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“Alfredo is a fast and easy sauce. It’s kind of silly to use a jar,” he told me, going into the fridge to pull out a big block of parmesan cheese, garlic cloves, butter, and heavy cream. “This is pretty much all there is to it. Plus some salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning. Once you grate the cheese, the whole process takes something like ten minutes. And that,” he said when there was a knock at the door that had me jumping embarrassingly hard. “Is the chicken and broccoli,” he told me. “But also… why I do need to have a guard around here,” he said, voice soft as he ran a hand over the top of mine on the island before going to open the door.
There was some quiet talking in the hallway before Elian was leaning inside. “Baby, do you want to meet the guard? Just so you feel more comfortable with him?”
“Oh, okay. Sure,” I said, suddenly very aware of my lack of a bra. Which had been an enticing feeling a moment before when it was just the two of us, but now made me feel a little too exposed.
I rolled my shoulders forward a bit so the material wasn’t highlighting the lack of undergarment, then plastered a small smile on my lips as Elian opened the door for the guard.
Which was good.
Because I was pretty sure my mouth would have been catching flies if I hadn’t already been smiling.
I mean, what the hell?
Were all the men in the mafia ridiculously handsome?
“Elizabeth, this is my cousin Serano. Serano, this is Elizabeth,” he said, waving between us as I let my eyes quickly run over the man.
He was tall and fit like Elian, if maybe a little more bulky, like he enjoyed more time at the gym. His hair was dark, but shorn shorter. There was a golden hint to his eyes and an impressive amount of thick lashes around them.
It was the facial structure that was different. Serano had a wide, square jaw that I was pretty sure could cut glass, sunken cheeks, and a broody forehead. There was a nasty gash down his cheek that looked like it was a few days into healing.
There was something a little menacing about him, despite him seeming to be a few years younger than Elian.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, offering him my hand, something that was a knee-jerk habit at this point after working in politics for the past year and a half.
His brows furrowed, but he reached out a strong arm and his wide, calloused hand slipped into mine.
“Yeah,” he said, the one syllable spoken in a deep, growly voice that I was pretty sure would have most women swooning. I would have been one of them if he wasn’t a little too young for me, and if I wasn’t completely enamored by his elder cousin.
Elian rolled his eyes at his cousin’s manners.
“We’re making fettuccini alfredo,” I told him. “We’ll save you a plate,” I added. “Don’t worry, Elian is actually doing the cooking. I’m hopeless in the kitchen.”
“You’re learning,” Elian said, defending me against myself.
“Sounds good,” Serano said, giving me a nod. Apparently, a solid home-cooked meal melted even a big, cold guy like Serano. “We good?” he asked, looking at Elian.
“Yeah,” he agreed, shaking his head at his cousin’s retreating form. “Don’t take offense. He’s so fucking reclusive that this little interaction likely filled his social battery for the week. Or month,” he admitted with a little chuckle.
“I don’t remember him in your stories about your family,” I said.
“I have a pretty big extended family,” he admitted. “Some of the other more extroverted people made for better stories. But Serano works for me. So does his younger brother, but you probably won’t be meeting him unless I need someone to fill in,” he told me, taking the items out of the bag that Serano had brought over.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Grate the cheese or cut the broccoli up,” he said, waving between my options.
“I’ll do both. I’ll leave the ingredients most likely to give us food poisoning to you,” I said, looking at the chicken. “Where’s your cheese grater?” I asked, then watched him produce this thing with a crank that suctioned to the island. It made the grating take all of five minutes. Then I was moving onto the broccoli as Elian started to sear the chicken in a pan.
“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t notice how much butter and heavy cream is in this,” I said a while later, wincing as I whisked the sauce in a pan, the heady scent of garlic wafting up to me and making my stomach let out a grumble.
“Hey, it’s got protein and vegetables too,” Elian reasoned.
“I’ll need to do an extra hour on the stair climber to burn it off, but if this tastes half as good as it smells, it will be totally worth it. Oh,” I said, brows lowering.
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t go to my gym anymore,” I told him.