by Renee Rose
“Ma, this is Marissa, Marissa Milano. She owns the cafe Pops used to go to in Cicero.”
“I remember hearing about it.” Gio’s mother kisses both my cheeks. “Welcome, welcome. I’m so glad you came to help Gio celebrate his birthday.”
His brother Paolo gives me the double-cheek kisses, too. “Good to see you, Marissa.”
I have the same visceral reaction to seeing Junior I have every time since the shooting. Ice flushes over me, and the memory of him pointing his pistol at my head floods back. I force a smile and offer my face for his kisses, too, and he introduces me to his beautiful Latina wife, Desiree, and their baby Santo and son Jasper.
“Junior, can we have a word?” Gio says, picking up my hand and squeezing it.
Wait… what? Does we include me? Because I’d rather keep my distance from Junior.
But Junior agrees, shooting a speculative look over his shoulder as he leads us to a study. Gio shuts the door behind us, and I stand there shaking, wanting to run.
“You owe Marissa an apology,” Gio says immediately.
Oh fuck.
I start shaking harder. So hard Gio notices and pulls me against his side.
“Yeah?” Junior is scary as hell. As scary as Don Tacone, the patriarch of the family. He turns those dark eyes on me.
I can’t breathe. I mean not at all. I stand there, unable to inhale or exhale. Or even move, other than tremble.
“Yeah. For pointing a gun at her. You scared her, Junior. She has nightmares.”
I want to kill Gio for exposing me like this. I thought I handled the shooting pretty well in the moment. When the bratva bastards came in and camped out at every table in the cafe, I’d tried to warn Junior it was a trap.
But then it was too late, and their leader shot Gio on the sidewalk out front. And I covered up for them afterward. Lied to the police and told them it was all bratva. No Sicilians involved at all.
Junior absorbs this news and drops his head to the side. “Aw, Marissa. I’m sorry. It all happened so fast. You moved, I aimed. I thought you were one of them, that’s all. I would never hurt you. You gotta believe that.”
Some of my backbone returns. I lift my chin. “You thought about shooting,” I accuse. “Even after you saw it was me.”
Gio turns his gaze on his brother and raises his brows. “That true?”
Junior meets my gaze and holds it. He shakes his head. “I would never do it, Marissa. We don’t harm the innocent.”
To my horror, tears fill my eyes. “He told you to,” I mumble through trembling lips. It feels good to get it out. To talk about the moment I haven’t shared with a single soul.
“Who did?” Gio demands.
“Luca,” Junior mutters. He remembers. We all three will probably remember that evening until the day we die.
She’s a witness, his henchman said, and I’d had no choice but to beg for my life.
“Luca’s job is to warn me of danger. But I knew you weren’t a threat to me. You aren’t, are you, Marissa?”
There’s a slight warning to Junior’s tone, and Gio instantly growls, “Watch it.”
Junior holds up his hands. “No, no. All I’m saying is that it’s absurd to believe I’d ever want to hurt her.” He turns to me. His expression is gentle. It’s one I haven’t seen on him before. “You tried to warn me that day, didn’t you?”
I nod, mutely.
“I’m grateful to you, Marissa. And I’m sorry if you think I would ever pull that trigger on you. I wouldn’t. I swear to La Madonna.”
I’m still shaking, but I can breathe again. I manage a nod of acceptance.
Gio tips my chin to look at me. “Yeah? You believe him?”
Do I? I’m not sure. I want to, yes. I nod.
“Feel better?” Gio presses, like he’s going to take some action on my behalf if I don’t.
I elbow him away. “Jesus, Gio. You didn’t have to go and make a big thing about it. Now I’m embarrassed.”
“No,” he says, waving his hands in that distinctly Italian way. “This matters. I want you coming around here, seeing my family. And I can’t have you scared every time you see my brother.”
Junior shoots Gio a curious glance before he extends his hand. “No, I definitely don’t want you scared of me. Please.” When I place my hand in his, he covers it with his other one and squeezes, holding me captive. “Accept my apologies. For everything that went down that night.”
I blink. I know my lips are still trembling, so I don’t trust myself to talk. It’s funny how far an apology goes.
Much farther than the money. The Tacones took care of us after the shooting. Paolo had the windows replaced the following day and Junior gave me twice as much cash as it cost to repair everything.
But hearing him say he’s sorry in plain words makes a difference. A large chunk of the fear and anger I’ve been holding on to against the Tacones as a result of that day breaks off and floats away.
“Thanks,” I manage to say after a moment, cursing my voice for wobbling.
But Junior releases my hand and draws me in for a hug, like we’re family. And I don’t mind. It’s nice, actually.
When he lets me go, Gio pulls my back against his front and wraps his arms around me from behind. He kisses my hair. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Junior peers down at me. “You sure?”
I nod again. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Okay. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you or your family, Marissa,” Junior says. It makes me think he doesn’t know about the loan Gio already gave me. So it was off the books, like Gio promised.
“Thanks, Mr. Tacone—Junior.”
We file out of the den and into the chaos of a noisy family gathering, and something in me I didn’t know I was holding relaxes. Some space opens up in my chest for more breath.
The din of chatter soothes me and my nerves ebb. Maybe Gio’s right. They are just like any other family.
Gio
It was everything I could do not to bash my brother’s face in when I felt Marissa trembling beside me. I think Junior must’ve recognized the depth of my rage, because he was uncommonly kind. Or maybe he’s just changed.
Desiree and fatherhood have given him a new lease on life.
I had no idea how much Marissa still suffers from having that gun pointed at her, although I should have realized. Her hands shook the day I came into the cafe. I thought it was because I startled her. But no, her PTSD is as bad as mine—that’s why she recognized the signs in me.
We all gather in the kitchen to eat antipasto from a platter while my mom and Junior finish dinner.
Everyone keeps shooting curious glances at my date. They will be asking me about her for an eternity now, but I don’t give a shit. I wanted her here. She makes me feel alive for the first time in years.
I keep her close to my body, my arm draped loosely around her waist. It’s a signal to my family that she’s absolutely under my protection, not that I expect anyone to offend her. There’s more ease in our family gatherings than ever before, but old habits die hard.
Dinner is my favorite—stuffed shells with homemade sausage. Marissa is a sweetheart, exclaiming over the food and cleaning her plate, despite the fact that it’s not the gourmet cuisine she likes to make.
She fits in, though. She joins the noisy conversation. Talks to Desiree and my mom. To Jasper. She has that ease with the family that Desiree did from the start. I know it’s nuts—way too fucking soon—but I fantasize about making this permanent. Putting a big shiny ring on her finger and keeping her forever.
But I know I’m way ahead of myself. She only just let her defenses down in bed. She’s still pretty damn far from allowing me into the rest of her life.
“Is it time for cake?” Jasper asks the moment I clean my plate.
“Is there cake?” I feign surprise.
“Yes!” He jumps out of his chair. “Chocolate cake with raspberry filling. Nonna made it.”
My mother beams. She loves that the boy already calls her Nonna, like she’s been his grandmother his whole life. “Well, I think we’d better get the plates cleared so we can have cake. Can you help, Jasper?” I hand him mine and he cruises into the kitchen with it.
Marissa tries to get up, but I pull her back down. “Sit with me, angel.”
“Why don’t you play something on the piano while we clean up?” my mom suggests.
“Yes,” Marissa agrees. “Why don’t you?”
It’s an old routine, but it feels new with Marissa here. I take her hand and pull her with me to the piano. It’s my first piano—the one my mom badgered my dad into getting me. My oldest friend.
I sit down and consider Marissa. Then I smile when I think of what to play. I start playing and singing one of the first love songs I learned to play—She’s Always a Woman, by Billy Joel. I sing it right to Marissa, who blushes and nibbles her plump lower lip. By the time I finish, the rest of the family has gathered.
“Who sings that?” Marissa asks. Of course it was way before her time.
“Billy Joel,” I say, playing the start of Piano Man in homage.
“The piano man, himself,” Paolo says with a derisive edge to his voice. “There was a time when little Gio dreamed of playing in piano bars just like old Billy, didn’t you?” He laughs and slaps me on the back.
“And why shouldn’t he, if that was his dream?” Marissa challenges. She levels her gaze at Paolo like she’s daring him to make fun of me.
My lips twitch.
The rest of the family blink in surprise.
“Yeah, I’m, uh…” Why is it so fucking hard to tell them? I still feel like it’s this shameful, embarrassing thing.
Junior hones in on it. “Are you playing publicly, Gio?” He sounds surprised, but not judgmental.
“Yeah. Well, I’m thinking about it. See, I bought this restaurant.”
“What?” My ma says loudly. “You bought a restaurant? Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“What restaurant?” Paolo demands.
“It’s called Michelangelo's. Marissa’s a chef there and, uh, yeah. We moved a piano in today.”
“No shit.” Junior sounds stunned.
“Language, Junior,” my mother chides. “I think it’s wonderful, Gio. When do you play? I’ll come every night.”
I laugh. “Please don’t, Ma. And I haven’t started yet. Still in the planning phase.”
“Good for you,” Junior says, and I have no indication he doesn’t mean it.
Paolo’s still looking at me like I have two heads, and he’s clearly keeping his mouth shut because he can’t say anything nice. Well, fuck him.
I lift my hands and drop them on the keys again, playing my best rendition of The Beatles’ Birthday, singing and hamming it up to make Jasper laugh.
When I get up from the bench, I knit my fingers through Marissa’s and lean down to murmur “thank you” in her ear. When she turns her face up to mine, I steal a quick kiss from her. “You really are an angel.”
“Gio,” she murmurs, her intelligent eyes trained on mine. She’s searching for something, but I can’t tell what.
“I’d do anything for you, doll,” I tell her in a low voice as we head back to the dining room for cake.
Her intake of breath gives me shivers. Her expression is a mixture of fear and hope. Again, I’m not sure how to decipher it.
I think she’s deciding whether to give me her heart.
Chapter 10
Gio
All good things must come to an end, and my twenty-four hours with Marissa landed with a thud when she made me drop her around the corner from her grandparents’ place instead of walking her to the door.
She may fit in perfectly with my family, but I’m definitely not the guy she can bring home to Grandma.
Fuck.
Well, that’s a problem I’ll have to figure out. And I’m sure I can. Nico might have some ideas. I’m sure as hell not going to ask Junior. He’s a big part of the problem.
I didn’t give in to the temptation to get up into Marissa’s business today. I’m content tonight to sit at the restaurant and watch things run, knowing she’s just behind that kitchen door. Remembering that I just had her yesterday, bent over the table by the wall.
Michael wanted to shit all over the piano when he saw it. “Fine dining is in silence,” he told me more than once. I let him grouse for a few minutes, and then I told him to shut the fuck up.
He did. The guy’s scared of me, which suits me fine.
It’s remembering Marissa’s enthusiasm when I played last night—defending me to my brother, Paolo, that finally moves me to get up from my seat in the corner of Michelangelo's and walk to the baby grand. It’s 10:00 p.m. The dinner crowd is winding down. This place needs a little music. It’s way too fucking quiet.
I sit down and start to play a sweet version of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. There’s a moment of surprise when I begin and then the room settles into the notes. The customers accept the music and let it move through them, enhance their experience of the food, wine and company. I don’t know how the fuck I know that, but that’s my sense, anyway. That’s how I experience music.
I play for an hour and the people stay at their tables, buying more wine or coffee, ordering dessert. Even though Michael’s frowning his ass off in the corner, I know it was a success. I feel the vibe, and the vibe is good. People are happy. They’re spending more money. They’re staying to hear me play.
And for a guy who’s never performed publicly but always longed for the give-and-take that comes from a live audience, I’m floating.
And I have Marissa Milano to thank for it.
When I start to catch dirty looks from the servers, I stop playing. They want to go home. I get it. We’ll have to figure out a better routine. Maybe a change or reduction of staff after the music starts.
I order a scotch and settle back in my corner, watching the servers clean up. Waiting for Marissa.
I didn’t contact her today. We don’t have an arrangement to meet up after her shift. I don’t know, maybe this is a test. I’m trying to figure out if she’s accepted she’s mine or if I have to keep pursuing. And is it time to go in hard?
This holding back and letting things roll on her time is about to kill me.
Marissa
“You let him have it, didn’t you?” Lilah asks when I dawdle at closing time.
Henry was an even bigger asshole tonight, I guess because we don’t have a replacement for Arnie yet. He stormed out without a goodbye ten minutes ago. The dishwasher just left and all the servers are gone.
Out in the restaurant, the sounds of the piano start up again.
Whatever Lilah sees in my face confirms it. “I knew it!” She thrusts her fist in the air like it’s a victory. She’s been pressing me ever since Arnie disappeared for the scoop, and I’ve been trying to play it off like I don’t know anything. “Was he good? Is he good?”
I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. “So good. Older man with a shit-ton of experience and five times as much testosterone good.”
She grabs my hands and squeezes them. “Ooh! I’m so excited for you. Come a little extra hard for me.”
“Shut up.” I slap her hands away lightly. I know I’m blushing. And excited. Just knowing Gio was on the other side of the kitchen door all night had me all aflutter. Hearing him play piano thrilled me.
Now I just can’t wait to see him.
“See if you can get us a raise,” she teases as she heads to the door.
“Already did,” I say. I was going to let it be a surprise, but since she mentioned it…
Lilah stops. “What? Are you kidding me?”
I grin. “Nope. Three bucks an hour.”
Lilah jumps up and down, running back to grab my hands again. “Are you serious? That’s like”—she lifts her eyes while calculating in her head—“almost an extra five hundred a month.”
I bob my head. I’d already done the math myself. “I know.”
She turns me and gives me a shove. “Well go and thank him for me.” She waggles her brows.
I laugh. “I will.” Stomach in flutters, I push the door to the restaurant open and head out. Most of the lights are off. No one’s left but Gio, sitting at the piano.
I go to his side, intending to sit beside him on the bench, but he stops playing and pulls me onto his lap instead.
The sense of rightness is undeniable. Now that I’ve mostly let go or ignored my qualms about getting in a relationship with Gio, everything feels right. The pleasure at the way he manhandles me—like a possession, like an object. With total confidence. Not asking. Just taking.
I thought I would hate to be treated this way.
But I freaking love it. To be this wanted.
Especially because I do believe that Gio respects me. Respects my agency.
“Come home with me,” he murmurs against my neck.
I groan. “I can’t.” I have to work tomorrow morning at Milano’s because Mia starts physical therapy and my grandparents are in Boston for a cousin’s wedding.
“You gonna let me fuck you here, then?” he rasps. His words are crass, but his hands rove over my body, making it sing.
“Yes,” I answer immediately.
I can’t wait to have sex with him again. Every single time has rocked my world. I meant it when I said he ruined other men for me. Like, I seriously don’t see how any other man on the planet could compare.
He cups my pussy now, rubbing through my pants. I shift and grind my ass over his hardened cock. “Don’t fucking tease, baby. I’ve been hard for you all night, just knowing you were back there in the kitchen with that banging body.” He bites my neck. “This body that belongs to me.”
“Yes,” I agree, squirming against his touch.
“Suck my cock, angel. Show me you’re a good girl.”
Holy shit. Those words should totally offend me, but instead, they set my world on fire. I instantly slide to the floor and sit on my heels, waiting eagerly for him to take out his manhood.