CHAPTER EIGHT
TATA
Capone wasn’t exaggerating when he said birthdays were a big deal for the Capizzones, between the excessive amount of unicorn decorations taped to every surface and the massive amount of food, you would think little Sophia was turning sixteen instead of three.
“For crying out loud, Vito, do something! One of them is going to go through the window and I’m not going to the hospital for stitches,” Carmela shouts.
She and her husband, Vito, have four boys—Vito Jr., Gianluca, Carmine, and Antonio. They’re all eighteen months apart and apparently their favorite pastime is tying each other up with their Grandma’s curtains. I can’t wait to see what kind of trouble they will get into on Thursday when Capone and I watch them at his apartment.
“They’re boys, Carmela. They’re supposed to be wild,” Vito argues, shoving a piece of salami into his mouth.
Carmela glares at him, then turns to Lucia, the youngest of the sisters.
“Don’t do it,” she warns. “Don’t get married.”
“Are you crazy?” Mr. Capizzone roars, his eyes darting from his oldest daughter to his youngest. “Don’t listen to her. I already put a deposit on the catering hall and your mother hired her second cousin, Maria Maria to make the cake.” He points a finger at Lucia. “You’re getting married. End of story.”
I nudge Capone. Since I threatened to oust all his secrets to the club, he hasn’t left my side. I guess he really doesn’t want anyone to know he was on the boob until he turned three.
He swipes a hand over his face. “Don’t ask.”
“But…Maria Maria? That’s her name?”
“Yes,” he says, lowering his hand from his face.
Nonna, who sits on the other side of me, decides to poke me in the arm. Capone wasn’t kidding, for a tiny little thing, she sure is wicked. A point she proves when she leans over me and glares at her grandson.
“She’s too skinny. Why don’t you feed her?”
That’s another thing—apparently, she does speak English, something I learned when Capone sat next to me. I guess she only speaks Italian when she doesn’t want you to know what she’s saying. It’s like getting a pedicure. You have no idea what the technician is saying, but you know for certain she’s talking about your feet.
Nonna also thinks I’m Capone’s girlfriend. It doesn’t matter how many times he explains the situation, Granny over here still swears I’m going to carry the Capizzone heir one day. Hence the reason she’s so concerned over my weight. How’s an itty bit of a thing like me going to carry a ten-pound baby boy?
Oh, yeah, it’s going to be a boy in case you were wondering.
“Nonna—"
Pressing a hand on his thigh, I stop him from continuing. There’s no point in arguing with the old lady, she’s set in her ways. Kind of the same way Leftie is. We might as well let her hold onto the dream.
“Oh, don’t you worry, Nonna, Gianluca feeds me all the time. We’re big fans of Waffle House.”
Capone drapes an arm over the back of my chair and leans next to my ear. Goosebumps flash across my arms at the sound of his deep voice and my heart skips behind my ribs. I don’t know what’s happening, but ever since he put his hand on my thigh earlier, something inside me short circuited. Now, every time he gets too close or touches me, my body reacts in ways it shouldn’t.
“Just because I’m out of foam bullets doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways I can get my revenge on you, princess.”
He wins one Nerf gun battle and takes a single shot at my ass, and he’s a self-proclaimed sniper. Well, little does he know my aim is unmatched. Come Thursday Capone will be picking foam bullets out of places he never dreamed those little suckers could go.
Keeping my smile aimed at his grandma, I elbow him. “She doesn’t like when I call you Capone.” And judging by the way her bushy, gray eyebrows hit her hairline, she’s not fond of us eating waffles either. Suddenly, she’s muttering in Italian, reaching for the spoon that sits in the front pocket of her apron. Worried, I’ve somehow insulted the old woman, I quickly glance over at Capone.
“Did I say something wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t pay her any mind. She’s nuts.” He leans over my head and says something in Italian to her.
Can we talk about that for a second?
I had no idea Capone was bilingual. I could listen to him talk Italian all day, every day. It doesn’t even matter that I have no idea what he’s saying, it all sounds so dreamy. I’m a big fan.
Whatever he says effectively silences Nonna, and she leaves her handy dandy weapon tucked safely away in her apron.
Phew. That was a close one.
“Come on,” Capone says as he pushes out of his chair. His gaze drops to me, and he holds out his hand.
“Are we leaving already? We haven’t even sung Happy Birthday yet. Isn’t that a deal breaker?”
As crazy as the Capizzone’s are, they’re also very entertaining. I’m not ready to leave them just yet. Not to mention, I really want to see Sophia open her present. If for no other reason than to simply prove I was right to her uncle—tearing the paper is the best part of receiving a gift.
“No, we aren’t leaving. We’re just going to hang out with the only normal person in this house.”
Curious to see who he’s deemed normal out of the bunch, I slide my hand into his and let him pull me to my feet. A sharp pain shoots from my hip down my right leg and my knee gives out. I nearly fall backwards onto the chair, but Capone is quick. He releases my hand and grips my hips, holding me steady.
“Fuck,” he growls loudly.
My cheeks flame as the room suddenly becomes very quiet. I want to tell him I’m fine, that it’s no big deal—anything to take everyone’s attention off me—but the pain is so intense I can’t even speak. I close my eyes and count back from ten, praying it will pass by the time I reach one.
“Tara,” he calls, his tone abrupt and commanding. My eyes spring open and lock with his. “Same pain as last time?”
“Yeah…” I stammer. “It cramped up.”
“Eat a banana,” Nonna says. “You need potassium. I told you she’s too skinny.”
“Are you drinking enough water?” Carmela asks. “Maybe you’re dehydrated.”
“You want a shot of Sambucca? That cures everything,” Mr. Capizzone adds.
Biting through the pain, I force a weak smile.
“I’m okay. Thank you.”
Capone doesn’t seem to buy it though. While keeping one hand on my hip, he lowers himself back into the chair he vacated and pulls me between his spread thighs, inspecting my leg for any sort of visible injury.
“Where does it hurt?”
I’ve dubbed myself the queen of humiliation this week, but I think this takes the cake. I try to push his hands away, and take a step backward, but the pain is excruciating. It’s like my nerves are on fire.
“I’m fine,” I grind out. “Really.”
Not buying it for a single second, he lifts his chin and those dark eyes lock with mine.
“Where?” he clips.
Realizing he’s not going to let it go, I whisper, “Everywhere. It starts at my hip, but it winds around to my lower back and travels down my leg.”
He moves his hand to my hip, gently massaging it. Then his fingers travel north, his massive palm stilling when he reaches the span of skin exposed by my crop top. Nonna says something I can’t make out, but Capone ignores her, moving his free hand to my other hip. I’m about to tug at the hemline when he squeezes my hip. His gaze narrows and the next thing I know, he’s pulling the waistband of my jeans down an inch. I don’t care how much pain I’m in, I can’t have him touching me like this in front of his entire family, even if its innocent. My body doesn’t seem to understand that.
“Capone,” I hiss. “Everyone is watching.”
He lifts his gaze back to mine once again, completely ignoring what I said.
“You have a bump on your right hip. Did you bang into something?” He presses against it again, and I wince, tears filling my eyes as the pain intensifies. He quickly drops his hand. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I drag in a deep breath before feeling around my hip. My fingers instantly find the bump and I rack my brain, trying to recall how I could’ve gotten a knot the size of golf ball, but I don’t remember falling or anything like that. I don’t even remember seeing anything out of the ordinary when I tried on the bra earlier.
“I’ll be fine.” I glance from my right hip to my left trying to see if it’s noticeable, but everything looks normal.
Narrowing his eyes, Capone leans back in his chair. His gaze cuts across the room. “Luce, can you take a look?” He brings his eyes back to me. “Lucia is an intern at Rex Hospital in Raleigh.”
“What’s this intern business?” Mr. Capizzone grunts. “She’s a doctor. I’ve got the canceled checks from medical school to prove it. Just say she’s a doctor.”
Panic surges as I glance at Lucia who is already up and out of her chair.
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary. I really am fine.” I straighten to my full height and shake out my leg to prove there’s no need for an exam in the middle of the Capizzone dining room, that Capone is just overreacting. “See?” I say, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from cringing. “It’s just a cramp. As for the bump, well, I’m known for being clumsy.” I turn back to Capone, my eyes desperately pleading with his. “Can we give Sophia her present now?”
“Tara it’s not nothing. It’s the second time it’s happened.”
Actually, it’s the third time, but I’m not about to remind him it happened when my uncle gave me a ride home too.
“I promise I’m fine. Let’s give Sophia her present. I can’t wait to see if she likes it.”
He stares at me for a beat, then slaps his hands against his thighs.
“Yeah. Right. Whatever you want.”
Relief washes over me the moment he stands. He waits for me to take the lead, no doubt to see if I can walk without assistance. There is no masking my limp as I start for the living room, but the pain level drops from a ten to a seven. I glance over my shoulder, hoping to find Capone trailing behind me, but he remains rooted in place, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on my legs, a deep frown on his face.
“Capone.”
He lifts his eyes to meet mine.
“Stop,” I whisper, my cheeks flaming. “You’re embarrassing me in front of your family.”
Slicking his tongue over his teeth, he removes his hands from his pockets and tips his chin as he closes the distance between us and lays a hand against the small of my back.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re hurt and I’m concerned. Lucia is a doctor?—”
I cut him off.
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just a bump. I don’t need your sister to examine me in your parents dining room with your whole family watching.”
He opens his mouth to reply but I quickly press my hand to his lips
“Fine,” he relents, talking against my hand. “Lead the way, princess.”
Smiling, I drop my hand. As soon as we hit the living room Capone reveals who the only normal Capizzone is as he makes a beeline for the birthday girl. It’s also safe to say she’s his favorite of the bunch. I watch as he snatches her up from the floor where she opens presents with her mom, Annmarie, and throws her over his shoulder. Her sweet giggles fill the room as he twirls her around.
“More, Uncle G! More!”
“No more,” Annmarie calls. “She’s going to throw up all over you.” Holding her other baby girl with one arm, she smiles and shakes her head before making her way over to me. “He doesn’t listen.”
“I’m learning that.”
I plop down on the couch, mindful of my stiff leg, and offer her a smile as she takes a seat beside me.
The baby reaches for me, cooing as she wraps her chubby fist around a lock of my hair.
“Neither does this one,” Annmarie says as she tries to make quick work of prying her daughter’s fingers away from my hair. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I have two little brothers. The youngest, Theo, used to pull my hair all the time.” The baby holds out her hands for me and I lift my gaze to Annmarie. “Can I hold her?”
“No mother will ever deny a second set of arms,” she says, eagerly handing her to me. “Have at it. I’m going to grab a glass of sangria.”
The pain in my leg subsides as I sit with her, and soon it’s forgotten altogether. Capone gives Sophia her present and I watch in amusement as he lowers his tall frame onto the floor to play with her.
“Do you like princesses too?” Sophia asks as I bounce her sister on my left knee.
“Love them,” I say. “My favorite is Ariel just like you.”
Her eyes light up at that. “Did you see the movie?”
“Only about a hundred times.” I go to reach into my pocket for my phone but remember it’s in my car. “Can I borrow your phone? There’s something I want to show Sophia.”
He forks it over, and I search his apps for TikTok, when I come up empty, I balk at him. “You don’t have TikTok?”
“Not all of us are obsessed with our phones, princess.”
“You’re so quick to judge me about my phone habits, but I bet you have no idea that content creators are making bank. Some make more money than teachers, and independent journalism is on the rise.”
“Are you telling me you get paid to play on your phone?”
“I don’t play on my phone,” I hiss, tapping the screen to download the app to his phone. “I make videos, and right now I’m not eligible to receive money, but I will be in a couple of weeks.”
“What happens in a couple of weeks?”
“I turn eighteen.” The app finishes downloading and I start to create account for him. “When is your birthday?”
“What are you doing?”
“Creating a TikTok account for you.”
“I don’t want a TikTok account, Tara.”
“You can delete it later. I’m not signing into my account on your phone.” I glance at him. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
I hand him the phone. “Just add your birthday for me.”
He sighs exasperatedly, taking the phone from me. When he’s done punching in his birthday, and filling out the rest of the requested fields, he hands it back to me and takes the baby from my arms.
“What kind of videos do you post?” He asks as he juggles the squirming baby from one arm to the other.
“Well, when I first started creating content, I stuck with the latest trends, but then I posted a video of me and Mark, and it went viral. Since then, most of the videos have been about us. I haven’t posted since we broke up. I’m kind of contemplating quitting altogether.”
“Why would you do that? You just said you’re close to making money on this thing. It seems foolish to quit now.”
I really don’t feel like telling him about all the cyber bullies, especially not after I already divulged that the people at school think I’m biker trash and the only reason I’m still a virgin is because I thought I could prove everyone wrong.
“I don’t know. I’d basically be starting from scratch, and I’m not sure people will find me all that interesting,” I say honestly.
He scoffs. “You won’t know unless you try.”
“Are you encouraging me to play with my phone?” I tease as I find the video I’m looking for. “Maybe my next viral video will be of you.”
“Not a chance.”
“Hmm…give me time. I’ll change your mind. I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”
He hums thoughtfully, his gaze lowering to my lips.
“Yeah, I bet.”
My cheeks heat, and I clear my throat before turning my attention back to Sophia. She climbs on the couch next to me, her Ariel doll tucked under her arm. I press play on Capone’s phone. “This is my favorite song from the movie,” I tell her as Brent Morgan comes on the screen, singing his version of Kiss The Girl . “Do you know what part in the movie that’s from?”
“When they’re on the boat!”
I smile at her. “That’s right.”
“And Prince Eric has to kiss her so she can get her voice back. Those mean fish turn over the boat before he can though.”
“Those eels are the worst,” I agree.
She turns her attention to Capone. “Uncle G what’s your favorite part?”
I laugh. The thought of Capone actually sitting through any Disney movie, much less one about a mermaid who falls in love with a human prince, is pretty comical.
“The crab.”
My gaze cuts to him and my eyes widen.
“You’ve seen The Little Mermaid?”
“Don’t look so surprised. I’ve got four sisters, Tara. I’ve probably seen the movie more times than you have,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “How’s your leg?”
“Better,” I say, watching as he nuzzles his niece’s neck, breathing in her sweet baby scent. “You’re really good with kids.”
He continues to love on her but pauses to shoot me a pointed look.
“Don’t let my Nonna hear you say that.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. It’d be cruel to let him withstand anymore of her meddling, but damn is it amusing.
“I think they like me because they see me more as big kid than as an adult,” he says thoughtfully.
“And you’re okay with that?”
He shrugs, then bends his head to blow a raspberry on the baby’s cheek.
“It is what it is.”
Sophia hops off the couch and runs to Capone, wrapping her short little arms around one of his legs.
“Uncle G can we watch The Little Mermaid after I blow out the candles?”
He tears his eyes away from me and looks down at Sophia.
“I don’t know, kid. I’ve got to get Tara home. I tell you what, how about I come by your house one day this week, and we’ll watch it? I’ll even bring snacks.”
She puts her hands on her hips and gives the suggestion some thought.
“Fine but bring your own fruit snacks. You ate all mine last time.” She turns to me. “Will you come too?”
I glance at Capone, raising a single eyebrow.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.
“Well, I don’t want to say yes if it’s not okay with you.”
He repositions the baby in his arms.
“You didn’t care about that when you offered to watch the boys, so what’s the difference?”
I worry my lower lip between my teeth. I guess he has a point.