9. Alessia
Chapter nine
Alessia
“ C alm yourself, piccolina . You go relax until your fiancé gets here,” my mom says, still trying to shoo me out of the kitchen.
Massimo is coming over for dinner tonight, and I don’t understand why I am so nervous. This is my territory.
The party was four nights ago, and I haven’t seen him since we said goodbye at night's end. But his presence isn’t needed to continue to mess with my head and, most certainly, my body.
Every time he placed a kiss on my cheek or brushed his lips against the shell of my ear to whisper something, I wanted to turn my head and catch it on my lips—to feel it burn my lips the way it burned my cheek. And as the night went on, the more I found myself leaning into his every touch—enjoying it, anticipating it. Fia even said he and I looked like a real couple, which I refused to comment on.
Then I keep thinking about Arianna’s lipstick stain on Massimo’s collar. I don’t think he plans to explain himself to me, and I do not plan on letting it go. He thinks he’s entitled to my trust. You cannot force someone to trust you just like you cannot demand someone to love you.
“I don’t want to relax, Mamma. I can’t. I need something to do,” I whine, and she clucks her tongue in disapproval.
“Go. I mean it.”
Sighing, I turn and leave the kitchen to head into the other room. I grab a seat next to Salvatore, Tullio’s six-year-old son, and my nephew. “Hey, Sal.” I ruffle his hair, and he ducks out of the way. I chuckle and wrap an arm around him to give him a squeeze.
Glancing over at Tullio, I find him watching me. His guilt is palpable, but I hold no grudge against him. Yes, if he married Sarita, I wouldn’t be marrying Massimo, but it would be someone else from another family.
I give him a sanguine smile and engage in conversation like normal. As usual, Alba ends up on my lap and becomes my responsibility, especially since Gemma isn’t here to share the duties. My brothers love giving the little princess love and attention, but she's mine once everyone has had their fill. I don’t mind, though. She’s my girl, and I honestly cannot wait to have kids of my own. There’s no hurry, though, since I am only twenty-one.
Which reminds me, Massimo and I haven’t talked about kids yet, and we probably should discuss it. He’ll most definitely want an heir or two, but how soon? And how many?
My father finally graces us with his presence and says Massimo is now pulling up to the estate. He looks at me, but I remain blithe as I talk to Alba and smile at her.
I keep my focus on her as a distraction when Massimo enters the room, and I hear everyone greeting him. The mood changes, my brothers slipping somewhat into mobster mode now that there is a De Luca on our turf. He may be family soon, but until then, we all must remain wary.
There’s a mixture of English and Italian going around, and I overhear him saying he brought over two bottles of his family’s wine. I must admit, it’s the best wine I have ever tasted. And the food at his family restaurant is neck and neck with my mother’s cooking. However, I would never dare ever to say that out loud.
Standing up with Alba in my arms, I smile up at Massimo as he approaches and allow him to brush his lips across each cheek, titillating my skin. “Massimo.”
“Alessia.” He looks down at Alba and gives her a tiny but warm smile.
“I guess you haven’t officially met Alba yet. The newest Bonetti princess.”
“She’s beautiful,” he says, still looking at her.
My mother comes whirling into the room. A paragon of an Italian mother and hostess. “Massimo, come sta ?” How are you ?
“ Sto bene, grazie, e Lei ?” I’m well, thank you, and you ?
“I’m wonderful. Dinner should be ready soon. I hope you’re hungry. Lesina, honey. Come give me a hand.” I open my mouth to offer my help, but my mother gives me a look that stops me.
Lesina silently begs me for backup with her eyes, but she’s on her own. I’m occupied with taking care of her baby at the moment, so she can pretend to be an actual part of the family for once. When she realizes I won’t be bailing her out, she cements on a fake smile and follows my mother out.
“Come, let me get you a drink, Massimo,” my father says, leading him to the bar.
Santino comes over to sit next to me. “You okay?” he murmurs, throwing an arm along the back of the couch.
I nod my head, smiling. “I’m fine.”
Santino is the taciturn one, but that in no way means he’s soft or easy. He’s quiet because he’s busy observing and absorbing. Making him the most perspicacious, able to see and hear what others won’t. It’s why our father relies on him most for his useful information. Armando would be considered our best soldier physically, but Santino is downright scary. Yet, ironically, he’s the most sensitive of all my brothers.
“I still don’t like this,” he grumbles and eyes up Massimo from across the room.
“I know, Santino, but you’ll have to get over it.”
“It isn’t final until you’re married. You have plenty of time to change your mind.”
Why must I continue to repeat myself?
“That’s not happening. It’s hard enough to be respected as a woman in this world. If my word doesn’t mean shit, then neither will I.”
He sighs and rubs his jawline. “Is that why you’re really doing this? To earn more respect?” I don’t answer him. “I’m just saying that no one would judge you for changing your mind. Arranged marriage is so old school, and things are slowly changing.”
Too slowly…
“I appreciate your support, Saint, but I’m doing this. Accept it.” I glance over at Massimo and catch him staring. “It could be a lot worse than Massimo De Luca.”
“You better tell me if he wrongs you in any way.”
I don’t bother telling him how I can take care of myself. I know they only love me, but I’m beginning to feel like a broken record. “I promise I will.”
Family dinner is just as you would expect in a big Italian family. It’s chaotic. Everyone talks too loudly and over each other, insults are thrown, serving dishes of Mamma’s cooking are passed around the crowded table.
Our aunts, uncles, and cousins come over for dinner at least twice a week, and it only gets crazier. And when our grandparents come from Italy to visit, it is insane. My grandma, aunts, and mother start preparing for dinner shortly after breakfast, making enough food to feed an army.
Massimo sits beside me, and I feel how tightly spun he is. To him, this may be quite a shock. I mean, we’re gangsters who thrive on crime, yet we sit down as a family to eat. We even bow our heads as Mamma says a quick grace.
I can’t help the giggle that bubbles up when Mamma scolds Massimo for taking a polite serving. Only she could get away with treating Massimo like a child, and he cracked a smile rather than a skull.
“If it weren’t for the intensive training I do daily, I’d be fat as hell,” I murmur over to him.
His smile widens some as his eyes make a leisurely trail down the length of my body. “Intensive training, huh?” he asks, and I nod my head.
“She’s also lethal with a knife of any kind,” Armando interjects, obviously eavesdropping in on our conversation. “So, keep her away from pointy objects if you’re in some kind of a tiff.”
“Scary as shit, more like it,” Paolo mutters, and Tullio smacks him on the back of the head at the same time Mamma chastises him for cursing at the table. “I’m sorry for cursing, Mamma, but it’s true!”
“You’re just jealous because you have terrible aim,” I tease him, then look over at Massimo, grinning. “He couldn’t hit the target with a knife if it were six feet away.”
“And you?” His eyes are full of intrigue.
“I could hit it with my eyes closed,” I reply smugly.
“I’d certainly like to see that.” We lock gazes for a moment until Armando speaks again.
“It’s how she got the name ‘little psycho.’” A bunch of them start snickering as I glare at my annoying brother.
“Hey, I told you not to call her that!” Mamma reprimands. “You know I hate that. Now apologize to your sister.”
I raise both eyebrows at him with a smirk. “I’m sorry for calling you psycho,” he says half-heartedly.
I think it bothers Mamma so much when they call me that because she’s concerned there might be some truth to it. She’s from an affluent family, but she’d rather have her head in the sand than know what really goes on around her.
After we’re all overly stuffed and all the wine is consumed, the boys clear the table while the rest sit around and chat. My father and Massimo are the only two still withdrawn, remaining in boss form. Neither of them willing to show their hand.
Yet, I sense that Massimo will learn to breach my carefully constructed walls.