5. Seven #3
They only made it a few steps when another beautiful man emerged from a heavy wooden door with a rounded top.
He carried several bottles of wine under each arm.
He stopped short when he saw them. Well, more specifically, when he saw his mother.
Seven moved closer to her instinctively while the man stared like he’d been turned to stone.
“Goodness, Rocco. Close your mouth. People are going to think you just got out of prison,” Mama said, shaking her head. “This is Seven and his mother, Neith. This is my brother, Rocco. Sometimes, he forgets how to be a human.”
Dario snorted, taking some of the bottles from Rocco before disappearing farther into the house with a shake of his head.
Rocco seemed to collect himself. “Nice…uh, nice to meet you,” he said, leaning in to kiss Neith’s cheeks before giving Seven a handshake that morphed into a one-armed bro hug.
Mama watched with amusement. Once Rocco moved on with one last lingering look at Seven’s mother, Mama said, “It’s such a gorgeous night. I figured we’d have dinner on the terrace.”
“Sounds amazing,” his mother said.
They heard the kitchen before they reached it.
The din of pots and pans and people shouting about having hot plates, just like at a restaurant.
Once they were standing near the wide open kitchen, Seven realized it was bigger than the restaurant’s.
Two men and four girls all moved around with such grace it appeared almost choreographed.
“Everyone,” Mama Conti called, bringing the whole operation to a halt.
They all turned to stare at them with various expressions ranging from feral curiosity to barely restrained amusement.
The two men appeared to be in their thirties, and like many of the others, they had dark hair, dark eyes, and facial hair that Seven could only dream of attaining someday.
They were tall and broad, with grins just as wide.
The four girls also looked similar, but one looked familiar.
“I know you,” she said, seeming to recognize him just as he did her. “My brother brought you to the restaurant and pissed you off.”
“Language, Carlotta,” Mama reprimanded with a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head. She turned to a gorgeous girl with long chestnut hair. “This is my oldest daughter, Allegra. She’s in her third year at Strawbridge. You and Seven go to the same school,” she said conversationally.
Allegra smiled. “Law school, right?”
How did she know that?
“Yeah… Have we met before?” Seven asked.
She gave him a slow smile. “No, you’re just a really hot topic around here.”
“Oh,” Seven managed, his pulse tripping at the implication.
“Allegra,” Mama admonished, her tone sharp with warning. “And these are the triplets. They’re in their last year of high school at Vanguard. Carlotta, Carmilla, and Claudia,” she said, pointing at each girl in turn.
Carli rolled her eyes, looking exactly like her mother, then pointed to herself. “Carli.” Then Carmilla. “Karma.” Then Claudia. “Claude.”
“Got it,” Seven said with an affirmative nod, almost positive he didn’t have it at all.
“And the two sous chefs are my middles, Rafa and Gio. Say hello, boys.”
They both waved in tandem, then turned back to their duties when prodded by Allegra.
“Come, come,” Mama said, wrapping her arms around both Seven and his mother’s waists and ushering them deeper into the house.
She led them to a…parlor of some sort? It wasn’t a living room or even a family room but some kind of…
game room? The kitchen was still fully visible, as was the terrace.
It appeared there were usually some kind of sliding glass doors that enclosed the enormous space, but they had been pushed back so that the house spilled onto the patio.
Outside, there was a sparkling blue pool surrounded by rocks, a waterfall, and even a slide.
Beside it was the biggest table Seven had ever seen.
Inside, there were several comfortable looking sofas and chairs as well as a pool table, a row of arcade games, and a huge flat screen television so large it had to be custom made.
Two boys who didn’t look much younger than the triplets sat side by side, phones clutched in their hands, clearly in a heated battle of some kind, shouting and scream-laughing at each other. One had blond hair and the other red. Both were beautiful, but neither looked like anyone else in the room.
“These are my babies,” Mama said proudly.
When she saw Seven’s dubious expression, she chuckled.
“I know, I know. They don’t look a thing like the rest of us.
They decided to go way back in the genetics closet.
They look like Dario’s great-grandfather who came from Aosta Valley,” she said, as if that explained everything.
Maybe it did to anyone who understood geography. Seven had failed that subject…twice. Once in sixth grade, then again in eighth just for funsies.
Mama pointed to the redheaded boy with his floppy hair and freckles. “Ansel.” And then the blue-eyed blond. “Elio.”
The two glanced up just long enough to say, “Hey,” and “What’s up?” but then went right back into their battle.
“Ten minutes, boys. Then you need to finish helping your sisters in the kitchen,” she warned.
There was some grumbling, but they didn’t put up much of a fight. Seven didn’t blame them. He knew better than to argue with his mother, too.
“Hey, Ma,” somebody shouted. Another tall man with broad shoulders appeared from somewhere within the bowels of the large house, sweeping his mother into a hug. “Did you make me tiramisu cheesecake?”
“Dante, don’t be rude,” Mama chided. “At least say hello to our guests.”
He gave a friendly wave as Mama made the introductions for the hundredth time since they’d arrived despite it feeling very much like everyone already knew who they were. Seven waved back.
His mother looked at Mama in wonder. “Is every member of your family as gorgeous as you?”
Mama flushed. “You’re one to talk. You and your son put the rest of us to shame.”
Seven fought the urge to roll his eyes, fearing he’d get smacked by these two women who were probably expert-level hitters. He stood there, zoning out while they made small talk, scanning the room for something. No, someone. But he refused to admit that. Even to himself.
He’d only made it halfway around the room when he did see someone he recognized.
The cop. Lucky. It was only when his gaze fell on him that he realized Lucky had already been watching him.
When they made eye contact, the other man smirked, then raised his beer in a mock salute.
Seven returned the gesture before turning away.
As the conversation swirled around him, he learned that the oldest son wouldn’t be in attendance due to a conflicting engagement and that another would be arriving later.
Was one of them Enzo? Would he show up? Seven wanted to know so badly.
The question sat, burning a hole on the tip of his tongue, but he refused to give the man the satisfaction.
Even if he gave himself an ulcer worrying about it.
Before Seven could spiral too far down the rabbit hole of bitterness, dinner was announced.
He took his assigned seat, his mother on his right and Carli on his left.
The conversation seemed to swirl effortlessly with Seven answering everyone’s benign questions politely, his wine glass helping to loosen his tongue.
The Conti family were easy to love. They were warm and friendly and seemed to ask their questions from general curiosity and not out of a sense of decorum.
The siblings traded insults, volleying them back and forth as easily as they passed around the many dishes on the table.
The air was cool but not cold, the breeze making everything feel a little like being on vacation.
But there was still no Enzo. Seven hated that he cared. But there wasn’t only one empty chair, there were two. Vince was also missing. Were they both running late or was one of them not coming? Seven was almost as curious about Vince as he was about Enzo. What kind of person ran a sex club?
“Sorry we’re late,” someone shouted over the din, earning a cheer from the family.
Seven’s head whipped around so fast he heard his neck crack.
His heart rate took off at a dead run. There he was.
The bane of his existence. Enzo. Why did he have to be so hot?
Seven jumped as his fork fell from his shaky hands to clatter onto his plate.
He winced, his face catching fire as he saw the others giving him amused looks, like they knew exactly why his fingers were suddenly clumsy.
It wasn’t Enzo who spoke—it was the man standing beside him. That had to be Vince. The club owner. The one his friends all thought he should talk to.
Seven stared at the two open seats, one directly across from him and the other several seats down on the opposite side of the table.
Mama made introductions quickly, guiding people like a five-star general.
Seven breathed a sigh of relief when she commanded Vince to sit in the seat across from him.
It was only when the other man gave him a polite smile that he realized that Vince and Gio were identical twins.
Damn.
Enzo was sort of hovering near the table when his mother said, “Carlotta, let your brother sit there.”
Seven felt like he’d swallowed a hand grenade, his food threatening to make a reappearance.
Enzo looked equally startled, locking eyes with Seven.
Fuck. Why did he have to look so fucking good all the time?
He wasn’t even dressed up. He wore white pants that moulded perfectly to his ass and thighs and a black polo shirt that—if Seven was being honest—was offensively tight.
Was the man shopping in the children’s section?