44. Allie #2
Without a word, he nods, stands, and falls into step behind us, seamlessly merging with Elias, who’s already waiting by the door.
“How come you and Dom share Elias? Doesn’t he need a bodyguard too?” I ask, watching as Elias follows behind us.
“When Dom’s at the office, there’s no need.
No one’s getting past security. So Elias sticks with me when I go out.
We make it work. No point in having an extra body lurking around.
” She glances down at the twins, adjusting one of their bows.
“Maybe we’ll reevaluate when the girls get older, but honestly, we’re so far removed from that side of the family, I don’t think we even need to worry about it. ”
Must be nice not having to worry about it.
Me? I could move to a remote island, learn how to spear fish, and live off coconuts, and I’d still have to look over my shoulder.
The Cosa Nostra doesn’t just withdraw from your life.
And while my parents might not be speaking to me, it doesn’t mean I’m free.
It just means I’m an easier target. Which also means any kids I have will be targets too.
I walked away from that life, only to find myself still shackled to it; the more I try to run, the more I realize how short the leash is.
For now, I'll ignore that fact.
We step into the café across from the restaurant, the scent of espresso and fresh pastries filling the air.
It’s packed, the lunch rush just about to hit, but the hostess doesn’t even pretend to look around for an open table.
Nope. We get seated instantly, which I assume is the Bennetti name at work.
I should probably start flexing the last name myself, but I haven’t settled into it yet. It still feels assigned—temporary, almost—more sticker slapped on my forehead at a conference than something I truly own: Hello, my name is: Wife of Rico Bennetti.
Vinnie and Elias take seats at the bar, ordering coffee as if they’ve both survived one too many war zones and trust is a currency they ran out of years ago.
Sienna parks the stroller, making sure the girls are positioned with their little sippy cups of juice front and center. Once she’s satisfied with the setup, her blue eyes swing to me, locked and loaded with the intensity of a tactical laser sight.
“So... Kai seems nice.”
“There’s nothing going on between us,” I say immediately, because I know exactly where this is headed.
"Oh, I didn’t think that. Besides, the marks on your neck are so visible that NASA is tracking them from space.”
I groan, hand flying up to my neck. “What?! Where?”
Sienna reaches into her bag, pulls out a compact mirror, and hands it over. I flip it open and sure enough, there they are—several little red and purplish nips dotting my skin like a connect-the-dots puzzle.
“Oh my God, can you see them with my chef’s coat on?” I ask, flipping the mirror from side to side to assess the destruction.
She nods. “Sadly, my concealer isn’t your shade, or I’d offer it. But, uh, those bad boys aren’t going anywhere.”
I groan, digging through my bag in desperation, but of course, I don’t have makeup on me. Because why would I? I work in a kitchen. The closest thing I have to a beauty routine is washing marinara sauce off my arms before I go home.
“I’ll have to stop at the drugstore before work,” I mutter, snapping the compact shut. “No one takes a chef seriously when she’s walking around with hickeys like a teenager after prom.”
“That might explain why Kai kept looking at you weirdly all morning.”
My stomach drops. “Oh, my God. No wonder he kept acting off.”
“I don’t think that’s the reason.”
“I told you, nothing is going on.”
“Nothing going on and him checking you out isn’t the same thing.”
She’s enjoying this way too much.
She pulls out little snack cups for the twins—puffy crackers that smell like bananas.
“So,” she goes on casually, popping a cracker into one of the twin’s mouths. “How are things with Rico?”
I gesture ferociously at my neck. “Clearly, no problems there.”
She chuckles. “So I take it you were able to get rid of the ovulation-only agreement?”
“It’s wide open.”
Yet there’s no victory in my voice. No success.
“You don’t sound thrilled.”
Before I can answer, the server arrives, fawning over the babies, physically restraining herself from scooping them up. Understandable. These girls could single-handedly solve world peace with their cuteness.
Once she takes our orders, I let out a slow breath.
“We haven’t, you know... since he bought the restaurant,” I admit. “It almost feels like he bought it just to keep me busy. Seems he wanted to shove me into a kitchen so I’d stay out of his way.”
I don’t mention that he said that outright the night he gave it to me. No reason to say it out loud when it’s already on repeat in my head.
I glance at the twins. Twins run in the Bennetti family. My odds of having a single baby are basically zero.
And what if I end up raising them alone? Not physically alone—Rico would never let that happen—but emotionally alone?
It’s already obvious he wants our lives to be separate. He bought me the restaurant. He put me in a bedroom on another floor. The nursery is with me, not with him. He’s setting up a life where I have my space, and he has his.
It doesn’t take a genius to do the math.
“Well, you did something if you have those marks.”
"He, uh… did something in the kitchen this morning. And I… returned the favor.”
Her eyes light up as she leans in. Nothing is off-limits in this family, and I’ll never be used to it. Back home, I had to pretend I barely knew what an orgasm was.
“But no sex?”
I flush. “No?”
Her smile grows. “Interesting.”
“How so?”
"Well, your husband originally only wanted to sleep with you when you were ovulating. Then, he suddenly agreed to whenever. But instead of actually having sex, he just… enjoyed himself and left it at that?”
“Uh… yeah?”
“Sounds to me like your husband just wanted to make sure everyone—especially your attractive little sous chef—knew exactly who you belong to.”
I scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Rico doesn’t let anyone in. But he marked you up, even though that doesn’t exactly get you pregnant.” She waggles her eyebrows.
“Jealousy would require feelings. Rico doesn’t have those.”
Sienna just hums, sipping her water as if she knows something I don’t.
And now, I hate that I’m thinking about it too.