30. Allie
Allie
"So, how’s my Rico in bed?"
Nonna sips her wine like she’s asking if I want breadsticks—not casually launching a missile into my sex life.
Wine halfway to my lips, I blink at her. Surely, I misheard? Nope. Sienna throws me a thumbs-up from across the kitchen like she’s glad she's not in the hot seat. Traitor.
Honestly, Nonna’s filter died in the '60s, and she’s been partying on its grave ever since.
First week I met her? Asked if Rico "knew what to do with all that," waving at me like I’m a buffet.
Second week? Asked if I was "keeping it tight.
" Now? She wants performance stats like I’m about to leave a Yelp review.
If she asks for measurements, I’m dead. Just face-planting into this cheese board.
What would I even say at this moment? Well, Nonna, it was one position, two life-ruining orgasms, with a side of an identity crisis?
Because when Rico finally touched me—really touched me—like I was his to claim and ruin? Game over. The man kissed like it was life or death, and I was so ready to die happy. And then, of course, he ghosted the second reality returned.
But sure, let's unpack that at Sunday dinner.
Meanwhile, I’m over here ovulating like a fertility goddess with no worshiper.
And if Rico can rewrite the marriage rules—coming home late, dodging me—so can I by not telling him that I'm ovulating.
Hey, the contract never said that I was required to tell him when I was. See Rico? Two can play that game.
"Nonna, don’t scare her off," Violet croons, prowling closer like she smells blood.
She settles on the counter, grinning. "Sooo... did Rico talk? Or did you have to hit reset between rounds?"
I paste on my "I'm fine, thanks for asking" society smile, but Violet? She’s not buying it for a second.
If this keeps up, I’m moving to New Zealand and starting a farm. Goats don’t ask about your sex.
Nonna leans in, tapping her nails like she knows I’ll break. "Well?"
“He talked.” My voice comes out a little strangled—because why am I discussing dirty talk with his grandmother?
Violet lights up. "Wait, talked? Like a word? A sentence? Woman, I need details!"
I sigh. “A few sentences.”
The room goes dead silent. Even Mama, mid-sauce-stir, freezes.
“A few sentences,” Nonna repeats, practically glowing.
Violet leans in, eyes gleaming. "But was he Rico about it?"
I chew my lip. Yeah, he was Rico. And for a second, he wasn’t. For a second, he was mine.
“And… how often are you two working on a baby?” Mama asks.
I blink. “Uh… just once.”
Mama gasps and if the woman wore pearls, she'd clutch to those bad boys for dear life. “Once?”
“Only when I’m ovulating,” I mutter, draining my wine and wishing for something stronger.
Silence.
If awkward had a mascot, I’d be on the T-shirts.
Nonna's jaw drops. Violet’s eyes widen, like she’s watching a car crash she can’t look away from. Sienna is definitely trying not to laugh and failing.
Mama crosses herself, muttering prayers.
Nonna grabs my wrist with a grip that could crush diamonds. "Listen, bambina. Men like Rico? Think they can control everything. But you—" she taps her temple, then gestures lower (and sweet hell, I am not following her hand movement), "this is where you win."
Oh God. Somebody pass more wine—scratch that, make it tequila.
I blink at Nonna, stunned into actual silence — which, for me, is like a solar eclipse: rare, unexpected, and slightly terrifying.
Sienna, ever the backstabbing backup singer, chimes in like she’s warming up for a duet. “She’s not wrong. Dom used to be a total binder-carrying control freak. I once threatened a sex strike and watched that man toss his color-coded planner out the window like it was on fire.”
I squint at her. “Why... why did he even have a planner?”
Sienna shrugs, all innocent. “Very long story. We’ve all moved past it.” Mama nods in agreement from the corner.
“So you’re saying I should…” I glance up, like maybe God will open a skylight and beam me out of this conversation. “Appeal to his… lower brain?”
Nonna beams. “Esatto! Use what God gave you and make my little Rico forget all that big brain of his.”
I choke on my wine, coughing into my sleeve. “Your little Rico?”
Nonna nods, completely unbothered that she’s now responsible for permanently scarring my soul.
Violet snorts beside me, clearly living for this moment. And now my brain, being the traitor it is, immediately wonders if Nonna means Rico-the-man or Rico-the… other thing that is far from little. Not even close.
God, I need a drink. Oh wait — I’m already holding one.
I gulp half my glass, mentally adding pre-drinking to my future cooking night survival plans.
“So just… seduce him, huh? Simple.” I force a smile, though inside I’m vibrating like an over-wound toy. Sure, let me just seduce a man who looks at me like I’m an IRS audit he can't avoid. How do you flirt with a guy who treats you like gluten and he’s the poster child for Celiac Awareness?
I mutter under my breath, “Yeah, won’t work. Rico doesn’t even find me attractive.”
Nonna scoffs, full on dramatics. “Oh, dolce bambina.” She tuts, wagging her finger at me like she’s scolding a puppy. “If my little Rico didn’t find you attractive, you’d have gotten a polite peck and a handshake at that altar — not a kiss that would make a nun blush.”
Nonna leans in, that knowing smile on her face — the kind that makes you feel warm and also like you’re about to get hit with wisdom you didn’t ask for.
“We’ve paraded models, heiresses, women who could buy and sell this family twice over.
You know what he did? Nothing. But you? I’ve caught him watching you. Touching you. Wanting you.”
A lump forms in my throat, thick and immovable, like I swallowed a brick and now it’s just… there, refusing to budge.
Because there’s one person Rico’s definitely touched more than me — his therapist. You know, the woman he swore he stopped seeing when we got married. But knowing Rico, I bet he’s already found a loophole for that, too. Like he finds loopholes for everything.
The thought hits my stomach like a wrecking ball—cue Miley Cyrus—and suddenly my wine isn’t so comforting anymore.
“She looks like she’s gonna puke,” Sienna says, and honestly, fair.
Before I can speak, Violet’s rubbing my back like I’m a toddler with a tummy ache. “We need water over here!”
A glass magically appears in my hand — no idea who handed it to me — but I down it like I’m stranded in a desert.
Violet narrows her eyes. “You don’t look so good.”
“Because I’m not,” I croak, my voice wobbling like I’m seconds from crying.
Yeah, Rico kissed me like I was his last breath. Touched me like he owned every inch of my skin. But let’s be real — he never had to kiss a woman he was forced to marry. He touched her because he wanted to. No contracts or obligations.
Me? I’m just a job on his never-ending to-do list, somewhere between fix server issue and avoid wife at all costs.
Sienna pushes her chair back, already halfway to the door. “I’ll grab Vinnie.”
“And I’m getting you cleaned up before you face-plant,” Violet says, yanking me up. Tiny but terrifying — like a fairy godmother with an attitude problem.
She drags me down the hall, past the Bennetti Family Hall of Fame — all those smiling photos like they’re so perfect. Babies, weddings, family dinners where nobody looks like they’re two seconds from a breakdown.
But it’s one picture that stops me cold.
Rico — maybe thirteen — already nailing that world-famous Rico Scowl?, arms crossed, jaw set, eyes hard. Like even back then, he knew life was gonna take a swing at him and he was ready to hit back first.
Decades of walls. Decades of locked doors. And I’m supposed to believe a little flirting and some mind-blowing sex is gonna bulldoze all that?
Yeah. And while I’m at it, I’ll teach a cat to sit, stay, and pay taxes.
Violet glances over, softening. “You’re thinking too much.”
“Story of my life.”
But what I don’t say?
Is that no matter how hard I push, no matter how many times I throw open those doors—Rico’s still locked inside.
By the time Violet hauls me into the bathroom, I’m already coming apart at the seams, one tug away from a full-blown emotional wardrobe malfunction. She plants me against the marble counter and yanks open a drawer, fishing out a washcloth.
She douses it in ice-cold water, wrings it out, then slaps it on my face. “Look, Rico’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not impossible,” she says, voice soft but firm. Her eyes, though? Yeah, they're loaded with just enough pity to make me want to crawl into the sink and turn on the garbage disposal.
I snort and lean into the coolness because my body is currently working overtime to have a full breakdown. “You’re wrong,” I mutter, swiping at my damp cheeks. “Everyone keeps acting like Rico’s some misunderstood prince. But let’s not forget—he had her.”
Violet freezes, mid-dab, jaw tightening.
“I can’t compete with choice,” I whisper, throat tight. “She was his choice. Me? I’m just the obligation he signed up for because Papa shoved a contract in his face.”
Violet tosses the cloth onto the counter and grips my face in her hands, forcing my gaze to hers. “Allie, listen to me. She was never a choice. She was a transaction. A way to scratch an itch. You—” she gives my face a little shake—“you are not a transaction.”
Her words hit and I flinch, because guess what? That’s exactly how I feel.
“And yeah,” Violet continues, “he’s been a giant jackass since you said 'I do'—” I snort despite myself. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“—but if you think for a second that man doesn’t want you? You’re blind. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not watching.”
My brow lifts. “You mean like I’m an unsolved math problem that’s ruining his life?”
“No. Like a man trying not to devour something he knows he shouldn’t touch.”
I blink, trying to picture that—and failing—while Violet stands there like she just dropped the mic on my emotional crisis.
She pats my cheek like I’m five. I glare.
“Men are pigs. We know this,” she adds. “But Rico? He went to her because he couldn’t deal with himself. Not because he wanted her. She was married, Allie. MARRIED. It wasn’t a relationship—it was an appointment. Like picking up dry cleaning.”
My stomach flips. "Married?" I croak, because of course, that's where my brain gets stuck.
Violet rolls her eyes. “Yes, married. And if there had been anything more, Dom and Alex would’ve buried him under the patio. You think he signs a marriage contract if he’s happy paying for... services? Please.”
I chew my lip, my throat burning. “But he touched her,” I whisper. “What if that’s the only relationship he wants? One without feelings.”
Violet lets out a long sigh, like she wants to strangle me and hug me all at once. “You really believe that? If all he wanted was easy, he wouldn’t have married you. He would’ve stayed on his therapy loop, nice and numb. But he didn’t. He married you.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Violet steamrolls right over it.
“You know what I think? I think he fought to keep those sessions in the contract because he’s terrified to let anyone close enough to see the mess inside.
He wasn’t pushing you away. He was building walls because if you got in, you might see too much. And that scares the hell out of him.”
“Yeah, well, if he wanted me so badly, maybe he should’ve chosen me instead of his loopholes,” I snap, heat rising in my cheeks.
Violet’s hair swishes as she shakes her head. “No, Allie. He’s scared. He doesn’t know how to want something real. And you? You’re real. He can’t control you, and that terrifies him more than anything.”
I swallow, throat thick, and my chest squeezing tight.
Violet softens, stepping closer. “And I know about the shirt thing.”
I freeze. “What?”
She nods. “Dom and Marco mentioned it. Didn’t say why, but whatever it is? It’s big. You want answers? You need to stop pretending you don’t care and ask for them.”
A choked laugh bubbles out of me, part sob, part oh-my-God-this-is-my-life.
Sienna calls from the kitchen. “You can talk to him, you know. Just expect to get judged by those psycho-pretty eyes.”
Violet snorts. “Yeah, he listens. He just hoards words like they’re Bitcoins. But he’s processing. Everything. Trust me, Dom and Alex poke him for a reason.”
I groan, rubbing my temples. “So Nonna’s whole ‘seduce him’ plan is supposed to work on that?”
“Honey, even Rico Bennetti thinks with his dick first. And unlike his brain, that part isn’t encrypted.”
I blink, covering my mouth as a laugh bursts out of me.
“You wanna break through the fortress? Start where the walls are weakest.”
“So seduce him,” I mutter, shaking my head, but definitely considering it — even if it's ridiculous.
Violet shrugs, grinning. “Unless you’ve got a better plan.”
I huff out a breath, cheeks aching from smiling for the first time today. “God help me, I might actually do it.”
“Now that’s the Allie I like to see.”