Chapter 9
Emily
Mick was full of remorse when I woke this morning. He even got up early to make me breakfast, like scrambled eggs and burnt toast could erase what happened last night. As if I could forget that he not only hit me, but also stole my entire life savings.
I went along with it, slipping into my usual fake it till you make it bullshit routine. Smiling when he smiled and nodding when he spoke, but inside, I’m completely checked out.
It’s strange how easily you can play the part even when your heart is no longer in it. Sometimes pretending is safer than feeling anything real.
I wince as my hip brushes against the metal handrail beside the bus door on my way down. At least my clothes hide the ugly bruise on my side, but no amount of makeup could cover my split, swollen bottom lip.
Mick was fixing the front door when I left. He offered to drive me in, but I told him I’d catch the bus. I need space. I need to be away from him.
Pulling out my phone, I dial my mum’s number as I head down the street towards La Riviera. There’s no way I’m telling her what happened last night. I just want to hear her voice, something safe and familiar. Talking to her might make things feel a little less out of control.
In a perfect world, I’d call her; she’d tell me she’s left her husband, misses me, and would offer to wire me the money to get a flight home. But I already know that’s not going to happen. She’s so in love with that creep, she’s totally blindsided by his wandering eye.
“Hey, Mum,” I say cheerily when she answers, trying hard to disguise the shake in my tone.
“Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”
“I’m good,” I lie. “Just thought I’d give you a quick call on my way to work. How are things there?”
“I’m busy packing.”
“Packing?”
“Yes, for the cruise. We leave tomorrow.”
“Oh, right. Tomorrow. That came around fast.”
“It did. I’m so excited.”
“You’re going to have the best time.”
“I even bought a bikini,” she says.
“A bikini … wow.”
“I know, the last time I wore one of those I was your age. Jonathon talked me into it.” I roll my eyes as soon as she mentions that douchebag’s name.
“Things have been tight since I lost my job, but he convinced me to have a little splurge. He said he’s looking forward to seeing me strut my stuff around the pool area while he lounges on a deck chair to watch me. ”
Those words have bile rising to the back of my throat. I can practically guarantee she won’t be the only person he ogles.
“How are things with you, sweetheart. How’s work? How’s Michael?”
I force out a smile, even though there are tears welling in my eyes. “Everything’s good.”
“That’s great. I’m happy to hear that. Listen, Emily, as much as I’d like to talk, I need to finish packing so I can drop the cat off at the sitter. The shuttle bus is picking us up at 6 am, so I won’t have time to do it before we leave tomorrow.”
“All good, Mum. I start work in a few minutes anyway. Have the best time.”
“I will. Thank you. I’m not sure how much service we’ll get while out at sea, but I’ll call you the first chance I get.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too, sweetheart.”
After ending the call, I slide my phone back into my bag and pause just outside the restaurant, giving myself a moment to regroup.
When I finally push through the door, I’m thankful to see the lunch rush is almost over. A few lingering customers are still eating while Sonia wipes down and resets a table off to the side.
I lift my hand and give her a quick wave as I head towards the kitchen. She’s far enough away not to notice my face, but Massimo, our chef, definitely will.
“Ciao, bella,” he says as soon as I enter the kitchen. But just as I expected, he does a double take. The knife in his hand hits the counter with a soft clink as he grabs the towel from his shoulder. His brow furrows, and the usual warmth in his voice disappears.
I don’t even get a chance to reply before he’s moving towards me. I keep walking, but before I can reach the office to stow my bag, his hand closes gently around my wrist, stopping me.
I glance back at him, silently begging him not to ask, but he does anyway.
“Mamma mia (Good grief), what happened to your face?” His eyes narrow in on the corner of my mouth as he speaks.
I force a small laugh, hoping it sounds casual. “You should see the door. Way worse shape than me.”
He doesn’t smile. Massimo isn’t one to pry, but I can see the concern on his face. It has tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
“A door did this to you?” he asks, and I can tell he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
“It’s nothing,” I answer quickly, reaching for an apron. “Just clumsy. You know me.”
He lets out a low hum, sceptical but not pushing further. “You shouldn’t have come in today if you’re hurt, tesoro (Sweetheart). Sit down, I’ll get you some ice—”
“No, really,” I cut him off, tying the apron behind my back. “I need to keep busy.”
Even a lobotomy would have sounded more appealing than staying home today.
We are flat out tonight, but I welcome it. It gives me less time to think about the clusterfuck that is awaiting me at home.
Some of our regular customers felt comfortable enough to ask about my lip, but they got the same lie as everyone else. I’ve said it so much tonight, it feels practically rehearsed.
I’m rushing out of the kitchen with both hands laden with plates of steaming pasta, but I freeze the moment I see him. Dominic Rizzo. The giant of a man with the little girl propped on his hip, standing just inside the door, waiting to be seated.
Great. I haven’t seen him in weeks, not since the day he defended my honour against that vile man he was dining with. Of all the nights he could choose to return, it had to be tonight.
My pulse spikes, and the plates suddenly feel heavier. “Give me a moment,” I say passing him, forcing my voice to remain steady as I move towards the table down the front to deliver their order.
I wipe my hands nervously on my apron as I approach him. His eyes are already narrowing in on my face, so I shift my attention to sweet little Peach.
She’s grown so much since the first time I saw her.
She clutches a teddy bear under her arm and looks impossibly cute in the pink jumpsuit she’s wearing.
There’s a pink butterfly clip pinning back some of her short dark curls and tiny pink sandals hug her feet.
I find myself wondering how Dominic’s giant meaty hands can manage something so delicate.
Although this man is intimidating and downright scary, if I’m being honest, there’s something about him that makes me feel safe.
He’s a mobster, so that’s crazy considering the man I’m living with seems to pale in comparison, but that adorable pink bundle in his arms makes him seem both fierce and gentle at the same time.
There’s so much I want to say, so many questions I ache to ask, but all that escapes my lips is, “Table for two?”
Tonight is not the night for small talk; any stray words could invite questions from him. Questions I’m not ready to answer.
He grunts in reply, as he usually does, but when his eyes drift from my cut lip to meet mine, I catch something raw beneath the surface, a flicker of pain, or maybe longing. It’s sharp and fleeting, hidden beneath the armour he wears so effortlessly, yet it’s enough to make my pulse race.
For a heartbeat, it feels like he sees more than just the cut on my lip; he sees something I haven’t dared to show anyone.
I lead them to the table, but instead of placing Peach down in her own seat, he plonks her on his lap.
“Would you like a highchair?” I offer.
“She’s fine here,” he replies.
Our eyes lock for a beat, and I don’t know what it is about this man, but there’s something that calls to me. I tear my gaze away from him and focus on Peach again. “Do you like to colour?” I ask her.
“She does,” he answers.
“We have little packs of colouring books and crayons. We give them out to the kids to keep them entertained. Can I bring one over for her?”
He glances down at his niece, then back up at me. His expression is unreadable when he nods.
By the time I return to the table with a menu and the colouring set, Peach has a bib fastened around her neck, a pink dummy in her mouth, and a sippy cup sitting in front of her.
There’s a patience and gentleness in him that I wouldn’t have expected. A quiet strength that softens his hard edges. Watching him with his niece, I realise just how effortlessly he balances authority with tenderness, and it leaves me unsettled in the best possible way.
Some time passes before I have the chance to return to Dominic’s table and take his order. Even with all the chaos around me, I could feel his eyes tracking me across the restaurant the entire time.
To start he asked for an antipasto—a mix of cured meats, cheeses, and marinated vegetables.
Watching Peach pause from colouring so her chubby little hand could reach for a pitted olive to pop it in her mouth made me smile.
For their main course, he ordered a spinach and pea risotto and a pasta dish in red sauce.
I watched him share both dishes with Peach. Tiny, careful bites went into her mouth, and without missing a beat, he’d scoop huge, greedy forkfuls into his own. Seeing it made my heart squeeze. I can’t ever remember my father being hands-on like this.
“Jesus, my ovaries are about ready to bust, watching that little kid with her hot dad,” Sonia says, slipping up beside me. “Why are the good ones always taken?”
Her words give me pause. Is he taken? Is someone else quietly helping him raise that little girl? The last time I saw him, Peach was with a neighbour. Could there be more than just casual babysitting going on there? And why does the very thought of it make my stomach twist?
When they’re done, I move over to clear the table.
I won’t be boxing up any leftovers tonight, because they managed to get through most of their meals.
I feel a little uneasy about sending them home without food for tomorrow.
I recall the frozen dinners when I ran into him at the grocery store, so I know he can’t cook.
“Would you like to look at the dessert menu?” I ask as I stack up the empty plates.
Dominic sits back in his chair and rubs his hand over his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”
“What about Peach? We have ice cream and sprinkles.”
My eyes move down to her as I speak, and I see her little tongue skimming along her bottom lip as she concentrates on her colourful scribble.
Dominic’s hand moves up to gently push a loose curl off her forehead. His large hand dwarfs her tiny head.
“Do you want some ice cream, baby girl?” he asks, and I swear that gesture and those words have my own ovaries in immediate danger.
She pauses what she’s doing and glances up at him. Those big brown eyes of hers are enough to melt anyone’s heart. “K,” is her only reply.
The smile that lights up Dominic’s face as he stares down at his niece almost knocks me on my arse.
Broody Dominic is gorgeous, but this version of him is downright devastating.
His usual guarded intensity softens, replaced by something so tender it steals the breath right out of my lungs.
The way his eyes crinkle, the gentle curve of his mouth is a side of him I didn’t think existed, and now that I’ve seen it, I know I’ll never be able to unsee it. This man is such a contradiction.
I know I’m staring right now, but thankfully, his attention is currently locked on the little girl on his lap, so he doesn’t notice. When his eyes flicker up to me, I snap myself out of my haze and force myself to keep moving.
I reach for the dirty dishes and take them back to the kitchen, feeling oddly off-kilter, by what I just witnessed.
“What are you doing with the other half of the lasagne in the fridge?” I ask Massimo when I open the freezer to get the ice cream.
He usually makes a few fresh ones for the evening rush since we’re busier at night. One of the perks of working in a restaurant is taking home the leftovers at the end of our shift. Mick usually loves it when I bring something back, but he’s not getting any tonight.
“You’re welcome to it,” Massimo replies.
“Would you mind if I boxed it up for one of our customers? He’s part of the Famiglia. He’s here with his little niece tonight, and I know he can’t cook.”
He crouches slightly and peers through the cutout in the wall towards the dining room. “Dominic?” he asks, flicking his chin in that direction.
“You know him?”
“Yeah, he’s one of Dante’s enforcers.” The words hit me harder than I expected. That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. “There’s some fettuccine boscaiola left over from lunch in there, too. You can give him that as well.”
Massimo rounds the stainless-steel island, stepping close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “You know,” he says, nodding towards my lip, “he’d be the perfect guy to sort out your little problem. Just say the word, and it’s done.”
His offer has all the colour draining from my face. Mick was wrong for what he did to me last night, and for stealing my money, but that’s a weight my conscience couldn’t bear.
Ignoring his words, I quickly bag up the containers and take them back out to the dining room along with Peach’s dessert.
Although I’d never take Massimo up on that ridiculous offer, my mind still reels with that dangerous possibility.