Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Dante
“Who is this handsome young man?” Martha asks, alerting me to the presence of my sons and their guest. As our lifelong chef and a sort of surrogate grandmother to many of my children, Martha doesn’t have to adhere to any kind of protocol in our home.
She’s free to speak her mind and act however she sees fit.
I’ve known the woman for decades, and trust her ability to be warm, welcoming, and professional when necessary.
As such, she doesn’t greet the teenager at Apollo’s side with a cold glance or a stiff handshake, she bustles right up to him with a wide smile and the kind of comforting poise only a Nonna can offer.
I watch with an amused smile as she cups the sides of the boy’s face, getting a good look at him, likely deciding whether or not she needs to feed him.
If she finds him to be too thin, she won’t hesitate to ply him with sweets that she has secretly baked protein into, nor will she hide her assessment from anyone who will listen.
“Martha, this is Yordan Todorov. Yordan, this is Martha, she’s family,” Elio introduces them like a proper gentleman should.
I may have raised mobsters, but they are mobsters with manners, especially where Martha is concerned. The woman provided most of their meals since they were in diapers. They don’t need to be told to show her respect, it comes naturally.
“Nice to meet you,” he replies, voice almost shy.
“Ahh, such a nice boy,” Martha replies in approval. “Where have you found him, hmm?”
“It’s a bit of a long story, but Apollo has taken Yordan under his wing,” Elio continues, enjoying Martha’s excitement. “He’s living with his sister in one of the sanctuary apartments.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Martha coos happily, dropping her hands from Yordan’s face. “Tell me you’ve brought your appetite with you? There are many things to choose from this morning, I wouldn’t want any of it to go to waste.”
“She’s telling you that you’re skinny,” Apollo tells Yordan dryly. “Eat a full plate or feel her wrath.”
Martha gasps, removing a tea towel from her shoulder to whack my son half-heartedly. “Don’t go spreading rumors about me, child.”
Apollo hikes a brow, watching her with humorless eyes. “Over thirty years old and still a child in your eyes, Martha?”
“You will stop being a child when you stop acting like one and marry as you should have by now,” she replies, folding her arms with disapproval.
I hide a smile, taking a sip of my coffee while observing the interaction in silence.
Martha has been scolding Apollo about his bachelor choices since he turned twenty-five and still showed no interest in becoming wed.
Though he doesn’t run around with women, she disapproves of his blasé attitude toward the sanctity of marriage.
She’s quite traditional in some ways, but mostly, she just wishes for him to be happy.
A life without a partner is a lonely one, and Martha knows from experience. Hell, I know from experience as well.
Turning back to Yordan, she gives him a pleasant smile. “Come, I’ve stolen enough of your time. Do you like coffee or tea?”
As she spins around to get whatever he answers, Yordan finds me sitting at the small breakfast nook, nestled in a cozy corner of the kitchen.
His eyes blow comically wide as he realizes that I’ve been here the entire time.
I’m used to the look of terror that crosses many men’s faces when they see me, but Yordan looks more like he’s spotted a celebrity rather than a monster. It’s as curious as it is amusing.
Doing my best to appear casual and pleasant, I offer a dip of my head in his direction.
I don’t want the boy to be scared, not while he’s a guest in my home.
He hasn’t done anything to warrant my ire, nor do I feel the need to scare him into being cautious here.
Especially if he is one day going to be family, and that is the plan presently.
Apollo may be too stubborn and difficult to admit it, but he finds Rayna interesting.
She speaks to him like he’s not the future Capo of The Outfit.
She speaks to him like he’s a man, an infuriating one at that.
A headstrong, challenging woman—a beautiful one at that—may just be exactly what my son needs to finally let someone in.
“Tea or coffee,” Apollo repeats, snapping Yordan out of his shock.
The teenager awkwardly clears his throat. “Erm, coffee, thank you.”
“Go on,” Martha encourages, nodding toward my table. “Go sit, he won’t bite.”
“Only into my breakfast,” I agree, attempting to lighten the tension in the air. Yordan’s nervousness is palpable, and I hope it won’t last long.
Apollo takes the first step, prompting Yordan and Elio to follow closely. As the group approaches, I stand slowly, attempting not to spook the newcomer further.
Extending my hand across the table, I nod in greeting. “Yordan, yes?”
“Yes,” he replies, gulping as he tries not to stutter. His hand meets mine in a firm, quick shake. “Thank you for having me in your home, sir.”
“Please, call me Dante,” I insist, dropping his hand. “All of my son’s friends do.”
“Not Colton,” Elio jokes, sitting down to my left while reaching for a croissant. “Though, with as much time as the cowboy spends here, he’s more like a son than a son’s friend.”
“His father would not be pleased to hear that,” I reply mildly, trying not to smile. The young man who has called me “Father Dante” since childhood is quite close to being family, but he does have his own Dad.
I’m not sure that Levi Wyatt would even appreciate knowing that Colton has kept his childhood nickname for me.
Though it’s a reference to him once mistaking me for a priest, the man is touchy about his boys being close with our family.
Hearing his heir call me father in any sense of the word would likely set the hot head off.
“Here you are, dears,” Martha says sweetly, dropping three cups of coffee onto the table. “Sit, sit,” she adds, ushering Yordan into the open seat across from me. Apollo has already taken his chair to my right, and he accepts his coffee, dropping a cube of sugar into the small cup.
“Thank you,” Yordan tells her, looking down at his dark roast.
He’s so clearly overwhelmed by this situation, whether it’s from Martha’s abrupt kindness or my presence, I’m not sure.
“Help yourself to cream or sugar,” she tells him, motioning to the spread in front of him. “I’ll just be cleaning up in the kitchen, you call me over if these boys are giving you any trouble, hmm?”
His eyes widen, shooting over toward me. He just watched a little old woman call the leader of one of the most fearsome mafias a boy. Given what I know about his family history, he likely expects me to be enraged. But the Morettis don’t lash out at women for such minuscule things.
With men, disrespect is to be reprimanded, of course. Had one of my men called me a boy, I’d probably remove his tongue. And though women are not entirely free of punishment for any crime simply because they are women, my family has a notorious leniency for the fairer sex.
None of my sons would lay a hand on a woman for words that come from her mouth. Violent, conniving traitors that threaten our family on the other hand…there is no mercy to be spared for them—regardless of gender.
Regardless of our traditional dynamic, Martha would never be chastised for speaking to me in a casual manner. I hope to make that obvious to Yordan. Our home is just that, a home. We have to be able to relax, even while minding the power dynamics woven into our way of life.
I chuckle quietly. “We’ll be on our best behaviors.”
Yordan lets out a breath at my response, and I confirm my suspicions. Either his sister’s previous husband, or his own father, would have never tolerated what he just witnessed. It makes me wonder how many despicable things he’s had to observe over the years.
As she leaves us to it, I watch Yordan hesitantly pour a bit of cream and sugar into his coffee. He stirs the liquid so carefully, the spoon never touching the ceramic mug, like he’s terrified to make a sound.
“Damyan’s son, aren’t you?” I ask, casually taking a sip of my drink.
Apollo has already confirmed Yordan and Rayna’s origins, but from what I know, he hasn’t spoken directly to either of them about it.
Yordan freezes, looking up at me in a panic. “Technically, yes.” His eyes dart to Apollo, looking for some kind of reassurance. They seem to share a silent word, before the teen continues. “My sister raised me, mostly. I promise, I’m nothing like him.”
I nod approvingly. “You don’t need to tell me that, I can see it for myself. Damyan would have never stepped foot into my home unarmed nor would he ever be invited.”
He perks up a little, looking interested. “How do you know I’m unarmed? Apollo gave me a gun.”
“Your shirt is untucked, but it’s not loose enough to hide any printing, and your pant legs aren’t wide enough to hide an ankle holster, which you would need to buy since Apollo was carrying on his hip at the wedding,” I explain, happy to satiate his curiosity.
“You’re also not carrying a knife,” I add, nodding to his frame.
“You’re not wearing a belt, your pockets are empty, save for your phone, and you’re wearing sports shoes, therefore you don’t have one attached to your boots.
So, unless you’ve duct taped one to your stomach, which would likely result in you shifting from the itching… ”
“Wow,” Yordan blurts, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “You got all that just from my clothes? I told Apollo I should have worn a suit.”
Elio chuckles, shooting his brother a look. “He told you.”
“Do something useful with your mouth and eat your breakfast.”
My lips twitch, curling on one side. These kids, they’ll be teasing each other like schoolyard children until they’re eighty.
“Are you happy with your housing, Yordan?” I ask, taking the attention away from my bickering sons.
“It’s great, thank you,” he agrees eagerly. “I know Apollo did this for us, but thank you for welcoming me and my sister into your territory. If you didn’t, I think I would probably be rotting in the Chicago River right now.”
“For killing Federico?”
“Well, yes.” Yordan nods. “Even if Apollo hadn’t stepped in that night, I would have found a way to kill him.
Rayna kept me away from him while he was angry, and she only ever admitted to him pushing her around.
But he punched her, her eye is still bruised…
I would have done anything to make sure he didn’t get away with it. ”
The seed of an inevitable sense of kinship has been planted with his confession. Yordan is much like my sons, willing to do anything to protect their sister. It’s a commendable quality to some, but an undeniably natural instinct of our family.
“Well, I’m glad Apollo found you both,” I tell him firmly. “It would be a noble but senseless death, to be murdered for avenging your sister. You won’t have to worry about such a thing now. You have our protection.”
“I want to earn it,” Yordan says immediately. “To be worthy of it.”
“A great answer,” I reply, nodding. “But an unnecessary one. Apollo has already decided that you are worthy of his care. You and your sister don’t need to worry about earning anything you’ve already been given.”
“I don’t want to be useless,” Yordan counters. “I can work.”
“You need to finish school before you concern yourself with work,” Apollo tells him, shaking his head.
Eyes going wide, Yordan’s head rears back. “School? You didn’t mention anything about school before…”
“I’m mentioning it now.” He tilts his head. “Education is important. When’s the last time you attended school?”
“I’ve always been in online school. Rayna stopped being able to enroll me when we moved in with Federico. He considered it frivolous. She used to take me to the public library when he was out of town to try and teach me whatever random thing she felt was important that day.”
“We’ll get you a tutor,” Apollo decides, finishing his coffee with one last sip. “There will be no working until you’ve graduated high school.”
Yordan looks like he can’t believe his ears. “Did you wait until you graduated to work?”
Elio snorts. “None of us did. We’ve been working since we could hold and fire a gun.”
Yordan motions at Elio, trying to make his case. “How am I supposed to work if I’m studying math instead of preparing for life after school?”
“Training is not working,” Apollo corrects. “You’ll train as well.”
“Did you talk to Rayna about this?”
Apollo chuckles. “Do you think your sister is going to disagree with putting you back in school? The woman who would drag you to the library whenever she could to sneak lessons in?”
Yordan hesitates. “She might disagree simply because it’s your idea.”
Elio throws his head back, shaking with laughter. “He’s got you there.”
Apollo scowls at him. “Father, did you know that Elio and Rayna have a secret mutual friend? Interesting, no?”
Elio’s laughter comes to an abrupt halt, and Yordan chokes on his coffee. Apollo watches as the teen sputters, giving him a hard look.
“Care to comment, Yordan?”
“Uhh…can’t wait to start school?”
Apollo grunts, not pushing the topic further.
Something like family settles in my gut, warming it. Apollo is seeming much more like a father than a mentor.