Irrevocable (Evan Arden 5)

It’s a lie. I know he’s not coming.

We sit down to dinner. By the time it’s over, I’ve eaten four pieces of garlic bread along with her savory pasta, and I’m ready to burst. It doesn’t stop me from tearing into the homemade cannoli, though.

“I can’t begin to express how much I’ve missed this,” I tell her.

“Aw, dear!” Lele gushes. “I miss your company!”

“Now, who is the flatterer?” I laugh.

“Well, you must be getting a few home-cooked meals,” she says. “How is that pretty girl of yours?”

I’m not often caught off guard, but for the second time today, I’m at a loss for words. Eventually, I manage to smile at Lele.

“Wiser now,” I say with a shrug.

She understands the implication of my words and reaches over to pat my hand.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lele says. “Esperienza, madre di scienza.”

“Experience is the only mother I’ve had,” I counter. I may not speak Italian, but I know enough to understand the phrase.

Lele smiles sadly for a moment, pats my hand once more, and stands to clear the table. I help without being asked, rinsing the plates and placing them in the dishwasher.

“Naldo will have to make do with leftovers again,” Lele remarks.

“Has he been away a lot lately?”

“Business,” Lele says with a dismissive wave. “I don’t want the details; I know this much.?

?

“Has Felisa been helping with the business?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

Lele eyes me.

“Oh, is that why you’ve graced my doorstep?”

Again, I’m taken aback. I must be losing my touch because I can’t even manage to stammer out a reply. Lele laughs and shakes her head.

“Naldo needs his distractions,” she says. “Despite what time he returns, he always awakens in my bed.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t trying to…” I’m not sure how to end the sentence.

“Oh, my Evan,” Lele says as she takes my hand in hers, “my heart warms to know you have concerns and would bring them to me. Not many men employed by Rinaldo would do such a thing, but you have nothing to worry about.”

“Where did she come from?” I pull at Lele’s arm until we are sitting next to each other on the couch. “I know she was in New York before Chicago.”

“She’s from Sicily, of course,” Lele tells me. “She’s my sister’s niece on her husband’s side. Her family goes back many generations. She finished her degree in psychology last spring, and my sister asked if I could find her some work here in the city.”

“As a psychologist?”

“Don’t you think Rinaldo could use someone with such skills in his organization?”

It’s not her psychology skills I think he’s interested in, but I don’t say that aloud.

“You think we’re that fucked up?” I realize my mistake as her eyes narrow at me, and I quickly correct myself. “Screwed up, that is.”

She raises her eyebrows at me.