Chapter 9
NINE
VANESSA
Fortunately, I have some great coworkers who can cover my shifts for the next few days, because I need time to wrap my head around all of this.
I rush out of the living room, already feeling overwhelmed by having someone else in my space.
I know I shouldn’t be—but I am. I’ve grown so used to being alone here that having someone else in my apartment feels strange, almost intrusive.
By the time Mateo wraps up his work for the day, it’s dinnertime for most people. “Did you still want to get some dinner and groceries?” I ask.
“Sure,” he replies. He stands from the couch and slides his computer and the files he’s been working on into a laptop bag.
I rush to grab my purse, and when I turn toward the door, he’s already there, holding it open.
He’s not rushing me, but the look on his face makes it feel like he’s staring at a painting—like he’s admiring a view.
The closest grocery store is only a few minutes’ walk from my apartment building, and we head there in a comfortable silence.
Once we enter the store, I move to grab a cart, but before I can, Mateo takes it from me. “I got it,” he says, already walking ahead.
“So where do you want to start?” he asks, looking at me for direction.
“I normally go in a big circle. I start here and follow the store like a map.”
“After you,” Mateo says.
I walk past him and start grabbing produce, and he follows behind me. When I stop at the fresh fruit, I notice he still hasn’t picked anything up or asked me to grab something for himself.
“Is there anything you want?” I ask, raising a brow.
“No,” he replies easily. “You pick whatever we should eat.”
“That’s a lot to ask, considering I don’t know what you like or don’t like,” I say, my tone laced with attitude.
“I eat most things.”
“Do you?” I ask, skeptical.
He shakes his head in response.
“So if I cooked you something rotten,” I add dryly, “you’d eat it?”
“As long as it doesn’t kill me, I’d try it,” he says with a shrug.
I nod, unable to stop a small smile. We continue walking through the store, when Mateo finally reaches for something he wants—steak. After spending thirty minutes walking through the store, we head to the checkout. As we stand in line, Mateo leans closer and lowers his voice.
“I am paying for this,” he says. “This isn’t up for debate. I’m supposed to pay for everything.”
“Why?” I ask, turning to look at him.
He sighs, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s a part of my job to pay for things for you. Not because no one trusts you—it’s my responsibility to take care of you.”
I study him for a moment. “You’re making it sound like we’re in a relationship.”
He hesitates before answering. “We’re not,” he says carefully, “but in this world, it’s expected that men take care of women. Not to devalue them—but to make sure they’re safe.”
“Uh-huh,” I nod rolling my eyes, already knowing no matter what I say, he’s going to insist on paying.
We check out and head back to my apartment. Of course, I’m not allowed to carry anything. Thankfully, it’s only a few bags, but I feel a little ridiculous walking next to him while he carries everything.
We get back to my building and make our way to my apartment.
We decide on steak for dinner, and while I put away the groceries, Mateo takes a shower.
Naturally, my brain betrays me, drifting into thoughts of what he’s doing in there.
As I start cooking, he steps back into the room with only a towel slung low around his waist. He moves toward the couch to grab some clothes, and I find myself staring—flat-out gawking at the muscles in his back.
Before I can tear my eyes away, he turns, catches me looking, and smirks. He actually smirks at me—then winks. Before I can say a word, he disappears out of the room to change.
By the time dinner is nearly done, Mateo wanders back into the kitchen and starts setting the table without asking where anything is. He must have looked through the cabinets when I wasn’t paying attention, already memorizing where things go.
He grabs two wine glasses, then the bottle of red wine we bought earlier, and suddenly this whole thing feels suspiciously like a date—even though I know it isn’t.
He sets two plates next to the stove while I finish sautéing asparagus in butter. I plate up the steak, potatoes, and asparagus, then hand him his plate.
As I sit down, Mateo fills my wine glass. I don’t usually drink on workdays, but considering I’ve taken a few days off, I’ll let myself enjoy one.
“I guess it’s good to know you like steak dinners,” he says casually. “Now I know where to take you out to dinner.”
“Why would you take me out to dinner?” I ask, watching him closely.
“Because no matter what anyone says,” he replies, his mouth curving into a knowing smile, “you should still be able to eat out once in a while.”
“I don’t have time for that,” I say straight-laced.
“Why not?” he asks, clearly not buying it.
“Well, for one, I work night shifts, so nights out generally aren’t an option,” I say. “And two, I don’t like going out.”
He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s studying me. “I have a feeling you’re lying about point two,” he says, amusement lacing his voice. “But I’ll let it slide.”
He’s not wrong. I do go out occasionally, but most of my friends are nurses or doctors, and their schedules are just as unpredictable as mine. Making plans is difficult at best.
“Have you gone out at all in the last few months?” he asks.
“Sure, a few times,” I say, shrugging slightly. “But not bars or late-night food. Sometimes I’ll grab breakfast with a few of the other nurses after a shift. Most of the time, though, we’re all too exhausted to do anything but sleep.”
“Well,” he says, lips twitching with amusement, “you’re going to need to be open to more dinners out—because your brother loves that shit.”
“And you don’t?” I ask, tilting my head.
“I do, just not at the level your brother does,” he replies, meeting my gaze.
“Great,” I say dryly. “He’s going to drag me to all these things, isn’t he?”
“No, he won’t drag you,” Mateo replies, shaking his head.
“He’ll probably ask if you want to join, but he’s not going to force you.
And he’s not hitting clubs and bars.” His mouth quirks slightly.
“Most of the time, it’s sporting events or dinners for special occasions around the city.
Or he’s going to one of the restaurants he owns. ”
“Thank God,” I say, letting out a breath. “Because I don’t think I could agree to clubbing or bar-hopping every night I have off.”
Mateo laughs, the sound warm and easy.
And I hate that the thought slips in so naturally, but this not-a-date date with my brother’s best friend is already the best one I’ve ever had.
A few days later, Gino invites us over for dinner, saying he wants to check in and get updates from Mateo in person.
They’ve been talking for hours every day since Mateo started staying with me, and from what I’ve overheard, I’m not the only topic of conversation.
Whenever they talk about me, Mateo seems to push back against whatever Gino is suggesting.
From what I can piece together, Gino wants Mateo to move something up—something that has to do with me. At the same time, rival syndicates are circling, looking to take advantage of an opportunity I don’t fully understand. Whatever it is, it feels dangerous.
I don’t want to break anyone’s trust, so I keep my questions to myself.
We arrive at Gino’s house and step into the large entryway, and it’s the first time I truly take in how beautiful and massive it is.
The entire place has a modern, open feel, but it isn’t limited to neutral or light colors.
Pops of red, green, and blue appear throughout different rooms, adding warmth and personality.
Just inside the entrance sits a small table and dresser meant for keys, mail, and anything else you’d want to set down.
To the right is the dining room, which flows seamlessly into the kitchen.
To the left is a large library—one I immediately want to explore when I have time to wander through this massive house. Correction: mansion.
A tall staircase takes center stage, leading up to a balcony that overlooks the entryway and a row of rooms beyond. The upper level looks more like a hotel floor than part of a private home.
“Hey, guys,” Gino calls out as he walks down the hallway from behind the staircase. “Good to know you two haven’t killed each other yet.”
I let out a soft laugh.
“Vanessa, can I talk with you for a minute?” Gino asks.
“Sure,” I reply.
Mateo gives me a small, reassuring smile before heading into the kitchen.
“Let’s go in here.” Gino gestures toward the library, and I follow him inside.
He closes the door behind us, and the quiet settles in around us.
“I wanted to spend some time with you one-on-one,” he says.
“All I know about you is what Kevin and Mateo have told me,” he admits. “I want to get to know you on my own.”
The words catch me off guard. This is one of the first times in my life someone has openly said they want to know me. I’ve had friends over the years, sure, but no one has ever been this direct, this intentional about it.
“What do you want to know?” I ask shyly.
As the words leave me, my gaze drifts around the massive library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line every wall, packed with everything from classic literature to romance and historical fiction. A large bay window floods the room with natural light—almost blinding.
“Take a seat,” he says, gesturing toward a seating area with two couches facing each other, a coffee table between them.
I sit in the middle of one couch, smoothing my hands over my knees as Gino takes a seat across from me.
“I don’t know if I have a specific question, Ness.”
“Ness?” I echo, blinking at him.
“I think it’s a fun nickname for you,” he says easily. “It’ll be a sibling thing.”
The word sibling settles in my chest, unfamiliar and oddly comforting. No one’s ever given me a nickname before.
“Do I get to give you a nickname?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says, a sly grin tugging at his mouth. “If you can think of one.” I turn it over in my head for a second—and come up with nothing. Normally, something clever would spring to mind, but the nerves buzzing through me make my thoughts stall completely.
Gino jumps in before I can say anything. “Can’t think of one?” he asks, amused. “I’ll help you out, then. How about ‘best older brother’?”
I burst out laughing. “Yeah, that’s a hard no.” I pause, a thought clicking into place. “Wait—is Gino your full name?”
“Now you’re catching on,” he says, winking. “No, it’s Giovanni.”
I lower my voice. “Does everyone know that?”
“To be honest, they probably forgot,” he admits. “My mother wanted to name me Giovanni, but Dad thought it was too long. So I go by Gino. Legally, though, it’s Giovanni.”
“So what I’m hearing,” I say lightly, “is that you like keeping secrets, even your own name, from your friends?”
He chuckles. “I didn’t say secrets. I said they forgot. And I don’t think it’s necessary to correct them.”
For the next half an hour, Gino and I talk about everything and nothing. I learn he grew up playing sports and once dreamed of being a pro athlete—until his dad shut that dream down, telling him his duty is to the family. In return, he asks about my childhood, about growing up with Kevin and Lucy.
“They were amazing,” I say honestly. “They filled the gaps Mom and Dad left.”
“I wish I’d grown up with them,” he admits quietly. “They seem to care a lot about you.”
“And you too,” I add. “Since we’re talking about Aunt Lucy and Uncle Kevin… do you know why Dad told them not to tell me about you? Or why didn’t he tell you, or anyone—about me?”
Gino exhales slowly, leaning back against the couch. “It was about protection,” he says. “After my mom died, Dad was terrified something would happen to me. He blamed himself.” His jaw tightens. “So he ran. Literally in the middle of the night.”
I stay quiet, letting him continue.
“Kevin eventually figured out where he’d gone and tracked him down. By the time he got there though, Dad had met your mom.” His gaze meets mine. “And she was pregnant with you.”
He continues, “So Kevin hung back for a while. When your mother got sick, Dad told her everything. And I mean everything. About his role in the mafia. About me. About my mom.” He pauses. “As you know, your mom made him promise to keep you out of it for as long as he could.”
His voice lowers. “When your mom died, it destroyed him. You remind him so much of her that he needed distance and time.” He exhales slowly. “Grief makes you do things you never think you’re capable of. Dad thought you would be better with Lucy and Kevin and not him.”
He looks away for a moment before adding, “He didn’t really parent me either. Mateo’s parents are the ones who raised me.”
I nod, my throat tight. “I’m sorry he wasn’t there for either of us.”
“Me too,” he says quietly. “It sucks that we didn’t get to know each other growing up, but hopefully you’ll want to spend more time here—so we can change that.” He looks over to me, waiting.
“I would love to,” I say, smiling back at him.
“After dinner tonight, would you want to go to the basketball game?” he asks. “I bought tickets for Juliet and me.”
“Sure,” I reply easily. “I do love basketball.”
MATEO
Gino, Juliet, Vanessa, and I wrap up dinner. Gino announces he bought tickets to the New York versus L.A. game for all of us. We decided to drive together to make parking easier. Gino drives and I ride in the passenger seat, and Juliet and Vanessa settle into the back.
As we make the drive, the girls talk quietly behind us. I can’t catch much—just bits and pieces about their outfits and what snacks they want to grab once we get there.
During the drive, I glance up at the rearview mirror and catch Vanessa’s eye—more than once. Each time, she offers me a soft smile, and I return it without thinking. Traffic thickens as we get closer to the stadium, the game starting soon, but we pull smoothly into the VIP parking area and park.
We make our way quickly into the arena, and Gino leads us courtside to a private section lined with semi-circle booths and servers assigned to just a few tables each. I take a seat beside Vanessa, across from Gino.
Throughout the game, my attention keeps drifting back to her. She’s completely absorbed in the action on the court, reacting to every play. She spends much of the game talking with Juliet, and by the end, it’s clear the two of them have started forming a friendship.
L.A. ends up winning the game, and Juliet might be one of the only person in the entire arena who’s genuinely thrilled about it.