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My lips curl in a small smile of appreciation as I stand up, taking the same path I saw her walk through.
I rest against the doorframe, watching her as she rummages through the fridge and cabinets, pulling out ingredients.
My heart lurches in my chest as our last discussion about Frank Paterson flashes through my mind. There is no way I’d have told her that Ezra murdered Frank, and that I’m trying to cover up for him by framing a not-so-innocent man.
She cannot know the truth. Something deep in my gut hasn’t fully accepted her as an ally to my mafia business yet. And myfeelings for her have nothing to do with my business. Or, at least, I am trying to keep them separate. Besides, her dad is the Deputy Chief. She could become excited one day and decide to tell him all about the story.
“What are you making?” It slides from my tongue as a low growl, a futile attempt to reorganize my mind. The small bottles in her hands tumble to the ground as she turns around to face me, eyes wide with alarm.
“Hey, easy…”
“I’ve got it,” she snaps, her voice wavering as she bends to pick them up.
I take large strides towards her to help, but she’s got them before I can assist. My eyes catch her uncoordinated and jerky movements as she sets a pot of water on the stove and opens a jar of tomato sauce.
When she tries to cut the garlic, the knife slips, nearly nicking her finger.
“Careful,” I say, stepping forward and grabbing the knife from her. “What are you trying to make, for God’s sake?”
“Spaghetti,” she replies, not looking at me. “With meat sauce and a side of garlic bread.”
I stay back, amusement and suspicion growing side by side in my gut like twin parasites. It’s clear she’s on edge, but her fidgeting is completely uncalled for, except she has something to hide.
Still, I let her work alone since she doesn’t want my help, content with enjoying the sight of her trying to maintain control while she whips spaghetti up for dinner.
The smell of simmering sauce fills the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of buttered bread warming in the oven. Aria glances at me occasionally, her lips pressing into a tight line as if she’s willing herself not to say anything.
When she’s done, and we go out to serve the food, her father is already seated at the head of the table, looking better than he did at the hospital.
His face relaxes into a wide grin at the sight of the meal. “This looks great, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Aria blushes slightly, avoiding my gaze as she sets down the plates.
One forkful of spaghetti into my mouth, and my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Cortez. He’s called twice already. This has to be something urgent.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin, excusing myself. Aria raises a brow at me but I give her a reassuring smile and step into the hallway to take the call.
“Cortez,Parla con me(Talk to me).”
“Capo, we’ve been able to track the number from the burner phone. It belongs to Bruno Moretti…”
The rest of the words sound like a blur to my ears. My grip tightens around the phone, and my teeth gnash together in rage.
The Morettis. Bruno Moretti is just second-rate scum, and he had the audacity to rob me? He had the effrontery to infiltrate my men and turn one of them against me?
That pussy-assed fucker!
Rage spreads through my veins like wildfire. Cortez is saying something about some recovered text messages, but I don’t care. All I want is to grab Bruno by his neck and twist until his neck snaps and his bone juts out at an unnatural angle.
“Ready every ammunition you can find, Cortez. I will not let Bruno Moretti and any of his goons live to see another day. I’ll make sure I wipe their entire lineage off the surface of the earth so they find no way to exist anymore.”
“Sì, Capo.”
The line goes dead.
I begin to pace around, chewing on my lower lip, hands trembling in fury.
I had expected the attack to come from a bigger, more organized family. The Morettis are supposed to be too minute to come up with something like this against someone like me but since they’ve even attempted, there’s going to be a bloodbath now.