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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Santo

Something was going on with Dasha.

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about the way she sat silently in the car on the way to Famiglia, about even the way she looked at me in the garage, that wasn’t sitting right with me.

Some of the worries fell away as we were led to one of the back booth tables without having to wait—a major perk of being related to the owners—and she looked around the restaurant with wonder-filled eyes.

“Your family owns this?” she asked, pretty eyes scanning the wine wall behind the bar.

“My cousin Luca, yeah. And, technically, my Uncle Antony,” I said, gesturing over toward where Uncle Ant was standing beside a table, a woman’s hand clasped between both of his.

You wouldn’t know by looking at him now—the friendly, outgoing, warm restaurateur—that Antony Grassi had once ruled our Family with an iron grip. Times had been different when he’d been coming up. Harder. More unstable. Our Family name didn’t have the same respect back then. So he’d needed to force everyone to know they couldn’t fuck with us. Word was, it was violent and scary times, culminating in Antony’s wife—Luca and Matteo’s mom—being murdered in their own home.

Antony had been a ruthless and fierce boss in his day. But once he’d handed over the reins to his eldest son, he got to relax into retirement, becoming the warm and lovable patriarch of the family, instead of the boss of the Family.

“That’s your uncle? You know, I can see a bit of a family resemblance,” Dasha declared. “He’s aged really well.”

“Quit eye-fucking my uncle,” I demanded, making a surprised laugh escape her.

“Hey, if you age half that well, you’re going to be a real silver fox one day.”

“I’ll keep that… oh, we’re spotted,” I said, seeing Uncle Ant making a beeline for us, stopping only to scoop a bottle of wine off the wall. From a high shelf. Uncle Ant always did like to show off a bit.

“Santo!” Uncle Ant declared as he got close to the table, tucking the bottle under his arm as he raised an arm.

I slid out of the booth, letting him grab the back of my neck as I gave him a quick hug. “Uncle Ant. How you been?”

“You know me,” was his answer, releasing me. “But I don’t know this lovely young lady.”

I barely managed to hold back an eye roll.

“Uncle Ant, this is Dasha. Dasha, this is my uncle, Antony. Dasha is Phil’s niece,” I explained. “From Phil’s Autos.”

“Of course! Phil. I heard about him. I’m sorry for your loss, honey,” he said, practically shoving the bottle of wine at me so he could hold Dasha’s hand between both of his.

“Thank you,” she said, giving him one of her megawatt smiles. “It’s so nice to meet you. This place is fantastic.”

“Wait until you try the food!”

“Santo was telling me it is even better than Lucky’s food. Which is hard to believe.”

“Best around,” Uncle Ant said, too proud to be humble. “Save for your mother’s cooking, of course,” he added, looking at me. “And Adrian’s as well. Have you brought her to Giulia’s table yet?” he asked, making me almost groan.

“Uh, no,” I admitted. “I haven’t seen Ma in a bit,” I added. I wouldn’t say the silent part out loud: I haven’t told my mother about Dasha. Though, I knew how information traveled in my family. She’d likely know by the end of the night.

Then, fuck, then I would never hear the end of it.

I could just hear my mother already. Who is this girl your uncle saw you with? When am I going to meet her? Bring her to Sunday dinner. Does she want children? Can she cook?

“I can’t believe he’s been keeping you from us,” Uncle Ant went on.

“Oh, no. It’s not… we’re…” Dasha tried to defend me.

But what were we?

What were we doing?

Clearly, neither of us had any idea.

“Oh, you’re always not until you are,” Uncle Ant said with a gleam in his eye. “Well, I won’t keep you from this lovely lady. Please enjoy your meal. Santo, you need to go see your mother,” he said, tone just shy of scolding.

“Um, can he be my uncle?” Dasha asked when I slid back into the booth. “He’s… a lot. But in a good way.”

“That’s pretty much how you can describe my whole family,” I admitted, spreading the napkin on my lap as the server came up to pour our wine. “Do you drink?” I asked.

“I don’t not drink,” she said with a shrug as she reached for her wineglass.

All I could think about as I watched her take a sip was how good that wine would taste on her lips.

My mind flashed back to her house, to her straddling me, to the soft skin of her ass in my hands, her little moans in my ears, the wetness of her pussy on my fingers…

“Oh my God,” Dasha said, eyes round. “If this is what wine is supposed to taste like, I’ve never had wine before.”

“Uncle Ant knows all the best,” I agreed, swirling my glass on the table, then taking a sip.

“So, since you had such good choices at Lucky’s, what is the best this place has to offer?” she asked, picking up her menu.

I ordered the Alfredo, she ordered the eggplant parm, and we agreed to share.

Though I suddenly wished I’d ordered every kind of pasta on the menu as she took her first bite and let out a moan that was damn near erotic.

“Oh my God. Wait… why is that so good? Like, the noodles even.”

“It’s made fresh daily,” I explained.

“Wait… the pasta is made fresh daily?”

“The pasta, the mozzarella, the ricotta, the bread… Basically, anything that can be made daily is made here.”

“I’ve never had fresh pasta before. I always just, you know, drop the boxed pasta into the water. Wait, you said you can cook. Do you make fresh pasta?”

“I don’t often, but I can. I worked in the kitchen here as a teen. Most of us did. So I learned all sorts of cooking tips and tricks, much to my mother’s dismay.”

“Why dismay?”

“Because she’d been teaching me for years and I wasn’t exactly the best student. But in one summer here, I learned the shit she tried to show me.”

“So, what is your signature dish? If you had to impress someone, what would you make them?”

“I make a mean manicotti,” I told her, pushing my plate closer when she reached to twirl another forkful. I didn’t even care if she left me any at that point. I was just loving watching her enjoy.

“Do you bake too, or is it strictly cooking?”

“I never got super into baking, but I can make some good brownies. My sister used to demand I make them monthly back when we both lived at home.”

“Brownies are my favorite dessert. Especially if there is some vanilla ice cream and whipped cream involved.”

“And cherries?”

“I mean, what kind of monster would turn down cherries?”

I had sudden visions of bringing her à la mode brownies. In bed. Naked.

Hell, I was about to suggest we stop for the ingredients on the way to her place when we finished up our meal.

“No, you have to let me chip in at least,” she said as I slipped cash into the bill binder.

“Absolutely not,” I said, slipping out of the booth.

“But—“

“But nothing. This is where, if I were a cheesier man, I might say that the pleasure of your company is all the payment I need.”

“Well, of course, you aren’t that cheesy,” she said, shooting that big smile at me. “Though, secretly, I kind of like cheesy,” she added as we made our way out onto the deck. “This must be nice in the warmer weather,” she said, looking out at the water.

“Best place in town,” I agreed. “They usually bring in live music too. They close for the 4 th of July, and the whole family comes to watch the fireworks over the water.”

“That sounds amazing,” she said as we made our way toward the steps.

The stairs were slippery from the sea, and Dasha slipped on the last step, sending her falling into my arms.

It was practically a fucking movie moment.

And she was looking up at me with stars in her eyes.

Until my fucking phone started to ring in my pocket.

“Sorry,” I said when she stepped back.

“Don’t be,” she insisted, shaking her head as I reached for my phone.

I was expecting my mom, full of accusations and questions. Instead, it was Luca.

That was unexpected.

“Luca, can I—“

“Santo, get down to the docks,” he demanded, sounding like he, too, was rushing to get there.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Dunno yet. But I need you there as soon as possible.”

“Okay. Alright. I have—“ I started, but he’d already hung up.

“You need to be somewhere?” Dasha asked. I had to give her credit; she was trying really hard not to sound disappointed. But I was getting good at reading her.

“Unfortunately.”

“It’s okay! I can order a ride,” she said, already reaching for her phone.

“No,” I said.

“It’s fine! I used them all the time back in my old town.”

“Dasha, no,” I said, walking us toward my car. “You’re on my way,” I added, mostly telling the truth.

I knew they’d come a long way since their inception, but I still didn’t feel like rideshares were safe. We kind of forbade the girls in our family from using them. Which went over about as well as you can imagine. Smush used to use them just to spite us, despite having her own car.

We made our way back to her place, and the whole way there, I noticed her tension growing. I wanted to ask why. I wanted to park and go inside with her. I wanted to suffocate between her thighs, to settle deep inside her. Then I wanted to make her brownies in bed.

But there was no time for any of that.

“Thanks for dinner,” Dasha said, giving me a smile that didn’t meet her eyes as she fished for her keys.

“Anytime, sweetheart. I’ll wait until you get inside,” I said, knowing I was only a few minutes away from the docks. And I could speed there after this.

With that, Dasha climbed out.

By the time she stepped inside, her shoulders were damn near by her ears.

But she went inside.

The lights through the whole house flicked on.

And I couldn’t sit there idling for another second.

Sighing, I floored it the rest of the way to the docks, finding several cars and SUVs parked haphazardly in the lot where the other Family members had already pulled up and run off to… whatever possible danger there was.

I rushed out of the car, going into the trunk, and pulling out a gun and extra ammunition as another car pulled up behind me.

“Any idea what is going on?” Dante asked, gun already in hand as he came up to me.

“Not a fucking clue. But everyone’s gone so… let’s move,” I said, nodding toward the rows and rows of shipping containers, some stacked five or six high, creating a labyrinth where any kind of danger could be hiding.

My brother and I tensed as footsteps crept around the corner toward us. We wordlessly started to part, spreading out to the sides of the alley to be able to confront the person from both sides.

“Whoa, just me,” Milo said, holding up a hand.

“Who are we looking for?” I asked.

“Fuck if I know. I was just told to get down here. When I got here, everyone was already in the docks.”

“You haven’t run into anyone yet?”

“You know this place, man. Goes on forever. Dunno how far ahead of me everyone got here. But we’re better moving together,” he said. “This is a dead-end. Let’s go back the other way.”

With that, the three of us set off as a unit, someone always having the others’ backs. But the deeper we got, the more confused we were becoming.

There were no yells, no sounds of fighting, no gunshots. Nothing.

Panic had my stomach clenching, wondering if our cousins and brothers were somewhere in there, shot, dying, dead.

It wasn’t often that we had trouble at the docks. Luca had great security around the place. But, shit, a lot of illegal stuff came through the docks. And where illegal stuff was, so were people trying to jack it and sell it for themselves.

That said, that wasn’t usually cause for Luca to call everyone in.

“Got one!” someone yelled from somewhere deeper in the same general area we were walking in. With that, we started to run until, finally, we found Lucky kneeling on the back of someone on the ground all in black.

Beneath him, the guy was struggling. “Get the fuck off of me,” he snarled.

Lucky adjusted his hold, grabbing something and pushing it back toward us.

It slid across the ground to come to a stop a few feet from us.

A gun.

For a split second, it fooled even me—someone who’d been around guns of all sorts since I was toddling.

It looked, at first blush, like a semi-automatic.

But before Milo even picked it up, I could tell something was off about it.

“It’s a fucking paintball gun,” he declared.

“You’re fucking with me,” Lucky said.

“See?” Milo said, lifting the gun, pointing it at one of the shipping containers, and pulling the trigger. A neon green splat spread across the blue metal.

“Are you out of your motherfucking mind?” Lucky asked, grabbing the guy by the back of his shirt and hauling him to his feet.

“Fuck you,” the guy snarled, looking up at all of us.

It was then that I realized he was just a kid. Late teens, maybe. Brown hair, brown eyes, splotchy, acne-covered skin. “I’m not talking without my lawyer.”

“We’re not the fucking cops, you moron,” Milo said, snorting.

“Come on,” Lucky said, half-dragging the kid along with him as he started off in the direction he’d come from.

“I want my attorney,” the kid demanded.

“You’re gonna need a dentist if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Lucky grumbled.

“You can’t hit me.”

“Kid, don’t try me,” Lucky said as we broke out of the row of containers to find several of the other guys had rounded up other kids dressed the same, some with green splotches of paint on their all-black clothing, others with bright pink.

“Here’s another idiot,” Lucky said, shoving the kid toward the group, all of whom were on their knees.

The other kids had the good sense to look scared.

“They can’t keep us here against our will,” the kid Lucky grabbed declared to the crew.

Two girls shushed him.

Another boy—much taller and wider—glared at him. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t you know who they are?”

“I don’t give a fuck who they are,” the kid declared, starting to get to his feet.

Until our cousin Domenico—fresh out of prison and fucks—moved in, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the kid’s temple.

“Give a fuck now?” Dom snarled.

That was the moment I was pretty sure the kid legitimately pissed himself.

But he lowered back down to his knees.

Who could blame him? Even if you didn’t know Dom had been to prison, he was an intimidating guy. Tall, well-built, with a jaw of granite, unreadable black eyes, and an aura about him that suggested everyone give him a wide berth.

“Dom,” Luca said, his voice somehow firm and soft at the same time.

Dom stepped back, holding up his hands—one with the gun still in it—in a placating gesture.

Luca launched into it then. A speech that was half mafia boss, half understanding but annoyed dad.

“To sum it up,” Dom said when Luca finished speaking. “Don’t be a bunch of fucking dumbasses, and you won’t get shot. Now fuck off.”

Luca shook his head, but he was smiling as the kids quickly disbanded.

“Can I, uh, have my paintball gun back?” the kid asked, coming up to Milo. Up close, yep, he’d definitely pissed himself. I almost felt bad. Almost. But then I remembered the nice night he and his dumbass friends had ruined.

“Christ,” Matteo sighed as soon as the kids were all out of sight.

“I mean, that’s the kinda shit I’d have done as a teen,” Lucky admitted. “But I woulda been smart enough not to do it on fucking mob turf. Alright. I got a cold dinner at home,” he said, shaking his head as he lumbered off.

A couple of the other guys who’d arrived before us headed out, leaving me there with my brother, Luca, and Dom.

“Sorry to pull you guys away from what you were doing. Got a call from some of the guys here who said there were a dozen people closing in on the docks. It wasn’t until after I got here that they told me about the semi-automatics.”

“Eh, I was just at the gym,” Dante said. Built like a brick wall, Dante was always at the damn gym. “It’s still open now.”

“You know where I was,” Milo said with a shrug.

“I was at Famiglia,” I admitted, knowing Luca would be hearing about it by the morning anyway. “But I was heading out.”

“Me?” Dom asked when everyone looked at him. “I was sitting in the park.”

“The park?” Milo asked.

“Watching birds.”

“You were in the park… watching birds?” Dante asked, dubious.

“Been in a cement cell for years, man. You miss birds.”

“Sure, sure,” Milo said, but his brows were raised.

“You want to come over for some food?” Luca asked.

“Or we can hit a bar and chat up some girls,” Milo suggested.

“That’s the winner,” Dom said, giving Luca a nod before following Milo away.

When it was just the two of us, Luca sighed and ran a hand down his face. “So, Famiglia.”

“Yep,” I agreed, rocking back on my heels.

“When my father fills me in, is there gonna be a pretty woman involved?”

“Yep.”

“And this pretty woman, would she happen to be Phil’s niece?” To that, I offered him a shrug. “Thought so. That little talk we had…”

“Went in one ear and out the other,” I finished for him.

“Thought it would. Well, let me know where I can send the engagement gift.”

“It’s not like that.”

To that, Luca let out a laugh.

“Oh, Santo. Yeah, it is.”

With that, he walked off to his car, leaving me alone in the lot. Save for the security crew that was still lingering around, doing their jobs.

As I walked back to my car, I reached into my pocket for my phone, ready to text Dasha and ask if she wanted some company.

Only to remember that I’d forgotten—again—to get her damn number.

And I didn’t want to start giving her stalker vibes by showing up at her place or the garage again.

It looked like I was going to need to wait until the next payment date to see her.

“Fuuuuck,” I sighed, sliding into my seat and slamming my head back on the rest.