She turned back to the customer. “Fifteen dollars and fifty-eight cents.” The guy placed a twenty in her palm, and I watched as my sister grabbed his change from the drawer and handed it to him.
“It’s not about the mansion,” I snapped as soon as the bell over the door rang, signaling there was no one in the store but Noemi and me. “It’s been four days, and he hasn’t said a single word to me.”
“He’s adjusting.”
“Or maybe he’s just an asshole.” I ground my teeth together and sloped forward. “Why did I agree to this?”
“Because you wanted to live in a fancy mansion?” Noemi asked, laughing so loud it ricocheted off the walls. “Listen”—she put her hand on my shoulder—“it’s been four days, give it some time.” She shrugged. “Get to know each other. Find out what he likes and what he doesn’t like. Cook him dinner. Just get to know him.”
I let out a breath, knowing she was right. Lorenzo and I didn’t know each other, not really. “Fine.” I stood and glanced around the store. “I suppose I could take the ingredients to make Ma’s spaghetti.”
Noemi moaned and rubbed her stomach. “Yes. There’s no way he’d turn down spaghetti.” She wagged her finger in my face. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
I laughed at her words, but I agreed with her. We needed to get to know each other. We needed to not be strangers li
ving in the same home. So instead of sitting here for another two hours moaning about how much Lorenzo was ignoring me, I decided to do something about it. It wasn’t as if he was going to come to me, so that meant I had to go to him.
It was already nearing five, and I knew the housekeeper would have dinner ready for seven, so if I got a taxi back to the mansion, I could make it there in time to cook.
I gathered everything I needed, told Noemi to put it on Lorenzo’s tab, and hightailed it out of there. Luck was on my side because as soon as I held my hand out for a taxi, one pulled over. It was almost as if destiny was trying to work her magic because not one red light stopped us from the store to the mansion.
“Thanks!” I handed the taxi driver some cash and pushed out of the back, then headed toward the gates. I’d already managed to forget the code to get inside, so I pressed the buzzer, waiting for someone to answer, but after a couple of minutes of silence, I started to get antsy.
Standing outside the Beretta family mansion on my own was asking for someone to put a target on my back. I’d been warned by Lorenzo’s ma to always watch my back and to be aware of everything going on around me, so the more I waited out here, the more on edge I became.
“Trying to get in?” a deep, gravelly voice asked.
I squealed, my heart jumping into my throat. “Fuck.” I slammed my hand onto my chest, my eyes widening as a tall man sauntered toward me, but the closer he got, the more I recognized him as Dante, Lorenzo’s brother. Thank God for that.
“I forgot the code,” I said sheepishly, trying to balance the bag of groceries and my backpack. I wasn’t sure which one was heavier—the backpack. Definitely the backpack. “I should have memorized it or—”
“I’ve been living here all my life, and I still don’t remember it,” Dante said, swiping his hand through his hair. Where Lorenzo was all harsh lines and broodiness, Dante was easygoing and smooth. They were complete opposites, but he still had the telltale Beretta stare, and no doubt the same violence ran through his veins. I shivered, trying to shake the memory of the blood from my wedding night, and focused back on Dante. There was something about him that put me at ease. Something less intense.
He leaned past me, his arm touching mine, and pressed the buzzer. Only he didn’t let go after a couple of seconds. He just kept his thumb planted on it, smiling into the dome above it.
“Does that really—” The gates opened up, and I blinked. “Work?”
“Yep.” He stood to his full height, at least as tall as Lorenzo, definitely over six feet, and took the bag from my arms. “What’s all this?”
I blinked, not overthinking it as I walked by his side through the now open gates. “I wanted to cook…for Lorenzo.”
“Yeah?” Dante grinned. “Do I get to taste it too?”
“If you want.” I hauled my backpack higher on my shoulder. “I always make enough to feed ten thousand anyway.” I laughed, feeling like the tension that had been a permanent fixture in my body was starting to ease. “Lorenzo likes pasta, right?”
“Of course.” Dante’s gaze flicked to the area opposite the mansion doors, and I knew he was remembering what happened in that spot. He’d been there, witnessing it all, and I wondered whether that was what happened on the regular. These weren’t normal men. No, these were Mafia men who grew up with their fate pinned to their backs. They knew they’d be nothing other than part of the family. And for the first time, I wondered if that was what Lorenzo actually wanted.
He hadn’t had a choice in marrying me either. He couldn’t walk away from this. He couldn’t say no, not unless he didn’t want to take over. Maybe I’d misjudged him? Maybe we were more similar than I realized. We were both stuck in this situation, so we may as well make the most of it. Right?
The doors swung open as we got closer, and the action pulled both Dante and me out of our own heads. “You need this taken into the kitchen?” Dante asked.
“Please.” I smiled over at him, trying not to show that it was forced. He headed toward the kitchen at the back of the mansion, and as soon as I stepped inside the bustling room, my shoulders slumped. I felt at home back here. It was familiar, like this was where I was meant to be. Not on the other side, having someone cook for me.
“Mrs. Beretta,” the housekeeper said, her tone shocked. “Do you need something?”
I shook my head and placed my backpack on one of the chairs. “Just your permission to cook tonight.”
The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “You don’t need my permission.” She lunged away from the stovetop. “It’s all yours.”