Page 77 of Vicious Behaviors

In other words, she’s asking me if there is any ammunition, even if only a sliver of doubt on my part, that she can use to get Vincent to change his mind.

“Stella is a natural businesswoman, Mom. She will far exceed any and all expectations Father has for her. You’ll see.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” She chews her lip.

The waiter arrives with our amuse-bouche in the meantime, while my mother takes a large sip of her Cheval Blanc before even looking at her food.

“So,” my mother says after a long pause. “Aside from work and the gym, what have you been up to lately?”

“Not much,” I say, thankful she decided to change gears and leave Stella out of our conversation.

“You’re being vague. That’s unlike you.” She hums, unconvinced. “Which means… there’s a woman in the mix.” Her eyes instantly light up.

Of course, she’d assume that. My mother’s been trying to marry me since I turned twenty a couple of years ago. She’s never liked the idea of me going through life without someone by my side. Without even a close friend to lean on. If only she knew the truth about how I’ve never had a minute to myself since I was a prepubescent kid.

“There’s no woman, Mom,” I retort, spearing the smoked salmon macaron in half, while the image of Izzie’s pink cheeks and swollen lips flashes before my eyes.

“Why don’t I believe you?” She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Because you’re naturally suspicious like the rest of our family.” I shove the rest of the macaron into my mouth.

“That might be true, but I can always tell when any of my children have met someone who has caught their eye.”

“I very much doubt that,” I mumble, pouring a bit of wine into my empty glass and downing it in one go.

“Oh, I can guarantee it. You all have your tells when you’ve become smitten with someone.” She grins while tapping her nail on the empty wine glass as if trying to prove her point. “You never drink, Marcello.”

“Maybe I’m trying to pick up a new hobby.”

“Or maybe this woman, whoever she is, has made a bigger impression on you than you’re willing to admit. Or at least, admit to me.”

Jesus fucking Christ. We’re still in the amuse-bouche portion of our meal. If this line of interrogation is how my mother intends to spend the remainder of our lunch, I’m fucked.

“So,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “When do I get to meet this mysterious woman who’s captured my son’s attention?”

“Never,” I deadpan.

Her smile falters. “And why not? Are you embarrassed of your family? Of me?”

“No,Mammà,” I quickly rectify, reaching over the table to squeeze her hand. “It’s just… well… not every woman a man gets involved with merits meeting their mother.”

She rolls her eyes exactly like Stella does whenever I’m full of shit.

“You know I’m not a fan of men sowing their wild oats,” she mutters disapprovingly. “I thought I raised you better than that. Women are to be respected, not collected like stamps or baseball cards. Of all my boys, I was sure you’d never act so cavalier toward women.”

She’s right. I’ve always treated every woman in my life with the utmost respect. Though to be fair, the only women I even allowed into my life were my mother and sisters. Everyone else I kept at arm’s length. A trait not all my brothers shared.

I was too young to really know the details about Jude’s dating life before he fled to London. Still, I did hear he had broken a heart or two in school before heading off to college in England. As for the twins… Well, before Lucky fell head over heels for Frankie, he was kind of a player. And Enzo—pre-Alejandro—never said no to a good time, no matter who was offering.

“How about this?” I start, needing to tranquilize my mother’s concern. “If it gets serious, I promise you’ll be the first person I introduce her to.” I know it’s a blatant lie, but it does the trick of erasing that frown on her face.

Izzie is never meeting my mother. Not only because she’s a federal agent, but also because I actually meant what I said. The only way my mother would ever meet a girlfriend of mine would be if I honestly saw a future with her. And since neither love, marriage, nor family is in the cards for me, this whole conversation is a moot point.

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.” My mother grins softly at me as the waiter takes the empty plates away to bring us our main course.

“Good. Now that that’s settled, I need a favor,” I say, steering the conversation away from girlfriends, wildcard sisters, and whatever else my mother might dig up if I give her room.

I shift in my seat and pull a set of keys from my pocket, sliding them across the table to her.