The Savage (Roman Republic #2)

Prologue I Constantine

Prologue I

Constantine

Bright and early in the morning, I worked in the kitchen of Rosticceria Da Cristina and prepared the dough for the pizzas and the fillings for the arancini.

The pizza dough took the longest, requiring adequate time for the yeast to activate and for the dough to rise at the right temperature.

I turned on the music from the sound system, cranking it up because I was the only one in there, singing along to the parts I liked because there was no one there to judge me.

Then I saw my mother through the window. She used her key to unlock the door, but when there was no resistance, she realized I’d left it open and she walked inside. “What did I tell you about locking the door, Con?” she shouted over the music.

“What do you think’s gonna happen? Someone is gonna jack our pizza?”

“Why is this so loud?” She marched to the sound system and aggressively pushed the buttons until the music abruptly ended. “Jesus Christ, it’s seven in the morning.”

I rolled my eyes and got back to work.

“Roll your eyes at me again, and I’ll smack them out of your head.”

I smirked as I rolled the dough in the flour. “Sorry, Ma.”

She gave me a gentle smack on the ass before she headed into the office. She did the books while I continued to prepare the store to open. I turned the music back on, keeping it at a reasonable level so she wouldn’t yell at me again.

A couple hours later, she joined me in the kitchen. “Everything ready to go?”

“Like always, Ma.” Working at the family business wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it’d been in our family for generations and we were all proud of it.

The restaurant had become a famous tourist spot for everyone who visited Taormina.

Sometimes I wondered what life would be like if I left the island and made my own way on the mainland, but I had too much to leave behind.

My family was everything to me, and if I ever decided to move, my mother would be devastated.

She smacked me a lot, but I knew she did it out of love.

She rubbed my arm before she gave me a gentle pat. “That’s my boy.”

“Your boy has been a man a long time.”

“Yes, I’m reminded every time I stand next to you.” She glanced up at me, a foot and a half shorter than me. “So how are you? How are things with Issy?”

“Good,” I said with a smile. “We were at the beach yesterday.”

“She’s a nice girl, Con.”

“I know.”

“And nice girls don’t wait around forever . . .” She shot me a look before she started to place the trays of arancini and pizzas inside the glass-covered display case where the customers could choose what they wanted.

“I know they don’t. Which is why I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“Wait too long and all the good ones will be taken, Con.” She clearly hadn’t heard what I said, obviously drowning in her anxiety that I wouldn’t marry and have two kids before I turned twenty-five. “They will have another man’s babies, and you’ll be sorry.”

“Ma?”

“Hmm?” She finished loading the last tray into the glass case, then shut the door. She came back to me, dusting her palms from the flour that was always sprinkled throughout the place.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

She blinked once, and then her face hardened like she didn’t understand. Her hands flew to her mouth as she silenced a gasp she didn’t realize she’d made. “Con, do not mess with me right now. I’m not in the mood for one of your jokes—”

“I would never joke about that, Ma.”

“So, you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

She smacked both of her hands onto the counter, probably hard enough that it hurt, but she then threw her arms in the air and hopped up and down, moving with an enthusiasm she hadn’t shown in .

. . forever. “Oh my god, my boy is getting married. I can’t believe this.

I just . . . I have to talk to your aunt Chiara. She’s going to be so excited—”

“Ma, let’s keep this between you and me, all right? People can’t keep a secret. Honestly, I probably already blew it telling you.”

“I would never say anything!”

“You were just about to tell everyone in town. I don’t even have the ring yet. I just need to save up a few more checks. I found the one that I want, but it’s a little out of my price range. So the jeweler said he would hold it until I come up with the rest of the money.”

“Con, I’ll open the safe right now and give it to you.” She was already headed for the hallway.

“Ma, chill.”

She turned back to me. “Money is just money, Con. Take it.”

“No.”

“Do not be stubborn like your father!”

I released a short laugh. “I’m stubborn like you, not him. And I don’t want money I haven’t earned. I’m not buying my wife’s ring with a handout. That’s insulting to her and insulting to our marriage.”

“Con, you can pay me back.”

“What’s the rush? I’ll ask her in a couple months.

Not like she’s going anywhere.” I grinned before the alarm went off and the next batch of pizzas was done.

I pulled them out of the oven and set them on the counter so they could cool.

“You’re the only person I’ve told. So you need to keep it together, all right? ”

“You’re going to make me wait months? Con, I could drop dead—”

“Well, now you have a reason to stay alive.” I grabbed the pizza roller and sliced each pizza into slices.

Our bestseller was the Bronte pizza, which was sliced mortadella piled on top of a sprinkle of mozzarella cheese with pistachio pesto sauce drizzled over the top.

I had a couple of slices myself when it came out fresh from the oven.

“This stays between us.” I pointed back and forth between her and me. “Got it?”

She gave a performative sigh before she rolled her eyes.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” I teased.

She started to march back to the office. “I’m your mother. I can roll my eyes at you all I want!” Then she slammed the door as hard as her little body could manage.

My mom hosted her weekly dinner on Sunday evening, and the small house was packed with pretty much all of Taormina.

Friends, family, neighbors, the door was open to everyone.

My mom, aunt, and sister cooked most of the food, but everyone brought something to help out.

No other way seventy people were going to get fed without a little assistance.

Isabella and I sat together on the patio. My arm was draped over her chair while I drank a glass of wine and chatted with my friends and cousins at the little table we were crammed into. “We should all take a trip to Rome,” Antonio, my cousin, said. “I’ve never been, and it’s just an hour flight.”

“Because no one ever leaves Taormina,” I said. “And for good reason. We’ve got the best food, the best wine, and . . .” I turned to Isabella beside me and kissed her in front of everyone. “And the most beautiful women.”

Her lips didn’t just melt for me, but her eyes did as well.

“That’s the lamest line I’ve ever heard,” Antonio said.

“Hey, it worked,” I said before I raised my glass and took a drink.

“It worked because you’re six five,” Francesco said.

My glass was empty and so was hers, so I left the guys and walked to the table under the patio where all the booze was set up. I opened a new bottle, let it breathe for a second, and then poured the glasses.

That was when I noticed my brother Edric step onto the patio.

One hand was tucked into the pocket of his jeans, and he had a swagger so distinctive, it made it obvious which twin he was.

He either didn’t notice me or wasn’t in the mood to talk, because he moved to the patio and the sea of tables.

He didn’t say a word before he took a seat.

I recorked the wine before I took a drink out of the glass, pivoting my body to look at the sea of people gathered around to enjoy the festivities. My mother knew how to bring everyone together. She said her mother had been the same way, a quality that had been passed down through the generations.

Antonio joined me. “Any wine left?”

“Yeah, just opened a new bottle.” I looked at my brother again, about to walk over and talk to him, but he wore the hardest look I’d ever seen.

And when I followed his gaze, I saw it landed right on Isabella.

And she stared back . . . with the exact same look.

I felt my chest tighten as I watched them, witnessing an unspoken conversation pass between them, in a language no one else in that room could understand.

It went on and on, and I waited to see who would look away first.

But it took nearly a minute for Isabella to drop her gaze, to cross her arms over her chest like she was cold or uncomfortable.

And Edric continued to stare on . . . like she might look at him again.

When I got to Daiquiri, Edric was already there, sitting alone at a table for four, his drink in front of him, along with appetizers he hadn’t touched. He lounged back, arms crossed, examining one of the nearby trees.

I walked up and took a seat. “Hey.”

His eyes flicked to me, but his body remained in place. “Hey.”

I grabbed the menu and browsed. “Might get a pina colada.”

“Are you a girl on vacation?”

“I like the fruity drinks here. Makes me feel like I’m in Turks and Caicos.”

“You haven’t been to Turks and Caicos.”

“And this is probably as close as I’m going to get.” I closed the menu. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“You’re being weird.”

“How am I being weird?” he asked.

“You aren’t being yourself.”

He gave a slight shake of his head, then took a drink. “You’re paranoid.”

“And you’re trying to gaslight me.” I’d always had it, a remarkable intuition. I could read people like an open book. I’d known Edric my entire life and knew his behaviors and his tells. He’d been different the last few weeks, and I still hadn’t figured out why.

Edric stopped participating in the conversation.

I tried to change the subject, sticking to the restaurant. He worked at the other location we had, the one that was only takeaway.