I was in the middle of my seconds and talking to Aurelio when the back door cracked open.
And there he was.
The man I never could have seen coming.
The one I never wanted to let go of.
Following him was Luca.
And then, finally, a man who genuinely needed no introduction. Mainly because he was exactly what I expected Luca and Matteo to look like after the years put some gray in their hair and some charming wrinkles around their eyes.
Antony Grassi.
“So, you’re the one I’ve been hearing all about,” he said, as he came to sit beside me. “The woman who single-handedly saved my entire family.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch, but I was happy to help in any small way,” I told him. Then, when he caught me sending puppy-dog-eyes to Matteo, I leaned in close and told him, “That’s a really good man you raised.”
“And yet he will have to prove to me he deserves you, lovely,” Antony said, giving me a wink as he patted my hand, then moved away, somehow innately knowing when to walk away. Which maybe had something to do with his restaurant business.
I was just about to be approached by another of Massimo’s brothers when the front door burst suddenly open.
And the absolute last person in the world I expected to see was standing there.
“Marcie?” I gasped as she moved inside with a metal bat hanging down at her side. Her long black hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was wearing her usual jeans and tee ensemble.
“Listen here, mafia whack jobs,” she declared, making my eyes go huge at her audacity. “That there is my friend. And you are not going to hold her hostage another day longer,” she said, pointing the bat at me.
“Hey, Marce,” I called, shooting her a wobbly, amused smile. “Want some French toast?” I asked, watching as anger, then confusion, then denial, and finally, understanding, crossed her face.
“Oh, what the hell,” she said, charging into the room like she belonged there. And like she hadn’t just threatened most of the entire New Jersey mafia. “You should have told me you were banging a hot mafia guy,” Marcie said as Adrian stacked a plate for her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I would have understood. They’re yummy.”
“Speaking of yummy,” Adrian said, and I just barely managed to suppress a groan. Milo, though, did not even attempt to keep his in. “Isn’t my son, Milo, handsome?” she asked.
“He is,” Marcie said, pointing a fork at him. “So is that one,” she said, pointing the fork at Luca. “And him,” she added, moving on to Nino. “And, oh, hey, look at that, another hot one, but with wheels,” she said, wiggling the fork at Massimo. “Can I sign up to be part of a reverse harem or something?” she asked, getting a laugh from me.
“How are you so comfortable with this?” I asked, shaking my head at her.
“Have you met my family?” she asked, eyes going huge. “This feels like coming home. Except no one has told me that I’m disappointing my ancestors for not popping out any babies yet. I wonder how they would feel about a baby with steel-blue eyes?” she said, looking at Nino. “Or mismatching ones,” she went on, winking at Massimo.
“Yeah, but your family isn’t, you know…”
“Criminals?” she asked, proving even more fearless than I knew her to be. “My uncle runs an illegal gambling game in the back of his laundromat. Sure, it isn’t mafia-level crazy, but it isn’t all above-board. Besides, really, you can’t help yourself when they look like this,” she said, shaking her head at all the men gathered around. “Which one is yours?” she asked.
And my heart squeezed when I pointed toward Matteo.
“Nice. The hair is great. And I bet he won’t stand you up on your birthday like douche-canoe number, what, three? What happened to your neck?” she asked, waving at it. “Is it some kinky choking thing, or do I need to break someone’s kneecaps with my bat?”
“It wasn’t anyone here. They, ah, they saved me,” I told her.
“I think we need a girls night and you need to dish,” she said, taking bacon off a plate as Adrian placed it on the counter. “You’ve been keeping too much from me,” she added, giving me a fake serious look. “I’m really just butt-hurt that you have been keeping all this fine man-meat to yourself. You know your girl has been in a dry… oh, hey, I know you!” she declared, pointing her fork at Sofia. “You shop for my mom, right? Small world. See that?” she asked, looking at Adrian, “I’m practically a part of this family already. So, when is pasta night?”
“Every night is pasta night,” I told her, smiling. “They’re Italian, remember?”
“Right right right. So, what kind of pasta are we having tonight?”