Chapter Six
Lilianna Genovese
“What is this…”
I looked around the patio, my eyes catching on a four-seat table and cushioned chairs surrounding it. The elegance of the table took me back to the Sunday dinners I used to have with my brother and father—the candles and the fancy dinnerware with the real silverware.
I glanced down at Callum and realized he'd never seen a dinner like this before. He’d gone to family dinners with distant relatives in Italy, and we’d gone to an occasional restaurant, but nothing like this.
“Dinner,” Matteo said, leaning into the doorframe. I turned back to him and raised my brows.
“I know, but takeout would have sufficed.”
“After what we’ve gone through in the past week, you deserve something better than takeout.”
I moved toward the table and looked it over more closely. Not a single piece of silverware sat out of place. Not a single fray marred the tablecloth nor a single drip of candle wax. A small arugula salad sat in the center of each of our plates, drizzled with what looked to be a dark balsamic dressing.
“Salad,” Callum said, reaching for one of the plates. I pulled his hand away gently.
“I have a second meal prepared for him, too,” Matteo said with a gesture to the table. “I didn’t know what he’d eat.”
“Pretty much anything, fortunately,” I said.
I could hardly find the words as I considered the last time someone had done something so kind for me—for my son. I had family in Italy—a family that despised my father’s line of work and were pleased to keep me hidden from him. My great-aunt and a few distant relatives in Italy watched Callum while I worked, but nobody had ever done anything for me when I’d had a difficult day. Nobody had ever acted like they cared this much.
The only one who had ever done anything like this for me had been—
I sucked in a sharp breath, trying not to bring down my mood this evening. I still couldn’t bring myself to think about my brother without feeling the aching hole in my chest. It was a wound that seemed to grow with each new memory that came to my mind.
“Sit,” Matteo said.
I guided Callum around the table and glanced over where Matteo stood tall, holding out the chair he’d pulled out for me. His dark hair hung in curls on either side of his face. His strong jaw clenched as I looked him over. He no longer had his tuxedo jacket buttoned, and the shirt beneath was tucked perfectly into his pants. He looked entirely self-assured; completely set in his actions, no matter what they’d be.
Even under the most difficult circumstances, he didn’t look even a little ruffled.
His composure seemed unbreakable, no matter what. Even when rushing to a mafia attack where his men were being killed, Matteo never broke a sweat.
“Thank you,” I whispered, taking a seat.
I reached for Callum, but Matteo beat me to him. He grabbed the boy and lifted him into his seat, rustling his dark hair and pushing in the chair.
Callum looked just like Matteo.
Up this close, there was no denying Callum’s parentage, and I found myself holding my breath. Matteo didn’t notice, did he?
Matteo squatted beside our son and gave him a real smile. My heart skipped a beat as a genuine look of fondness entered his eyes. It was so rare to see warmth there, and I couldn’t bring myself to look away. When else had I ever seen the softening of those eyes? The near blackness of them turned brown, as if his emotions were able to sway the color.
“Do you want chicken, or do you like soup?”
Callum looked around, meeting my eyes with a mischievous grin. “Chicken, soup,” he said, reciting both options.
“Which one?” Matteo asked with a small chuckle.
“Chicken, soup.”
“Both?”
Callum nodded excitedly, and I knew he’d only eat the chicken. Maybe he’d dip it in the soup. Matteo nodded and stood, and Callum reached up, grabbing the man’s hand.
Something in my chest burst from the sight. Matteo, with his sleek, dark physique and sinful muscles, held Callum’s hand as if it were natural for him. He tucked his other hand in his pocket and stood there for a moment.
Maybe he would have been a good dad. If he knew that the boy in front of him was his…
I cut the thought short. It was never doubts about Matteo that had made me run from him. I’d always known him to be a decent man, and realistically, I knew he’d one day be a good father. But I also knew that with his career, it would add too much danger to both of our lives. With the Russians closing in, even back then, I couldn’t risk losing my baby because of a careless decision I’d made.
I grabbed my fork and began picking at my salad, pleasantly surprised by the flavor.
A man in a white chef’s uniform came to the table and served a platter for Callum, and my child bounced in his seat excitedly as he reached for it and grabbed a piece of chicken off the plate. He released Matteo’s hand as he began exploring the food in front of him.
“He looks like you,” Matteo said. “His eyes light up the way yours do when you’re excited.”
Did he not notice that Callum had his eyes, not mine?
Then, I realized that his words also meant something else. Had he paid close enough attention to my own excitement to see the similarities?
“I raised him,” I replied. A tinge of anger rested in my chest, no matter how irrational.
I’d been the one to raise Callum because I’d left. I’d never even told Matteo about him, and I couldn’t blame him for my own decisions.
“When he’s done, Sophie is waiting to put him to bed for the evening.”
“I can put him down,” I argued.
“You’re going to sit out here with me.”
He wasn’t asking for permission, and I shrunk from the dominance in his tone; the way he always effortlessly took control of every situation.
“I don’t know if he’ll go to bed with someone other than me,” I told him.
“Let her try.”
It was a matter of minutes before Callum finished his food and began running around the patio, playing with chair legs. Sophie came striding out of the house with a smile, and Callum jumped to his feet.
“Fee,” he shouted.
I laughed as I heard his excited, shortened version of her name. My chest loosened as he rushed right to her and grabbed her hand, pulling her back into the house. Sophie gave me a smile and a wave as I relaxed in my chair and watched the chef bring out our main courses.
“I have something I’d like to discuss,” Matteo said, leaning onto the table.
“Not tonight,” I said.
His brows rose. “May I ask why?”
“You want to talk to me about this mob shit. I don’t want a part in any of it beyond avenging my brother, and you know that. I’m here to help find the people who killed my family and get justice. I—I don’t agree with the way things are run around here. I don’t like torture, and I don’t want to expose Callum to crime.”
“As far as I remember, you had no problem with torture after the wedding.”
He was right. At that moment, it was the only way I could think of to get information. I’d been prepared to do what needed to be done.
“I can get information other ways,” I told him. “Matteo, I’m a private investigator, and I’m really good at it. I have a life in Italy. One that Callum and I deserve. One away from all of this.”
He didn’t argue. He only nodded and stared at me intensely enough that I could see him reading everything on my face. If he looked hard enough, he’d find the truth. He’d find that I’d been yearning to come home for years. He’d learn that I had nothing but a career in Italy and that I wanted a family. Not distant cousins and aunts, but a real family.
But even here, I didn’t have that option anymore.
I sighed and took a bite of the salmon on my plate. Caviar had been smothered atop it alongside herbs and a generous amount of butter. He’d certainly gone out of his way to have this dinner prepared.
“We can talk business tomorrow, then,” he said, taking his first bite.
His eyes didn’t leave mine. Not even as he put the large bite in his mouth or as he slid the empty fork from between his lips. He held my eyes as he chewed, and then as he gathered another bite on his fork.
It felt almost erotic to watch him eat like this, and I turned away with flushed cheeks.
“Tell me about your career,” he demanded.
I glanced up and found him still watching me.
“You’re interested in hearing about my job?” I asked with a light chuckle.
“I’m interested in hearing about you. ”
The meaning behind his words wasn’t lost on me, and I swallowed a bite of food before I replied. I didn’t want to tell him about my job. I didn’t want to further the connection between us. The tension was too thick, and our attraction hadn’t faded over the years as I’d hoped it would have.
“Is that a hot tub?” I asked, pointing to the small tub that overlooked the city through a glass wall.
“It is.”
I didn’t hesitate to move toward it to glance down into the bubbling water. I dipped a toe into it and bit my lip as I looked over my shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about my life in Italy,” I told him. “I don’t want to feel like I need to stay here with you once this is done.”
He pushed himself from the table and stood. “And you’ll accomplish that by not talking about your job?”
“Is it something physical you want with me?” I finally asked.
“Among other things, I suppose.”
“I can handle physical. Physical doesn’t have to mean anything. I’m here for one reason, and once I’m done, I’m going home. I can’t have a reason to stay.”
He moved quickly—more quickly than I was prepared for. His arm wound around my waist, and he pulled me into his chest tightly, looking down at me through lowered lashes. Fuck, I could feel the hard muscles of his arms through his shirt, and I liquified beneath his touch.
“Being with me physically means nothing to you?” he asked.
“It doesn’t have to mean something. Getting to know one another again…that means something.”
“Interesting.”
I didn’t know what I’d expected. His lips hovered a centimeter from mine as one hand pressed into my ass and pulled me closer. I gasped as I felt the hardened length of him beneath his pants. “Jesus,” I whispered.
He hooked a thumb into my shorts and pulled them down until they dropped to the cool pavement beneath my feet. He lifted my shirt with his other hand, tossing it beside my shorts.
“Get in,” he demanded, pointing to the hot tub.
I bit my lip, but I didn’t argue as I took a step into the warm water and immediately dropped my body beneath it. I lifted my hair off my shoulders and put it in a partial bun atop my head, but the shortest wisps still fell free.
I watched as he peeled off his own shirt and shorts, leaving only his boxers, before he followed me.
There was no time between when he sank into the water and gripped my hips. Matteo pulled me onto his lap, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, breath catching from the familiar feeling of him between my thighs.
“You’re sure this means nothing?”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. This meant everything, and he knew it, but I didn’t bother saying the words out loud. Not even as one of his wet hands wrapped around the back of my head. His fingers knotted in the hair there, tugging my head back, as his other hand wrapped around my waist.
His lips slid across my throat in firm caresses. I became a molten puddle beneath him.
“You’ve always meant something to me Lili,” he whispered. “This doesn’t mean nothing.”
Fuck. Fuck. Did I need to set a boundary on the physical stuff, too? Probably. But right now…this felt too good. I remembered the way he’d made me feel three years ago, and he was doing it again. I could hardly remember my own name with his hands all over me. There was no setting boundaries at this moment, and I was okay with it.
I needed this.
I moaned lightly, and his arm tightened around me, hips thrusting upward.
A phone began ringing, but I could hardly think past the ecstasy of the moment. It wasn’t until his hand left my hair that I could take a breath and open my eyes. He shifted, leaning over the side of the tub and grabbing the phone from his pocket.
He put it on speaker. “This better be fucking important.”
The sound of Anthony panting through deep breaths reached my ear first. I straightened and shifted off his lap. “We’re pinned down at the warehouse on Highland. They’re making me call you, Matteo. I think it’s a–” he said. Gunfire exploded through the line. “Shit.”
The line went dead.