Page 116 of The Woman on the Jury

One we’d bought.

Since we both agreed that the culinary arts were not one of Halle’s specialties. Which was fine. There were plenty of women in the family who loved to cook, and were great at it. We would never be wanting for a hot, Italian meal.

“She’s gonna fucking love you,” I told her, my hand pressing into her lower back. “You have no idea how much she’s been waiting for this day. She had pretty much lost hope on seeing one of us bring a woman to her table.”

“She’s not going to hate me for not being able to cook?”

“No.”

“Are you just trying to appease me?” she asked, slitting her eyes at me.

“I’m not above that,” I admitted. “But no.”

“The fuck you standing out here for?” Silvano asked, coming up behind us. “Is the door locked?” he asked, then reached past Halle to push it open himself.

Sil struggled to read a room, but sometimes that worked out in my favor. I was sure we’d be standing outside the door for another ten minutes before she got up her nerve to go in.

“Hone—“ my ma started, arms outstretched toward Silvano. For all of two seconds. Before her gaze landed on Halle instead. “Oh, there she is!” she said, voice going higher. “Oh, you’re even prettier than Silvano said!” she said, making a beeline for Halle, arms still out like they were the oldest friends. “And you two look so nice together,” she added as she pulled Halle in for a hug. The big kind. Because she somehow knew that Halle would allow that more than her sons would.

The strangest thing happened, though.

All the stiffness left Halle’s body as my ma’s arms went around her, pulling her close. A split second later, Halle’s arms went around my ma as well.

I wondered if this was something she felt she’d been missing since losing her own mother. That some part of her was craving that maternal touch. If that was the case, I was happy to share mine with her. And, Lord knew, my ma would be over the fucking moon about the situation.

“I’ve heard so many amazing things about you,” Ma said, her hand going around Halle’s waist, and leading her into the kitchen.

“Nice to see you too, Ma,” Silvano said, shooting a smirk my way. “How long you think this is gonna satisfy her before she gets on my ass about not having a woman?” he asked.

“Oh, you probably have six months. Maybe a year.”

“She’s gonna have to get used to disappointment. I got no fucking interest in that.”

“Only got time and space in your life for dead bodies, huh?” I asked, but for once, he didn’t rise to the bait.

Something fundamental had changed between us that day when the brothers were found dead and the other arrested for their murders. No, we weren’t like some of the other brothers in the Family, but we were closer than we’d ever been. We still fought, but not with the bitterness of old. Hell, we even shared non-family meals twice.

My life suddenly had a lot of balance and harmony, and I really couldn’t place the praise on anyone other than Halle for all of it.

“Ah, Ma,” I called as she pushed Halle toward a pot on the stove. “I don’t think you want her cooking,” I added, getting huge eyes from my mother, who was clearly horrified by my behavior.

“Cosimo Costa,” she snapped, ready to sink her teeth into me. She didn’t scold us much, not even when we were younger. She knew we got enough of that shit from my father. But when she did, it was always about us being rude.

“No, no, he’s not being mean,” Halle assured her. “I’m really not a good cook,” she told her. “We kind of just… order in or go out,” she added.

“Don’t worry, honey,” she said, handing her a spoon. “You’ve got this. I’m right here to keep an eye. Don’t listen to the boys.”

Enjoying the us-versus-them thing, Halle shot a smile in our direction.

“Right? They don’t know how to cook either,” she insisted. “What?” she asked at my ma’s look. “Do they? Do you know how to cook?” Halle asked, shooting small eyes at me.

“Yeah, I know how to cook.”

“Like grill a steak and scramble an egg, orcook?” she asked. Because, yeah, Halle could cook an egg or flip a grilled cheese. Even make mostly edible pasta. It was in the more complicated meals where she floundered.

“Cook,” I admitted.

“I’ve been living with you for about a month,” she said, fired up about this for some reason. “And we have eaten out for almost every meal. And you cancook? Well, you’re cooking dinner tomorrow night then,” she said, lifting her chin in a way that I knew meant she was gonna dig her heels in about it.

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