Chapter 32
CLEMENTINE
Tension radiated off Rhett like heat from a furnace, but I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips as I watched the chaos. His big, boisterous, and undeniably Italian family were entertaining.
I watched the way Rhett’s jaw kept tightening, the way his hands clenched and unclenched on the table, and I could practically feel his desperate wish that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. But honestly? I was having the time of my life.
These men were like characters from a movie—larger than life, completely unfiltered, and absolutely devoted to embarrassing their younger relative.
The way they teased Rhett and the obvious pride in their voices when they talked about his success was endearing.
Once they realized I wasn’t going anywhere, they just accepted me like I had been part of the family for years.
Sure, there was something a little intimidating about them.
The expensive suits, the heavy jewelry, the way other diners kept glancing over with expressions that ranged from curious to genuinely concerned.
I wasn’t naive. I could put two and two together, especially when Marco casually mentioned “the family business” and Tony made a joke about someone owing them money.
But they were also the kind of men who drove hours to surprise their nephew at a fancy dinner, who wore clip-on ties with golf clubs because their wives told them to dress nice and then proceeded to rave about the food.
And best of all, they were telling embarrassing stories about Rhett’s childhood.
“So there he was,” Uncle Sal was saying, gesturing wildly with his dessert fork. “Maybe ten years old, standing on a chair in my kitchen, trying to flip pancakes like he’d seen on TV. Kid flipped one right onto the ceiling. It stuck there for three days before my wife noticed.”
“I was trying to impress you,” Rhett muttered, but there was something softer in his expression now, like despite his mortification, he was remembering why he loved these ridiculous men.
“You impressed us, alright.” Tony laughed. “Impressed us with how much trouble one little kid could cause in five minutes.”
I found myself leaning forward, completely captivated. “What else did he cook as a kid?”
“Oh, honey, you got all night? Because we got stories.” Gabriel was probably only a few years older than Rhett, but something told me the guy had lived a very eventful life.
“No,” Rhett said firmly, “we absolutely do not have all night.”
But I ignored his protest, turning back to Gabriel with what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “I have time. And actually, I do have all night.”
Rhett groaned.
For the next hour, I learned more about Rhett Voss than I had in the entire month we had worked together.
I heard about the kid who experimented with his grandmother’s sauce recipes until he found the perfect balance.
He saved his allowance to buy fancy ingredients from the Italian market and announced at twelve that he was going to be a famous chef someday and never wavered from that dream.
I also got the distinct impression that this family had seen some dark times, that there were stories they weren’t telling and references they made that went over my head. Like when Marco mentioned “after Dad got locked up” and Tony quickly changed the subject.
I wanted to get back to the dad locked up thing, but I didn’t push it.
The topic clearly made Rhett uncomfortable.
And I had to remember we were in mixed company.
The bloggers that had suddenly decided to stick around weren’t here for the wine.
I had a feeling they were already working on their blog posts.
“Where is your family?” Sal asked.
“New York.”
“Oh yeah?” Marco asked. He suddenly seemed interested, like maybe he knew my family.
I was pretty certain he didn’t.
“My family’s actually really wonderful. My dad is the one who got me on the tour.”
“Rhett didn’t try and snatch you up?”
I almost laughed. “Not even a little.”
One of the guys shoved him. “What’s wrong with you? Look at this girl!”
I smiled at the playful ribbing. Rhett looked like he wanted to run.
“I’ve had such an incredible time this month with Rhett.
I’ve been learning so much about cooking and the restaurant business.
” I glanced at him, catching the way his expression softened slightly despite his obvious discomfort with the whole situation.
“But I’m really excited to go home for Thanksgiving. It’s always been my favorite holiday.”
“What’s the menu like?” Marco asked, genuinely interested. “Your old man must put together quite a spread.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You know, everyone assumes Dad does all the cooking because he’s the famous chef, but Thanksgiving is actually Mom’s time to shine. It’s the one meal of the year where she kicks him out of the kitchen entirely.”
“Smart woman.” Tony nodded approvingly. “Even the best chefs need to know when to step back.”
“She makes this incredible herb-crusted turkey with a glaze that’s been in her family for generations.
And her stuffing?” I paused, realizing I was getting carried away, but the encouraging looks around the table made me continue.
“She uses this mix of wild rice and cornbread with dried cranberries and pecans. Dad always tries to sneak into the kitchen to ‘help’ but she literally stations me and my brother at the door to keep him out.”
“Your mom sounds like she’s got backbone.” Sal chuckled. “Takes guts to tell a chef to stay out of his own kitchen. I know because we have to do it with this one.” He pointed at Rhett, who rolled his eyes.
“Oh, she definitely does. She’ll be bustling around in her apron, making everything from scratch—the cranberry sauce, the sweet potato casserole with those little marshmallows on top, and green bean casserole that somehow doesn’t taste like every other green bean casserole in America.
” I could practically smell the familiar aromas, feel the warmth of our kitchen filled with family and laughter.
“And Dad just sits at the counter with his coffee, or he’ll watch the game with my brother. ”
I caught Rhett watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. There was something almost wistful in his eyes.
“Do you help?” Tony asked.
I smiled. “Yes, but I’m not allowed to do anything except what she tells me. She doesn’t want a chef in the kitchen. She wants her daughter.”
“Makes sense,” one of the guys said. “Holidays are for family, not work.”
“The best part is dessert though,” I continued.
“Mom makes three different pies from scratch. Of course, there’s pumpkin, and she also makes an apple pie.
But the chocolate pecan pie is absolutely sinful.
Dad always jokes that he married her for her pie crust, but honestly? He might not be entirely kidding.”
There were a few chuckles around the table.
“A good woman who can cook is a rare commodity,” Sal said.
“I’m really excited to get back,” I said. “I miss home.”
“Speaking of which,” Rhett interrupted, looking directly at Big Sal. “Why aren’t you there? Shouldn’t you be with your families?”
The men exchanged a look that lasted just a beat too long. I could tell there was something going on. They just had a whole conversation between them without saying a word. Big Sal wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back in his chair.
“We had a business meeting out here,” he said casually. “Someone who forgot where they came from. Needed to be reminded who they were dealing with. You know how it is.”
I looked down at my plate, suddenly finding the pattern on the china very interesting.
What on earth did that mean? The way he said it, with that particular emphasis on “reminded,” sent a chill down my spine.
I casually looked at each of them. I was definitely picking up on mob vibes.
I thought it was just a shtick but were they really?
“Fuck,” Rhett muttered.
“What?” Tony spread his hands innocently. “It was nothing dramatic. Just a conversation, you know? Sometimes people need their memory refreshed.”
“You idiots showing up here like this—” Rhett started.
“Hey, hey,” Marcus interrupted. “We’re just visiting. Nothing wrong with that, right?”
Big Sal leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. “Speaking of family, how’s your old man? You been to see Lucky Luke lately?”
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. Lucky Luke?
“Is he running the clink yet?” Tony chuckled. “I bet he’s got a whole operation going—trading ramen and cigarettes for the big-ticket stuff. No way Luke’s struggling behind bars. Guy’s too savvy.”
The pieces clicked together in my head with an almost audible snap. Rhett’s father was in prison. Prison. And these men were talking about him like he was some kind of… what? Criminal mastermind?
I kept my eyes on my plate, but my mind was racing. How had this never come up? I thought I was getting to know Rhett, but there was apparently a big part of him I knew nothing about. I looked at him like I was seeing him for the first time.
He definitely had the Italian blood. But Rhett Voss? That wasn’t Italian. His cousins were all Sal and Tony and leaned into the Italian thing.
“Can it,” Rhett said sharply, his voice carrying a warning that made all three men sit back slightly.
“Touchy subject?” Tony teased.
“I said can it.”
The table fell silent except for the scraping of forks against plates.
I could feel the weight of unspoken history.
There was a lot that wasn’t being said. What the hell did his dad do to land in prison?
Were they legit mobsters? I took another look at them.
Suits. Jewelry. A few scars. They were all big and scary looking.
Then I looked at Rhett again. He was a tall man, but he wasn’t a meathead. He wasn’t carrying an extra fifty pounds of muscle. He looked almost Hollywood. Dark hair and olive skin, but nothing about him said mobster.
I could feel the tension at the table. I wanted to say something to try and break it up, but it felt like I was on cracked ice.
One wrong step and it was all over. I didn’t know what to say.
I didn’t want to trigger any of the men or Rhett.
Clearly, the subject of family was off the table.
We already talked about cooking. The weather? The price of gas?
Thankfully, it looked like the men were done talking. They finished their meals quickly. The easy camaraderie was replaced by something more strained. When they started making noises about leaving, Rhett practically jumped up to escort them out.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Big Sal said, pulling Rhett into a bone-crushing hug that nearly knocked him off his feet. “We’ll catch up with you when you’re back in New York. Maybe come see you at that fancy restaurant of yours.”
“Or don’t,” Rhett said flatly.
All five men just laughed, apparently used to his attitude. Tony ruffled his hair like he was still a kid, and Gabriel clapped him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. They were a very touchy group.
“Take care of yourself, Rhett,” Gabriel said, and for a moment his voice was genuinely warm. “And you too, sweetheart,” he added to me. “You’re good for him.”
I did not escape the touching. They all bear hugged me. Their bodies dwarfed mine. Rhett stood and watched, looking like he might jump in at any second.
I managed a smile and a wave as they piled into a sleek black car that looked expensive and ominous.
As their taillights disappeared down the road, Rhett turned around and looked at me. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid with tension.
“They seem nice,” I said, because what else could I say? They’re huge mountains of men that would probably scare the shit out of me if I saw them on the street?
He brushed past me without a word, heading back inside the restaurant. “The night’s over. Grab your shit. We’re going back to the hotel.”