of course, it was fucking Sean who told me that meant she was off the rag. Incredibly, sex wasn’t the first thing on my mind. That was a startling revelation that I valued my emotional connection with Riona more than our physical connection. My first instinct was to make sure she was okay, which led to her yelling at me to get the fuck out of the bathroom.

So I made more pasta. From scratch. And fucked up a homemade cheese sauce before I decided if carbonara was good enough for me, it was good enough for Riona.

Riona devoured dinner as I watched like a worried helicopter mom. She finally sighed and told me it was only her period, not a life-threatening hemorrhage, and she felt better with it over. Then I thought about sex. I missed the feel of her tight pussy surrounding me and strangling my cock. I was a man, after all.

Sean made some flippant remark about how relationships were more than just getting your dick wet, and I nearly punched him again when Riona gave him a brilliant smile.

“I’m glad to see you’re moving past your primitive brain,” she said, making me chuckle.

Sean rolled his eyes. “There’s always been more to me than basic shit. I just prefer the simple life. Sex, sleep, sustenance. What more does a man need?”

“Way to completely backpedal,” Sam intoned, shoving another bite of pasta in his mouth. That brother was okay. He was quiet and mostly kept to himself, messing around on his laptop all day and half the night. I could respect that kind of genius, even if it wasn’t something I understood.

As much as I hated to admit it, Sean’s little relationship tips had gotten to me. I was about to make Riona a date night, even though we couldn’t go anywhere.

“You two have dish duty,” I delegated, pointing to the O’Connor men. Then I pulled Riona’s chair back from the table. “Leave the empty plate and put something warm on, then meet me out back.”

“Okay?” Her eyes narrowed, but she wandered off to do as I’d asked.

I rummaged through the cabinets and pulled out a bag of marshmallows, but couldn’t find chocolate bars or graham crackers. Sean had an entire stash of candy, however. I took a couple of packages of peanut butter cups and figured we could improvise. It was the thought that counted, right?

Sean smirked at me as he took the dishes to the sink. “Got something up your sleeve, Neretti?”

“Fuck off, O’Connor.” I pushed past him and took the food out to the fire pit, getting a fire going before finding a sweatshirt and grabbing a couple of old metal roasting sticks. It didn’t take long to brush off some dirt and set them in the flames to burn anything else off.

“What are you doing?” Riona asked as she stepped outside. She was bundled up in a throw blanket, along with her sweats and sweatshirt.

“I figured we could have makeshift s’mores,” I explained, leading her to a chair and handing her one of the roasting sticks.

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