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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Dasha

I was actually sore.

Like in all my muscles sore.

My thighs groaned as I forced them to carry my weight to the bathroom. My stomach muscles even felt achy, like I’d done a thousand sit-ups.

I mean, I wasn’t complaining. Santo’s stamina the night before meant I’d nearly seen into a new dimension with the last orgasm or two.

It had been incredible.

I even got little flutters at the memory.

In fact, I got flutters pretty much anytime I thought about Santo.

I was pretty damn sure at this point that I was no longer just crushing on the man, but had fallen. Hard, in fact.

It didn’t seem like it should be possible so soon. But the more time I spent with him, the more sure I felt about him, about a future, about rings and babies and forevers.

I squinted at the light shining in through the blinds in the bathroom, confused why it was so bright outside.

Had I overslept?

Why hadn’t Santo woken me up?

As I brushed my teeth, I went back to grab my phone, my eyes nearly bugging out of my head at the time I saw there.

I was late. Like an hour late for work.

I hated being late. I was one of those ‘if you’re not early, you’re late’ people. And while I understood that I was the boss and I had no set schedule, I felt like I needed to be at the shop at a reasonable hour.

So I forewent the shower I really wanted, pulling my messy hair back into a lazy ponytail, and slipped into the first dress I grabbed, put my feet into ballet flats, and rushed downstairs.

“Santo?” I called, following the scent of coffee to the kitchen. But the burner under the pot was already off.

Santo had been gone for a while. He would have had hot coffee for me otherwise.

There was a bag on the counter and a notepad beside it.

Already late, I decided I could quickly butter a bagel to eat as I drove to work.

I read Santo’s note, not realizing I was smiling at just the thought of him stopping to write it for me.

Bagel in one hand—and Santo’s note in my other because I wanted to look at it again later like the lovesick fool I was—I made my way toward the front door where my purse was sitting.

I could have gone back to the kitchen to exit the back door, but I reached to set the security system at the front door instead.

I didn’t realize my mistake until I turned the knob and pulled the door open.

And there he was.

My attacker.

I knew it the second I saw his face.

Because there was no other conceivable reason for him to be there at Santo’s door otherwise.

David.

The only person at the shop that I’d figured was at least halfway decent.

The thief of my ducky and bunny mug.

The only one to ever offer me a kind word or smile.

Thankfully, my mind was working fast.

Before I could even blink, I was slamming the door.

David was just as quick, though, throwing his arm in the opening, preventing me from closing and locking it.

I shoved my weight against the door. I knew I wasn’t strong enough to keep him out. Our last encounter showed me that when it came to one-on-one fighting, he was going to have the upper hand.

But I had other strengths here.

Like knowing the layout.

Like knowing where the knife drawer was.

Where the eye gouger and pepper spray that Dom had dropped off for me were sitting.

Where the exits were.

Where, even, Santo kept a spare gun, already loaded.

Granted, I still didn’t actually know much about guns—let alone my ability to use one effectively—but I figured point and shoot couldn’t be all that hard.

But before I made a mad dash toward any of those ways to get free or stand and fight, I needed to reach behind the door and hit the emergency button on the security panel.

Two nights before, we’d been leaving to go pick up some supplies for dessert; Santo had paused and shown me the control panel for the security system.

He’d showed me how to arm it for when I wanted to leave the house—and how long I had to get out of the house before the alarm started to ring. He gave me the passcode for the unlikely event that I didn’t get out fast enough and the security company called the house.

And, more so than anything else, he’d explained to me a nifty feature he’d had installed that I’d never even heard of before.

There was a button on the side of the panel that, when pressed for three seconds, triggered an emergency alert to everyone in Santo’s Family, letting them know that something bad was going down.

He assured me that if anyone got that alert, they would drop everything to rush to the house.

Armed.

Ready to do whatever it took to help.

Behind my back, the door pressed forward, making me dig in my heels and press harder against it. My already aching thighs cried out at the strain as my arm stretched out, trying to reach the side of the security panel.

“Come on,” I grumbled. But my fingertips just didn’t quite touch.

I had a choice to make.

Keep trying to bar the door.

Or hit the button and get some help on the way.

There was really no choice at all.

I’d barely survived one fight with David. I was terrified he would come at me harder if given another chance.

Sucking in a steadying breath, I moved another foot over, lessening my hold on the door, but finally allowing my finger to press into the emergency button.

There was a quiet beep that told me the alert had been triggered.

With that, I looked toward the dining room.

All I had to do was get through there and into the kitchen.

There I would have another exit.

Knives.

Heavy pans.

Decision made, I turned and ran.

Behind me, the door knocked against the wall as it flew open.

He was coming.

I ran around the table, making a beeline for the kitchen.

I could hear his footfalls behind me.

Despite not knowing the floor plan, he was gaining on me.

Desperation could do amazing things.

But so could the desire to, you know, survive.

I flew through the doorway into the kitchen.

When David ran to the right—cutting off my exit toward the driveway—I ran toward the island, putting it between us, getting flashbacks of being chased through the garage, of putting a car between us.

The island wasn’t quite as good an option as a car, but it did happen to be home to one of Santo’s massive—and ridiculously heavy—cast iron pans.

“You’re not getting away this time,” David snarled, inching around the island.

I knew the smart thing to do was conserve my energy, to save my breath. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself from throwing something at him that I wasn’t sure he’d considered.

“Do you have any idea who I’m dating?” I asked, watching his body closely for even the slightest sign of movement, knowing even a second of warning could be the difference between life and death.

“Don’t give a fuck who you’re dating.”

“Not even if he’s in the mafia?” I asked, getting a second of satisfaction at the stunned look on his face. But just as quickly as it flashed at me, it was gone.

And then he lunged over the island, grabbing my arm as I tried to rush away.

I kept moving, but my shoulder screamed as he pulled harder.

Ignoring the pain, I forced myself to keep moving forward, arm thrown out, reaching for the drawer.

It wasn’t where the knives lived, but there was a heavy meat tenderizer in there. I knew because the stupid thing kept making it hard to open the drawer that also featured spatulas and tongs.

“Think the people I work for give a single fuck about the mob?” he growled, yanking me back so hard that I had no choice but to abandon my hopes of tenderizing him to death just to ease the shooting pain up my shoulder.

Panic gripped me—a hand tightening around my throat, cutting off my air.

But almost as quickly as it started, it was chased away with something newer, stronger.

Anger.

It was one thing to be attacked in the shop. To have him break into my uncle’s house.

But to come for me here—this place that had been home to nothing but passion and tenderness and excitement and, yes, love—and attack me?

That was unacceptable.

David pulled me back against him, his hand going from my shoulder to my throat.

Before I even really knew my intention, I ducked my chin to my chest. Then, with everything in me, I threw my head back.

I was too short compared to him to make contact with his nose, but I felt the solid jut of his chin against my skull.

David let out a howl of pain, and his hand loosened just enough for me to duck down and rush forward.

David recovered fast, though. And then hands were shoving hard into my shoulders, sending me stumbling forward too quickly to brace myself.

I collided hard with the fridge.

The pain was minor, but the impact made my breath rush out of me.

The pain when David grabbed my hair and yanked hard enough to force me to my knees, though, was enough to make me cry out.

I reached back, trying to grab my hair to lessen the sting across my scalp. But he was quicker, wrapping my hair around his fist. Once. Twice. Then yanking harder.

“Give me the shit,” he snarled.

“I don’t have it,” I insisted, my voice a shriek.

“Bullshit. Give me the fucking keys and unit numbers, or I swear to fuck, I will—”

I have no idea what the rest of that threat was going to entail.

Because one second, he was snarling at me and yanking my hair so hard I was shocked it didn’t just come out of my scalp. The next, there was a loud thwack followed by a slamming sound, and the hold on my hair released.

“That was enough of that, don’t you think?” a woman’s voice asked, making my heart shoot up into my throat as I swiveled around on my knees.

There was David, lying prone on the floor just a few inches from me.

Spread all around him was… food?

Ravioli and red sauce were… everywhere.

Including on the neat cream pant legs of the woman standing there, an empty cast iron skillet still in her hand.

She was a short woman with her black hair pulled half up and secured with a claw clip. Her face featured some laughter lines around her lips and near her eyes, but her beauty was timeless.

And very, very familiar.

I’d seen her face smiling from the center of the only framed family portrait Santo owned that lived on the mantel.

This was Giulia Grassi.

Santo’s mom .

I barely managed to hold back a groan. I’d imagined being introduced to Giulia a few times since getting together with Santo. I imagined handing her a plate of handmade cookies or a savory side dish. Or maybe just flowers. I figured I would compliment her home, would say it was such a pleasure to meet her.

Never once, in any of those imaginings, had I thought to picture myself on my knees in Santo’s kitchen, chest heaving with my ragged breath, eyes wide and confused.

But then I remembered.

The emergency button.

I’d figured it had just gone out to the men in the Family, but maybe it went out to… everyone. Mafia mama bear included.

“We have to move fast,” Giulia said, placing her cast iron skillet down on the island. “It isn’t like the movies. He’s going to wake up.”

Her calm seemed infectious.

I scrambled forward, turning David onto his stomach, then climbing onto him, knees digging into his back. I reached for his hands, wrenching them up to the center of his back.

“I think there are zip ties in the laundry room,” I called to Giulia.

She ran off to search, coming back a moment later with the package. She’d just managed to get David’s wrists cuffed with three zip ties as he started to groan beneath me.

He came awake like a caged animal—writhing, thrashing, and making me slip around in the lukewarm sauce and ravioli as I tried to keep him down.

I was worried I was about to lose the battle when, suddenly, there were footsteps rushing in through the front of the house.

“Santo?” a man called.

Then, almost at the same time, the back door flew open.

“Dasha?”

I looked up to see Massimo running into the kitchen, a gun raised. “Ma?” he asked after quickly taking in the man on the floor beneath me.

“Mass,” Giulia said. “Aurelio,” she added, nodding to the other man.

“Aunt G, what are you doing here?” Aurelio asked. He tucked his gun away. Massimo kept his out.

“I got the alert.”

“And decided to serve the fucker ravioli?” Mass asked, lips twitching.

“I was on the way to August’s house with lunch. The ravioli had to be sacrificed,” Giulia said, giving me a soft look.

“Dasha, hon, how about you let me take him?” Aurelio asked, moving closer.

“Oh, sure. Of course,” I said, accepting Massimo’s hand to help me onto my feet in the slippery sauce.

Then Aurelio reached down and lifted David to his feet in an impressive feat of strength.

“Santo?” another voice called.

In rushed another Massimo, Dante, and Santo lookalike. The oldest brother, Nino. “Ma?” he asked, jerking to a stop.

“Bring your car into the garage,” Aurelio said, struggling with a wriggling David.

“Fuck you. I’m gonna fucking—“

That was another threat he didn’t get to finish.

Because Giulia raised her trusty skillet and whacked him in the head again, making him go immediately limp.

“Ma!” Mass called.

“Nice shot,” Aurelio said at almost the same time, dragging a now unconscious David toward the door to the garage.

“None of us wanted to listen to his empty threats,” Giulia said, shrugging.

“Where is Santo?” Massimo asked, looking around, his gaze settling on me.

“He’s… working. You know… with Dante and Dom.”

To that, Mass nodded. He tucked his gun away.

“Alright. You alright? Did he hurt you?”

“Just my hair,” I said, reaching up to rub my aching scalp.

“That’s not blood on you?” he asked, gaze sliding down to my legs.

My gaze followed, and a strange little laugh escaped me. “No. No, that’s pasta sauce.”

“Good. Smart using the emergency button.”

“Santo showed me it this weekend.”

“Of course he did,” Giulia said, eyes warm. “He wants to make sure you’re safe. Even if he hasn’t told his mother that he’s clearly dating someone seriously.”

“Oh. It’s, you know, kind of… new,” I said, rushing to defend Santo.

“Nah, don’t worry,” Massimo said. “She’s just got a weird way of saying she’s happy,” he told me, giving his mom a small smile. “Since Santo isn’t here, I’ll do the introductions. Ma, this is Dasha. Dasha, this is my mom G—“

“Giulia,” I said, reaching my hand out to her. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I can’t wait to hear about you. It seems several of my boys have been keeping you from me.”

“Ma…” Massimo started.

“What the fuck is going—“ another voice called, running through the house until he found all of us.

And there he was.

Augustine.

The youngest brother.

The three of them started to talk, so I grabbed tea towels and paper towels, then lowered myself down to the floor to gather up the ravioli and sop up the oily pasta sauce that didn’t want to be cleaned.

I was still on my hands and knees cleaning when more footsteps came rushing inside the house.

“Dasha!” Santo’s voice was raised and just shy of frantic. “Dasha!”

“She’s in here,” August called back.

“She’s alright,” Mass added.

“Thanks to Ma,” August added as Santo came running into the doorway, his gaze scanning the room until he found me.

“Dasha,” he said. All his tension drained out of him as he dropped down to his knees on the still-messy floor, and dragged me against him—pasta sauce and all.

“I’m okay,” I assured him, feeling the way his arms shook as he held me. “I’m alright. Thanks to your mom,” I added, my voice getting tight with how hard he was squeezing me.

“My mom?” he asked.

“Hi, yes, me,” Giulia called, making me turn to see her raising her hand. “The one who birthed you. Eighteen agonizing hours. No epidural. That mom.”

Santo hooked an arm around me, keeping me close as he pulled us up to our feet.

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe your girl could explain if you weren’t actively trying to strangle her to death,” August suggested.

“Shut up,” Mass said, backhanding August across the stomach.

“Santo?” another voice called, making August tip his head to look at the ceiling.

“This is becoming a circus act.”

I didn’t recognize his voice at first. But as he strode into the room—all charming silver hair and warm eyes—I placed it.

Antony Grassi.

The man I’d met at Famiglia.

“Oh, Dasha,” Antony said, giving me a smile before his gaze scanned the room, taking everything in. “Still good with a skillet, eh, Giulia?” he asked, eyes twinkling as he looked at Santo’s mom.

“Can’t let the men have all the fun,” Giulia shot back.

A few more faces joined the crowd over the next few minutes. But most filed out when Aurelio came in from the garage, giving them a hard look.

“Santo, why don’t you take your girl upstairs and run her a nice tub?” Giulia suggested.

“I think I will do that,” Santo agreed, leading me through the house and up the stairs. We climbed silently. We even stood silently as he reached for my zipper, then slowly peeled my clothes off of me in the bathroom.

He ran the tub, then wet a washcloth to wipe the pasta sauce off my legs before helping me into the water.

He surprised me by stripping out of his own clothes, climbing in behind me, and pulling me against his chest.

“I thought I lost you today,” he admitted, his arms going around me as the water slowly filled in around us.

“You almost did,” I told him.

Sure, it was possible I would have found a blunt or sharp object to fight back with. But it was just as likely that David would have overpowered and strangled me. Or beaten me to death.

“I remembered the emergency button,” I told him. “And your mom got the alert. She beat David with a skillet. Twice.”

“That sounds like Ma,” Santo said, fingers moving absentmindedly over my skin. “She doesn’t involve herself in the business, but if shit goes down, she has always been able to handle herself. She also wields a mean wooden spoon when she’s mad at you.”

“Remind me not to piss her off.”

“Nah, you don’t have to worry.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s already picturing you with my ring on your finger and my baby in your belly.”

“Oh.” My heart felt all gooey at that idea.

“For the record,” Santo said, turning his head to press a kiss to my temple, “I’m picturing that too.”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“I mean, I’m really enjoying the practicing for making the babies. Figure we might need a year or two to really… perfect that.”

“That should probably work. We might need to practice several times a day, though, with such a tight timeframe.”

“That’s a smart idea. Just to be sure.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “In all seriousness, though, I’m seeing a future here. I wasn’t planning on saying that so soon. But worrying about losing you today made it seem pointless to wait.”

“I was so angry at him for coming for me here. I wanted to just have our good memories here.”

“Got plenty more of those to build,” he assured me.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I can’t wait.”

Starting right then.