Chapter 41 #3
As if on cue, Tony Soprano and Lady Gaga dart under the table, barking furiously at the commotion. Dad whistles softly, and they immediately settle at his feet, where I'm sure more forbidden food will find its way into their mouths.
Cal? Cal looks like he's enjoying the show.
Which is insane, because this? This is a nightmare.
He's about to undergo a full-blown hazing ritual, and I have no doubt in my mind that my brothers have already plotted their attack.
Why, why, why did I think it was a good idea to invite my super hot, super protective, amazing.
..man....because I'm seriously not sure what we are yet, to meet my family?
I need to not text while drunk anymore. In fact, there should be a feature on phones that if you misspell more than three words in a sentence, your phone locks you out for 12 hours to sleep it off.
We all pitch in to clean up the spill and before my brothers can sink their claws in further, Mama claps her hands, calling for silence. "Okay, let's say grace."
We all bow our heads. Mama starts, her voice soft and reverent. "Dear Lord, we thank You for this meal, for this family, and for the blessings You have given us."
I peek up slightly, just in time to see Nonna making the sign of the cross.
Mama continues. "We are grateful for the food before us, for the love around this table, and for the health of our children."
A pause. Mama doesn't stop there. Oh no. Because she hasn't prayed for her three single children yet.
"And Lord," she continues, voice dripping with dramatic sincerity, "we continue to pray for the three single ones to find someone who can put up with them."
I peek up through my lashes. Matteo's head is bowed, but his lips are twitching. Luca is grinning like an asshole. Nico is already looking at me like he knows exactly what's coming next.
Mama keeps going.
"But, Lord, we also thank You, because perhaps—perhaps—there is hope for one of them."
I internally groan.
Cal’s hand slides beneath the tablecloth, fingers brushing up my thigh. It starts slow, a stroke, then a heated touch, before he finally curls two fingers into a monkey bite—that brutal tickle attack right behind the knee that instantly short-circuits your entire nervous system.
I jolt in my seat, choking back a laugh and a scream all at once. My knee jerks. The table rattles. My whole body tenses in mortified restraint.
He doesn’t even look at me. Just keeps his face perfectly neutral, like he’s deep in reverent reflection.
"And if it is truly Your will," Mama says, voice rising with spiritual conviction, "let it be known that I see the signs."
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my lips together so hard they tremble.
"Let it be known," she continues, hand dramatically lifted toward the ceiling, "that I will remain vigilant for further confirmation. That I will not waver, nor turn my eyes from the truth. That I will—"
Cal’s fingers dig in just behind my knee, pinching mercilessly.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying to hold it together, but it’s no use.
The pressure builds until I can’t take it anymore.
My leg jerks forward, slamming into the underside of the table with a loud thud. Plates rattle. Silverware jumps.
Mom gasps, eyes flying open. “A SIGN!” she cries, clutching her chest and crossing herself like we’ve just witnessed a full-blown miracle. “Did you see? The Lord has spoken!”
“Mama!”
Everyone bursts into laughter. Dad is chuckling into his wine glass. Luca and Nico are full-on losing it. Matteo at least has the decency to look apologetic—but that's probably just for show.
And Cal? Cal is just watching me squirm, like he's enjoying every goddamn second of this.
Mama simply folds her hands together, looking pleased.
"And let us all say—"
"Amen!" Matteo interjects quickly, clearly trying to save me.
"Amen," everyone echoes.
I am going to die. Right here. Right now. Of pure, unfiltered embarrassment.
And Cal? Cal just leans over, a whisper meant only for me—"Your mom is relentless."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, groaning. "You have no idea."
The first ten minutes of dinner are almost normal, which makes me extremely uncomfortable, because I know all hell is going to break loose.
Plates are being passed around, wine glasses are clinking, Nonna is sneaking an extra serving of pasta onto Cal's plate while muttering something about him being a "strong man" who needs "more food." Cal thanks her in perfect Italian, and I swear to God, I see her swoon.
Then my brothers get their opening.
"So, Callahan," Luca starts, twirling his fork between his fingers, his expression pure menace. "What are your intentions with our sister?"
I take one sip and immediately regret it. Coughing, sputtering, dying. Excellent. Death by wine and overprotective brother.
Cal doesn't even blink.
"My intentions?" he echoes smoothly.
Matteo nods, serious as ever. "Are you planning on sticking around?"
Cal is completely unfazed by his question. He doesn’t even hesitate. "Yes," he says simply. "I am."
Luca narrows his eyes, clearly disappointed that Cal isn't squirming. "So, you got a solid job?" he asks, leaning back in his chair.
"Yes," Cal answers.
"Good benefits?"
"Yes."
"Debt?"
"Nope."
"Criminal record?"
"Clean."
Nico raises an eyebrow. "Not even a little?"
Cal takes a sip of his wine. "Not that anyone can prove."
Matteo nearly drowns in his drink. Dad is just sitting back, watching with pure amusement. I dig my nails into my thigh, wondering when exactly my life became a reality show.
"So," Nico continues, spearing a meatball. "You were military, yeah?"
Cal nods.
"Did you kill anyone?"
I slam my fork down. "Are you kidding me?"
"What?" Nico shrugs. "It's a valid question."
"No, it's not! That's a completely insane thing to ask someone you just met at the dinner table!"
Cal just chuckles, setting his glass down. "Yes."
Silence.
Luca’s mouth drops open. Matteo mutters something under his breath. Nico looks way too impressed. Mama's eye twitches. Nonna, unfazed, simply pats Cal's bicep and tells him that it’s “good to have strong men in the family.”
I bury my face in my hands.
"Izzy," Mama hisses, like I somehow caused all of this.
"Don't look at me!" I exclaim. "They're the ones interrogating him!"
"Oh, sweetheart." Cal's voice is pure amusement as he leans over, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to my temple. "They're not interrogating me."
"They're trying."
Nico eyes Cal's plate. "So what's your family like? You eat gravy every Sunday growing up like us?"
Cal shrugs casually. "Not exactly."
"What'd you eat?"
"Ragu."
The entire table goes dead silent. Even the dogs stop their incessant yapping.
Luca's fork clatters against his plate. Matteo's eyebrows shoot up so far they nearly disappear into his hairline. Mama gasps, hand flying to her chest like she's having heart palpitations. Nonna crosses herself three times in quick succession, muttering rapid-fire prayers.
"I'm so sorry," Nico finally says, utterly sincere.
Cal looks at me, confusion written all over his face.
I bite back a laugh. “In this house, jarred sauce is blasphemy.”
“Bestemmia!” Nonna declares, jabbing her fork in Cal’s direction. Her voice is harsh, but her eyes are gleaming with affection. Then she adds something else, waving her hand dismissively before pointing at his plate.
“But we’ll fix you. You’re family now. You’ll learn.”
The words settle somewhere deep in my chest. They’ve never said that about Evan. Not once. And hearing Nonna say it—to Cal, who’s only been around for five minutes—it hits me harder than I want to admit.
After that, dinner somehow manages to get even more chaotic.
Nonna keeps insisting Cal eat more, piling his plate so high I’m surprised it doesn’t tip the table.
Nico keeps trying to challenge him to increasingly ridiculous contests.
Luca keeps baiting him with loaded questions, trying to trick him into saying something incriminating while Matteo watches with amused detachment.
Dad just watches it all unfold with a smug smile, sipping his wine like it's the best show he's seen in years, occasionally sneaking food to Tony and Gaga, who have stationed themselves permanently under his chair.
But the best part? The absolute best part? Cal handles it all effortlessly.
He deflects Nico's challenges with easy smiles and one-liners.
He dodges Luca's traps with smooth, calculated answers.
And he listens to Nonna like she's the Pope herself, nodding along with every one of her stories while simultaneously finishing an entire extra plate of food just to make her happy.
I just sit there, watching in awe, trying to figure out when exactly this man became so effortlessly woven into my life. At some point, I catch Matteo watching me. When I glance over, he just gives me that look—amused, all-knowing—like he’s already figured something out I haven’t.
I scowl. "What?"
He shrugs.
"Nothing."
And then, under his breath, he mutters—
"I like him."
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
Because if Matteo likes him? That means this man is officially family.