Chapter 40
Romeo
“Come back to bed,” I plead as I walk up behind Lucia in the kitchen and slide my arms around her waist.
“I’m cooking dinner,” she replies.
“I don’t need food, I need you.”
“You had me this morning, and all afternoon.”
“I need more.”
“You need sustenance,” she replies. “And since it’s your birthday, I’m making all your favourites.”
When we got back from lunch, we spent the afternoon in bed, but sometime after our marathon sex session, I must’ve fallen asleep because when I woke, she was gone.
I can see by her wet hair that she’s showered and changed into a different outfit, jeans and a blouse.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I say, untucking her top from her pants and sliding my hands underneath the silky fabric.
She glances over her shoulder, running her eyes down the length of my body as the tips of my fingers move under the lace of her bra so I can tweak her taut nipple.
“And you’re not wearing enough.”
“I thought you liked me naked.”
“I do, but you might want to go put some pants on.”
“I’m good.” When I reach over to turn off the cooktop, she slaps my hand. “Let’s order in.”
“We can’t,” she replies, placing her lips on my cheek. “Go get dressed.”
“Why?” The words are no sooner out of her mouth when I hear a knock on the front door. I bury my face in the crook of her neck and groan. “Are we expecting anyone?”
“Yes, hence why you need to put some pants on.”
When I release her and straighten, she turns and pushes up on her toes to brush her lips with mine. “Go, I’ll get the door.”
I blow out a frustrated breath as I go to leave, and Lucia slaps my bare arse.
I’m halfway out of the kitchen when a thought hits me, stopping me dead in my tracks.
A dull weight settles in the pit of my stomach. “You didn’t invite my father’s family over, did you?”
“Of course not. I already told you that when you make that decision, I’ll support you one hundred percent. No matter what you decide.”
I nod, swallowing down the unease as I force my feet to keep moving. I’m still torn on that one. I want to meet them, but I’m scared to.
By the time I’m dressed and heading back down the hall, I hear Dante’s voice followed by easy laughter, and I immediately relax. I can handle a night with my best friend and his wife.
But what I’m not expecting when I step back into the kitchen are the extra faces waiting there. Dominic with Lil’ Peach nestled on his hip. Beside him stands Father Flannery, smiling warmly at our enforcer, as if he hadn’t walked into a house full of sinners.
“There he is,” Dante shouts, and everyone’s eyes move to me.
“The man of the hour.” He places his beer down on the table and stalks towards me.
“Happy birthday, mate,” he says, extending one hand and grasping my shoulder with the other.
“How have we been best friends for over twenty years, and this is the first time I’ve celebrated this special day with you. ”
“Because you’re a shitty best friend,” I reply, smirking.
“I’m the best fucking friend you’ve ever had,” he retorts and then grimaces when he remembers there’s a priest in the room. “Sorry, Father,” he adds, glancing at him over his shoulder. “I meant to say fudging.”
Father Flannery chuckles. “I run a youth program, remember, so I hear that word often, sometimes worse. I’ve even said it a time or two myself,” he replies.
Dante rears back. “You’ve dropped the f-bomb?”
“I haven’t always been a man of the cloth.”
“Right,” Dante replies.
We may have attended the same school, but we lived completely different lives back then. He had a safe place and loving family to go home to, so he didn’t know Father Flannery like I did.
I step towards Father Flannery and hold out my hand.
“Happy birthday, Romeo,” he says.
I clear my throat, glancing over at my wife. She’s watching me with that soft smile she wears so easily, her eyes shining. She has Caterina in her arms again, and I find myself hoping that one day I’ll get to see her holding our child.
“Thank you.”
It’s funny that I spent most of my childhood wishing someone would notice this day. Now here I am, thirty-three years later, and not quite knowing what to do with the attention.
Father Flannery doesn’t skip a beat. “I’ve been meaning to ask you … any idea how a brand new car ended up outside the rectory a few weeks ago?”
I clear my throat again and shove my hands deep into my pockets. “Why would I know anything about that?”
“Well, last time I saw you, you asked why I was still driving that heap of shit around … your words, not mine.”
“That proves nothing. Your car was a heap of shit.”
“It reminded me of the time someone offered to pay for the new roof for the youth club, and when I declined, a miraculous anonymous donation was made.”
I tug at the collar of my dress shirt. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You do realise lying to a priest is a sin,” he says, grinning like he’s already got me.
I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t lying in general a sin?”
He leans in slightly. “When’s the last time you came to confession?”
I hear Dominic snort behind me, so my eyes flicker to him and narrow. “When I was a teenager.”
Father Flannery claps a hand on my shoulder. “Come see me next week. You’re long overdue.”
“I appreciate the invite, but that’ll be a hard pass.”
There is no chance I’m unpacking the last couple of decades for this man. He doesn’t need to know some of the horrific things I’ve done to protect the Famiglia and my wife.
He chuckles because he’s not stupid; he knows I’m part of the mob.
“Well … thank you for the car. It’s nice to drive something that won’t stall every time I try to leave the church parking lot.”
I open my mouth, ready to deny it again, but I stop myself. Instead, I nod, then turn my attention towards Dominic.
I never did it for praise or gratitude. I’ll never be able to repay this man for what he’s given me over the years. I simply wanted him to have something safe. Something that didn’t rattle like a tin can every time he turned the key, or leave him stranded in the rain, praying for a miracle.
I step out of the car, round the vehicle, and meet Lucia on the sidewalk. My eyes meet hers as I straighten the collar of my shirt and tug at my cufflinks.
“Do I look okay?”
“Is that a serious question?” she deadpans.
“I asked it, didn’t I?”
She steps towards me and fists her hands in the front of my shirt. “If we weren’t standing out the front of your grandparents’ house, I’d drop to my knees, take that glorious salsiccia grossa (Big thick sausage) of yours down the back of my throat, and show you just how hot you look.”
“Jesus, babe, don’t say shit like that. Not here … not now. How’s it going to look if they open the door to meet me for the first time and find me with a tent in the front of my trousers?”
She winces. “Yeah, kind of weird. You look terrible, so bad that I’m struggling to hold back my gag. Is that better?”
I bark out a laugh as I lean down to place my lips on her temple. “You fucking kill me sometimes, Luc.”
Her face drops, and all the colour leaves her pretty face. “Don’t say that … even in jest.”
I inhale a sharp breath and reach for her hand, hoping she doesn’t notice the slight tremble in my fingers.
It took me weeks to finally reach out to my grandparents. I struggled with the decision at first, unsure if opening that door was the right move. But the thought of having real blood relatives—people who actually want me in their lives—was something I couldn’t ignore.
It started with a simple call, which led to this moment. My grandmother was the one who answered the phone, but as soon as I told her who I was, she broke down in tears and passed the receiver to her husband.
I’m hoping she manages to hold it together today, because I’m not sure how I’ll react if she doesn’t. Just being here makes me feel more emotional than I’m comfortable with.
We walk up the short path to their front door. My heart’s thudding in a way I haven’t felt since I was a kid, like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest.
I fill my lungs with air before I raise my hand and knock.
A beat passes, then another, and my stomach flips when I hear movement behind the door. The sound of the lock turning echoes loudly in my ears, just as Lucia reaches for my hand, clutching it tightly in hers.
“I’ve got you,” she whispers, and not a day has passed since I stopped fighting the inevitable, that I’m not grateful to call this woman mine.
When the door swings open, my grandmother is standing there, and I expel the breath I didn’t realise I was holding. She’s smaller and frailer than I expected, but it’s the softness I see in her eyes as she stares at me that nearly undoes me.
She blinks once, then again, before her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, goodness,” she breathes, her voice trembling. “You look just like our Gabriel. The resemblance is …”
Her words die off as her eyes well up with unshed tears. Before I can even think of a response, she takes a step forward and wraps her arms around me so tightly it steals my breath.
“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m so, so sorry it’s taken this long for us to get here. When we lost your father, it nearly broke us. He was our life, our mischievous boy, and what we lived for. Getting through each day without him was a struggle I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”
She pauses, her voice catching in her throat.
“I wish we had known about you from the start. We would’ve been there. You would’ve healed a part of me that died right alongside him. We would’ve loved you from the very beginning … just like we love you now. I hate that we missed so much of your life. I hate that you had to grow up without us.”
Once those words are out, the tears turn into racking sobs, and I don’t know what to say or do, so I just stand there, letting her hold me, feeling like a part that was missing has suddenly clicked into place.
I have family who want me, who love me.