Chapter 3 Sophie
Sophie
Siena’s squeal pierces through the low rumble of party conversation before I see her, and I barely manage to drop the steam pans onto the kitchen counter before she tackles me with a big pregnant hug.
“Girl! I invited you to come hang out at the party, not cater the party! What did you do?!”
She sounds like she’s scolding me, but she looks like a kid at Christmas. She’s already peeking under lids to see what food presents I brought her.
I open a container and rearrange bite-sized arancini and stuffed mushrooms. “Oh, you know I had to bring something.”
The truth is, it’s not just politeness when I bring food; it’s a form of social survival. Food is my armor, my reason for being here. Without it, I’m just Siena’s awkward cousin hovering in a corner, nursing a beer I don’t even want.
Siena plucks a piece of prosciutto off the antipasto plate and groans as she pops it in her mouth then looks behind me, expectant. “You didn’t bring that new sous chef from the restaurant you’re seeing? What’s his name? Rocco?”
My stomach drops, and I bite my bottom lip hard enough to hurt. This is the last thing I want to talk about, especially with Siena, so glowingly pregnant and happy with Matti. “Uh, no. He wasn’t… interested.”
Saying it out loud is utterly humiliating. How do I tell my younger cousin again that I’m in another ‘relationship’ where the guy is more than happy to fuck me behind closed doors and eat my food, but has zero interest in actually dating me? Like I’m not good enough to be seen with in public.
Siena’s chewing slows. “Not interested in you or not interested in coming to a party? I thought you guys were fucking.”
I shrug, aiming for casual and probably landing somewhere near pathetic. “We hooked up a couple of times, but I guess he’s not into dating. Or not into dating me, anyway.” I force out a laugh that sounds hollow even to me, and Siena’s face darkens.
“Sophie, you are fucking amazing. Fuck him. He’s not good enough for you. I mean, his name is Rocco. He sounds like a fucking douchebag.”
When I don’t say anything—because what is there to say?—her voice drops and she grips my arm. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Even though she’s being kind, her protective concern irritates me, especially coming from my younger cousin. But I get it. I’ve had so-called boyfriends, or ‘fuck friends’ or whatever euphemism makes it sound less sad, turn violent in the past. And it’s usually Siena who patches me up.
“No, nothing like that. He’s just… unavailable.”
“Unavailable, huh?” Siena leans on her elbows on the counter between us, picking her way through the trays.
I nod. “I’ve invited him to other things before, but he’s always busy. Tonight, he made it clear that he would always be busy.”
“Fuck him. He’s clearly an idiot. Any man would be lucky to have you, and he’s not it.” Her mouth is full of salami, garbling the words, and I can’t help but laugh as I scan the little crowd gathered in the house, trying to distract myself from the hollow ache I’m feeling.
I recognize most of the faces, the usual suspects who are often at Siena’s place.
Siena’s man, Matti, and her soon-to-be brothers-in-law, Vin and Tommy, are holding court in the living room.
Tommy’s wife, Giovanna, waves at me from her spot on his lap, her pregnant belly prominent even though she’s seated.
The Demonio brothers are usually so intimidating: stony faces, intense stares that feel like they know what underwear you’re wearing and are not impressed.
Tommy rarely talks to anyone but his wife, and Matti—well, he’s the father of my little niece Emilia, due in just a few months, so he can do no wrong in my book.
And then there’s Vin Demonio.
I have to physically stop myself from sighing out loud like a lovesick teenager. Vincenzo Demonio is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my entire life, and I’m including every movie star, every model, every fantasy I’ve ever come up with.
For starters, he’s huge. I’m 5’3” and he’s probably a foot taller than me, muscular like a weight lifter, and his arms are almost bigger around than my thighs—and my thighs are thick, the kind of thick that make shopping for jeans a freaking nightmare.
His shoulders are wider across than my ass, which is saying something because my ass is huge, the kind of huge that most men swipe left on. His hands and forearms are veiny and strong like they could choke you or cradle you easily, depending on his mood.
With his dark hair that’s always slightly mussed like he just rolled out of someone’s bed, brown eyes that see straight into the deepest parts of your soul, olive skin, and an ever-present cocky smirk, he easily commands the attention of every woman in the room.
Including me. Especially me.
But for me, the real clincher, the thing that makes my ovaries sit up and pay attention, is the way his face changes when he eats my food.
His eyes half close, he chews slow, and he makes this soft groaning sound deep in his throat that makes me so wet I’m pretty sure I’m halfway pregnant with his baby already.
It’s pathetic. I know it’s pathetic.
I clearly have no chill whatsoever, because Siena’s face lights up when she catches the look on my face, and then instantly darkens like a storm cloud when she sees why.
“No! NO! Bad!” Siena smacks my arm over and over until my spell is broken, and I’m laughing at her in spite of myself.
“Oh come on, I can look, can’t I?”
“No! Not at him! You’ll summon him! That man’s dick has radar that can suss out a wet pussy from miles away. Stop it!”
She’s practically in a panic, her voice climbing toward hysteria, but I can’t stop laughing. “You mean that man can make any pussy wet from miles away.”
“Gross! I can’t!” Siena pretends to melt across the counter, digging her nails into my arm.
“Run. Run so far away from that man. I’m serious, Sophie.
He’ll fuck you, sure, but if you’re sick of men who aren’t interested in dating, you want absolutely nothing to do with him.
He’s the king of fuck-and-run. It’s common knowledge that he never fucks the same person twice and doesn’t give a shit if his victim even gets off. He’s a terrible person.”
A loud, high-pitched laugh cuts through the room like nails on a chalkboard, and we both turn to see Valentina with her long claws wrapped around Vin’s forearm.
She couldn’t be sitting closer to him if she tried, her breasts resting on his bicep like throw pillows as she grabs his face and kisses him.
A sigh escapes me. Yeah, that’s about right.
Men like him don’t look at women like me: short, curvy in the wrong places, the quiet one in the room with almost no makeup and hair in a messy bun because I don’t know how to do anything else.
I can’t remember the last time I had long nails or did more than get my hair trimmed.
I practically live in my work apron, and I always smell like garlic and olive oil.
When I walk into a room, people don’t notice.
But Valentina? She always looks like she just finished a six-hour glow-up session. Loud and gorgeous and confident, she commands the attention of every man she in the room like she’s a magnet and they’re all metal shavings. My opposite in every possible way.
And perfect for Vin.
I can’t stop staring, and Siena smacks me again, harder this time. “Don’t feed his ego. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he were physically abusive to women or would be if he stayed with them longer than the three minutes it takes him to get off.”
“Well, it looks like he’s got his hands full already, anyway.” I force myself to look away and open the bag of pastries, the sfogliatelle that I spent all day making.
Siena grunts. “Valentina is his ex from a long time ago. There’s nothing there, but honestly, everyone thinks they should get together. She’s the only person I know who’s a bigger whore than he is.”
My eyes widen in mock shock though I secretly love every word. “Wow, slut shaming, are we?”
Siena laughs. “She would take it as a compliment, believe me.”
“Why did they break up if they’re so perfect for each other?”
Siena shrugs, reaching for another piece of prosciutto. “It was a long time ago, more than 15 years, and she was only fucking him because Aurelio told her to.”
I freeze mid-motion, a sfogliatelle halfway to the serving plate. “What? His own father planted a girlfriend in his life? That’s messed up.”
The cardamom from the pastry filling smells amazing, and I lick powdered sugar off my fingers after I arrange them on the plate.
“It gets worse.” Siena leans and lowers her voice. “She was fucking Aurelio before, during, and after she was fucking Vin. I don’t think she and Aurelio were together—I mean, it’s Valentina. And it’s Aurelio. But Matti said that Vin was crushed.”
My heart clenches in sympathy. “Oh my gosh, of course he was. His first real love and she was lying to him the whole time.”
“Matti said Vin found out when he walked in on her getting face-fucked by Aurelio. And in front of so many people.” Siena frowns at the concern that must be written all over my face.
“Don’t feel sorry for him, Sophie. He’s made hundreds of women feel just as shitty, I promise you.
Just because you understand why someone is broken doesn’t mean you have to let yourself be abused trying to fix him. ”
“No, I know.” I start slicing a loaf of Italian bread into neat rounds, making each slice perfect, uniform, exactly one centimeter thick. Something I can control.
I’ve barely finished when Vin, the one thing I can’t control, stands and heads my way.