25. Vinnie
“She’s going to hate me, isn’t she?” I ask Sly as we get ready to leave for his parents” house. I’ve been nervous all day, regretting our invitation to dinnerwhen we should have made it lunch. Waiting all day to meet Sly’s parents has been a slow torture.
Now, we’re standing in the en suite of his apartment—our apartment—getting ready.
We’re still deciding whether to call his place home or mine.
He looks at me through the mirror as he shaves beneath his jawline, creating crisp lines at the edge of his trimmed, short beard. “Why would you think that? She’s going to love you.”
“If I had a son, and a woman I’d never met, who my family had a less than desirable past with, just up and married him, I’d probably hate her. At least a little.”
“My mother doesn’t have a hostile bone in her body. She’s going to adore you, piccola ladra. She always wanted a daughter. Plus, she’s met you, remember? You were just a child.”
“And what a lasting impression my family made with that introduction.” My tone is sarcastic, and a little irritated, if I’m being honest.
The unease I’m feeling is tangible and lodged in my throat. I try to swallow it down, but the lump won’t budge. Dropping my gaze, I rustle through my makeup case and pull out my blush.
“Vinnie.”
Next, I search for my stippling brush, and push back the emotion that’s overtaking my body. I shouldn’t be so nervous, but I know the respect Sly has for his mother, and the last thing I can stomach is the idea that I will be a disappointment to her. Or worse, someone she doesn’t respect.
Although, I’m not sure if I deserve the respect of the woman who made my husband.
“Vincenza,” Sly’s voice cuts through my brain fog, stern and rough. Looking into the mirror, his features are hard and serious. “Get out of your head.”
Easier said than done as my thoughts spiral into self-deprecation.
Again, I drop my gaze, but this time I don’t even pretend to search in my makeup bag. I simply press my palms onto the counter and let my head hang.
Seconds later, Sly’s warm hands run up my arms and over my shoulders as he presses his palm against my collarbone and pulls me into his chest. “What is going on with you, amore mio? You’ve seemed off since we returned home.”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, leaning my head back against him. “I’ve felt extra emotional this week. Maybe my period is coming early? Or maybe it’s just the looming anxiety of the official family introductions this weekend. I’m really stressed about family brunch on Sunday. What if Joseph is there?”
“I hope he is. Your brother and I need to have a conversation.”
“Which is exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“And exactly why we’re meeting my family first, Vincenza. They’re going to love you, and you’ll see how easy it is to set aside the animosity and blend our families.”
“How can you be so sure? My father?—”
“Will accept me as his son-in-law, or he will face the consequences. You told me on our honeymoon that you and I are family now. I would never ask you to choose between your father and myself, but as your husband, I can’t help but hope I would be the man you choose to stand by when push comes to shove. Someday, when we have a family…”
“There’s no question in my mind, Sly. You’re my choice, forever and always. And yes, if my father doesn’t accept you into his family, then we won’t accept him into ours.”
“Te amo, piccola ladra.” He presses a kiss to my temple—something he does regularly and has no idea of the effects it has on my body. Instantly, I feel calmer, loved, and cherished by him. The simple, sweet act speaks volumes about how he feels about me, and the comfort it brings is unlike any other. “I can’t wait for you to meet Mamma e Papà.”
Sighing, I tilt my head, and he captures my lips gently, kissing me softly before releasing me to finish getting ready.
“Will you be ready in ten, amore mio?”
“I can be,” I say with a smile as I reach for my hairbrush.
As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.
When I envisioned meeting the Lucchetti family, the first thing I pictured was Sly and I standing outside of their home after ringing the doorbell, sharing a moment where he rubbed my back in comfort as I tried to keep the nerves at bay, and when the door finally opened, his mother would greet us and there would be a tense, silent trepidation in the air that would be difficult for us all to move past.
In reality, as we walk up the steps to Sly’s family’s brownstone, the image I conjured in my mind evaporates. Instead of knocking, Sly twists the doorknob and enters the home, tugging me along behind him by the loose grip he has on my hand.
“Mamma!” he calls as the door shuts behind us.
The Lucchetti home is warm in both color palette and temperature, with vibrant paint on the walls and colorful, plush accent rugs placed perfectly throughout.
As I look around, I hear Sly’s quiet grunt of satisfaction behind me, and turn to see what inspired it. “What?”
He’s slipping his shoes from his feet and sliding into a pair of slippers by the door with a wide smile on his face. “These pantofoles are new, amore mio. And pink. Mamma bought them for you.”
Looking down at the light pink wool slippers, I notice the tag still attached to them. Picking them up, I examine them. They’re my size. “She did?”
“Sì, of course I did. You are my daughter-in-law. The least I can do is buy you a proper pair of pantofoles for when you visit.”
My breath catches at the sound of Sly’s mother’s voice, and I close my eyes, surprised and relieved at the lack of anger I hear in it. Sly squeezes my hand before turning to his mom. Opening my eyes, I turn toward her with a smile on my face.
“That was a sweet gesture, Mamma. Thank you. Let me introduce you to Vinnie—my wife.”
Sly’s mom is a striking woman, with gorgeous olive skin and vibrant hazel eyes, almost identical to her sons. Her dark hair is peppered with gray strands and she’s wearing it in a twist. On her feet are a pair of slippers—pantofoles—-in a light shade of purple that matches the t-shirt style summer dress she’s wearing.
Just looking at her makes me want to wrap my arms around her for an honest-to-God, genuine mom hug.
“You act as though I’ve never met her, Sylvester,” she scolds, smacking his bicep with the back of her hand. Turning to me, she steps forward, her arms outstretched. “Ciao, dolce figlia. It is nice to see you again—we met when you were just a young girl. My name is Valentina, but feel free to call me Val.” She reaches up and squeezes my cheek between her finger and thumb. “You have grown into a stunning woman. I can see why my son fell so hard for you.”
“Thank you,” I tell her as she pulls me into a hug. Her words twist in my heart, catching me off guard. “Thank you for having me tonight.”
“The pleasure is ours,” she coos. “Come. Are you thirsty? Hungry? I hope you have brought your appetite. Dinner will be ready shortly.”
“Thank you. I’m famished.”
“Eccelente.”
“Is this her?” a deep male baritone asks from down the hall. Turning toward the voice, I see a man, whom I can tell is Sly’s father, emerge from a room. Two other men follow him. One I recognize as Sly’s cousin, Enzo, and the other looks like a younger version of Sly.
“Sì, Papà. Vinnie, my father, Antonio. Behind him is my cousin Lorenzo, and my brother Guilio.” Tipping his chin at them, Sly asks, “Where is Federico?”
“He should be here any moment,” Antonio tells us. Closing the distance, he reaches for my hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing the back. “It is nice to meet you, Vinnie.” Clasping his other hand on top of mine, he gives it a soft squeeze before excusing himself and walking into what I assume is the kitchen.
Sly’s brother steps forward next, taking me by surprise as he pulls me in for a bear hug. “Hey, kid,” he greets. “Nice to meet ya.”
“Guilio,” his mother scolds, swatting at him. “Give the woman some breathing room.”
Laughing, he lets me go and tosses a wink in my direction.
“Guilio,” Sly warns, his voice stern, yet I can still hear the playfulness in it.
The interaction so far eases my nerves, and I withdraw a deep sigh, smiling at Sly. Draping his arm around my shoulders, he pulls me to him and kisses my hair.
After a moment of enjoying my husband”s attention, I peek over at the man who hasn’t said a word. He’s watching us with scrutiny behind his dark brown eyes, his expression otherwise unreadable. Clearing my throat awkwardly, my anxiety makes me feel like I need to step away from my husband, but when I try, he holds me firmer.
“Lorenzo.” He glowers, but his name is all he says.
“You may love her, cousin, but she’s still a Paladino, and I don’t have to agree with it.”
His words send my heart plummeting to the pit of my stomach.
He starts to walk away, but Sly quickly steps forward, grabbing onto his arm to stop him.
“You may not like where she came from, but she is a Lucchetti now,” he growls, his eyes narrowing into slits as he speaks to his cousin in a deadly tone. “You will respect my wife. If you do not, there will be more problems between us than the ones we choose to pretend do not exist. Have I made myself clear, cugino?”
Shrugging from Sly’s hold, Enzo shakes his head, tossing a glare in my direction first. “Don’t forget the blood that runs in her veins is the very same blood that murdered your uncle. She may be your wife, but she’ll always be his daughter.”
Stalking off down the hallway, a door slams seconds later, causing me to jump slightly. Instantly, Sly’s warm arms are wrapping around my body again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers with his lips against my head.
“It’s not your fault.”
Guiding me into the kitchen, we rejoin the rest of his family—sans Enzo—and gather around the kitchen island while Val finishes cooking. The aroma is mouthwatering. Garlic and onion mixed with a fragrant sauce. The scent of freshly baked bread. A beautiful salad sits in the middle of the island, topped with an array of vibrant vegetables, and three bottles of homemade dressings sit beside it.
“Do you enjoy cooking, Mrs. Lucchetti?” I ask, unable to ignore my curiosity. I had always wished my mother cooked a meal of her own from time to time, but we always had a full kitchen staff. To this day, I have no idea whether my mother knows how to do anything in the kitchen outside of pouring herself a glass of wine.
“Oh, sì, my dear. Cooking is incredibly relaxing for me. Nothing makes me happier than knowing my boys are happy and fed.”
“Have you always cooked for them?”
Her features scrunch slightly at my question, but then she must recognize the deeper meaning behind it. “I have. Cleaning is a task I cannot stand, so we have always employed a housekeeper, but never a chef. Mia madre had me in the kitchen with her the moment I could toddle.” She laughs, smiling to herself at the memory. “I did the same with my boys, but it seems none of them have the cooking gene.”
“I resent that, Mamma. I can hold my own in the kitchen,” Sly chastises playfully.
“Well, I sure as hell can’t,” Guilio chimes in, making us all laugh.
“Give me another few minutes and dinner will be served,” Val singsongs.
“Grazie, Mamma,” Sly tells her, then turns to me. “Can I get you something to drink, amore mio?”
“Water would be great, thank you.”
Sly steps away to grab me a glass, and I watch him navigate his parents” kitchen naturally, affectionately squeezing his mom”s shoulder as he passes by her. A smile forms on my lips as I watch the interaction.
“Vinnie?” a deep rumble says hesitantly behind me. Turning, I come face to face with Antonio. I had been too drawn into watching Sly and his mom, I hadn’t heard him approach. “May I have a word with you?”
“Of course.” My upbringing has me painting a smile on my face, even though I’m suddenly terrified.
Not of Sly’s father, but more of what he might want to speak to me about.
“Let’s have a talk in the study.” His hand ghosts the middle of my back as he ushers me through another door off the kitchen and into a lovely room with rich leather seating and an exposed brick fireplace.
We both take a seat in adjacent chairs, and I sit up straight, crossing my feet and tucking my legs to the side with bent knees as I place my hands in my lap. My posture feels rigid—too proper—but I can’t relax. Worry plagues me as I wait for what Antonio might say, my brain conjuring the worst-case scenario of how this talk might go.
You’re not fit for this family.
My son deserves better than you.
Your father murdered my brother, you’re nothing to me.
You and my son need to get an annulment immediately.
“You can relax, Vinnie. I didn’t ask you to speak with me for the reasons you are probably thinking. Unlike my nephew, and until recently, my son, I learned to let go of my anger and resentment toward your family years ago.”
Stunned, the only thing I can manage to say is, “Oh?”
“Life is too short. Being a surgeon, I have spent my entire adult years watching how a person”s life can change faster than the blink of an eye—or from the bullet of a firearm.”
I flinch, and Antonio leans over and pats the top of my knee in a fatherly way. “I don’t blame you, Vinnie. I never have. You being with my son may have come as a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. I would never place blame on a child, regardless of what her last name is. Or was.”
“You’re not upset with me?” My voice is small, like a teenager being scolded after being caught sneaking back in at five a.m. The last five minutes spent with Antonio are like resurfacing years of fatherly conversations that should have happened with my own father but never did.
Strangely, it feels comforting.
Hearing that he doesn’t resent me unleashes some of the anxiety built up in my chest.
“Of course not. I just have one question, and I wanted to ask it in private, without distractions, so I can look into your eyes and see the truth reflected. I am a very good judge of character, and an even better human lie detector. Answer truthfully, and I’ll welcome you into this family with open arms. But if your answer is a lie, or I suspect you have ulterior motives, make no mistake, there will be another conversation happening after this one, but with my son. I do not mean that as a threat, I just want you to know that there is nothing more important to me than family, and if you intend to be in it, there will be no lies between us.”
Shifting in my chair, I nod. “Ask me anything.”
My heart rate accelerates, nerves surfacing as I anticipate what his question may be.
It doesn’t matter that I’d never lie about the answer. Makes no difference that I intend to lay all my cards on the table when it comes to the Lucchettis, so they feel comfortable and confident in their son”s marriage. I’m still utterly terrified that I’ll somehow word vomit myself into a lie.
All I want is for the Lucchettis to see me as the woman their son loves, and not reduce me to a product of my last name.
I love my family, but I see the errors of their ways, and it’s not how I want to live my life.
Scooting forward, he picks my hand up and wraps it between both of his, patting it as he looks me straight in the eyes and asks, “Do you truly love my son, Vinnie?”
Blowing out the breath held in my lungs, I answer him without hesitation and can feel tears welling up as emotion overtakes my body. “More than the moon loves the sun as he chases her through the days. I have never loved anyone the way I love your son, Mr. Lucchetti.”
His eyes search mine for several seconds, and I hold my head firm, never breaking our gaze. For a moment, I wonder if he doesn’t believe me, and I start to feel a wave of petrified nausea tumble in my stomach.
Suddenly, he stands, pulling me to my feet as well from the grasp he still has on my hand. Before I realize what’s happening, he pulls me into his arms in a tight hug, and I instantly relax, trying not to be obvious when I take another deep breath to steady myself. But it’s no use, because instant tears start to flow the moment his next words pierce through my soul.
“Please, Vinnie. You’re family now. Feel free to call me Papà.”