XOXO (The Calvettis of New York 3)

Marti points to a table in the corner. “Go and sit. I’ll bring two bowls of the penne with vodka sauce. I made it myself.”

I motion for Arietta to lead the way. She does, giving me a dick-aching view of her ass as it sways with each step she takes.

***

Arietta spends fifteen minutes picking her way through the pasta before she takes a first bite. I can tell something is off. I doubt it’s the food. It’s as delicious as ever. The wine is superb. She’s downed half of what’s in her glass in between checking her phone.

Watching her stare at her phone screen, I take a swallow of wine from my glass. “Is everything all right?”

Her gaze darts up to meet mine. “My roommate is asking about Lowell.”

Of course she is. Arietta was set to go out with the scum of the earth before I derailed that. “Have you told her he’s...”

“A fucking asshole?”

My gaze drops to her lips. Fucking. The way she says the word with a bite stirs my cock again.

“Yes,” I answer succinctly.

She finishes what’s left of her wine. “He’s the worst of the worst.”

Since I can’t argue with that, I remain silent.

With one forearm on the table, she leans closer to me. “I made such a big mistake with him.”

I know she’s not talking about a fuck because Lowlife made it crystal clear that he hadn’t rounded first base with her.

Even though I sense she won’t confide in me, I press. “What mistake, Arietta?”

She steals a glance at Marti standing near the kitchen, watching us with an eagle eye. “I shouldn’t say. It’s too embarrassing.”

I pry because my fucking curiosity is driving this. “What’s too embarrassing?”

Her gaze drops to the table. “It’s so personal.”

“Dominick?”

I close my eyes briefly. It’s not possible that I’m hearing my mother’s voice right now. She’s in Italy. I sent her and my dad there for a vacation. They’re not due back in New York until the day after tomorrow.

“Your mom is here, and your dad too,” Arietta exclaims before she’s out of her chair headed in their direction.

What the hell is happening? How does she know who they are?

I push to stand as I see my mom gather my assistant in her arms, but my ass drops right back down when my father greets her.

It’s a hug, the same bear hug he gives me, but then I see something that catches my breath in my throat.

Arietta raises her hands in the air and uses sign language to communicate with my father: I got the postcard you sent, and you got a tan. How was the trip?

Each movement of her hands is measured and precise.

My dad signs back at a slower pace than his usual: Good. Beautiful. Has my son been behaving himself?

I catch my dad’s eye, and he waves to me. He follows it with a thumbs-up, our special signal that everything is right in his world. It’s the world in which he’s never heard his wife’s voice, the laughter of his children, or anything else.

Arietta glances in my direction with a smile before she signs to my dad: He’s the best. He’s just like his father.

That’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever received. It’s unwarranted. It’s rooted in her limited knowledge of the man that I am, but I take it. I absorb it because one day, before I leave this earth, I hope to be a quarter of the man my father, Louis Calvetti, is.

Chapter 31

Arietta

Watching Mr. Calvetti interact with his parents tonight was a glimpse into his soul. Greed slipped to the side and made space for kindness, at least for a few hours.

My boss hugged his mom and dad before he yanked two chairs from another table so they could join us. I watched as he used sign language with ease. He even helped me when I was unsure of a word.

We’re outside of the restaurant now. I’ve ordered an Uber for one. Mr. Calvetti is planning on seeing his parents to their apartment on the Upper West Side before he goes home or wherever he’ll end up tonight.

He glances back at Calvetti’s. “I didn’t expect my folks to be back this soon.”

I could tell he was surprised when they showed up. The shocked expression on his face when he realized that I know sign language was more pronounced.

“Your mom said they missed everyone so much they booked an earlier flight home,” I remind him. “They stayed at your villa in Sicily?”

“They did.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful there,” I say quietly.

“I had no idea you knew American Sign Language, Arietta.” He shoves a hand into the front pocket of his pants. “That wasn’t listed on your resume.”

“I didn’t know it when I started working at Modica,” I confess. “I don’t know it all that well now. Your dad is still teaching me.”