Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Today we received word, confirmation, whatever you want to call it, that Nick is indeed gone, never to resurface again. I’m both saddened and relieved by this news, even though I already knew as much. The confirmation shuts the door on a chapter of my life, never to open again.
Turns out Nick did a side job with a branch of the cartel. He got hot and heavy with the boss’s wife and needed someone to save his ass. So in exchange for witness protection, he cut a deal with a police friend of his. Give them way to bring the Montavios down, and they’d protect him.
Only Ricco managed to escape prosecution and everyone’s plans went to hell. We got caught in the crossfires.
“How’s Emmy?” Eden asks gently.
“Good,” I say. “She’s thankfully young and was confused by everything. It sounds like she thinks it might’ve been a dream.”
It helps that her life went immediately back to normal, and Ricco and I have kept her busy and occupied.
“Oh, good,” Eden says. “I’m so glad.”
The waiter brings us several bottles of wine.
Ricco declines and fidgets. It’s out of character for him.
“You okay?” I whisper in his ear.
“Fine,” he says, tugging at his shirt like the collar is too tight. “Do you want some antipasti?”
My eyes widen at the trays of caprese salad with ripe, heirloom tomatoes and fresh mozzarella, and prosciutto di Parma, nestled among ripe figs, and crusty bread with warmed olive oil.
We eat and laugh, but Ricco barely touches his food. He pushes it around on his plate like he’s nervous about something or has lost his appetite.
I text him.
Okay, you’re definitely off. What’s up? You can trust me.
He doesn’t check his phone. I hadn’t thought of the fact that everyone who’d send him a text he’d immediately check is sitting right here beside him.
“Have you gotten any messages from Penny?” I ask discreetly, and when he checks, he finally reads my text.
“Everything’s fine,” he says, responding to my text and the question about the kids.
Alrighty then. Ricco is allowed to be off occasionally. I, on the other hand, am going to feast.
The first course, primo, is served—risotto and gnocchi, and a lasagna Bolognese that melts in your mouth, followed by secondi, grilled sea bass and herb-crusted lamb chops. Everything’s served family style on large platters, and I love that. Sergio rests his arm languidly around Eden’s slender shoulders and Timeo gives Starla his cherry on a toothpick. They tell me about Quinn’s latest ventures in Italy, and how she’s setting new fashion trends all over Tuscany.
“Hope you saved room for dessert,” Starla says, her eyes twinkling. “I love dessert.”
“Do you ever think they should serve dessert first?” I ask her.
“All the time. Someone should totally open a restaurant that does exactly that. Seriously.”
Timeo looks thoughtful. “Wow, that’s a really great idea.” I catch Starla smiling covertly and blushing in response.
“I like the Italian tradition of digestives myself,” Eden says, as they bring chilled lemon liquor, limoncello, and amaretto with our dessert.
“This was quite a culinary tour through Italy,” I say, helping myself to an adorable little glass of amaretto.
“I’ll be right back,” Ricco says, standing.
If his behavior seems strange to anyone else, they don’t show it.
“He seems distracted,” I tell Eden, shaking my head. “But he says he’s fine.”
“If he says he’s fine, he’s fine,” she says.
“Oh, that’s so sad. Maybe he has PMS,” Starla speculates, and Timeo bursts out laughing. “More amaretto? Oh, Dani, I want to ask you something,” Starla says, pulling out her phone. “Can you tell me which shoes you think go best with this skirt?”
She’s flipping through pictures on her phone when I realize that no one’s talking. It seems as if the entire restaurant’s gone quiet.
“I like the wedges,” I tell Starla, as I look up from the phone. I blink in confusion when a new waiter and waitress stand before me at our table.
“Sarah? Jason?” I look around at the table. “What’s going on here?”
Ricco steps out from behind Jason, a black velvet box in his hand.
I draw in a sharp breath and everyone else seems to fade into the background.
“Daniella, I love you,” Ricco says, his gaze burning into mine. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you do me the honor? Will you—”
“YES!!!” I say, leaping to my feet and clapping my hands. “Yes, yes, yes!”
Cheers erupt all around us. Jason and Sarah hug me, and Sergio orders wine for everyone at the restaurant. I’m shocked, moved to tears, and overwhelmed. I bury my head on Ricco’s shoulder and sniff back tears.
“Okay, let me see that ring,” I say, swiping at my eyes. “I know you don’t do anything half-assed,” I snort. “Of course you didn’t.”
The ring is a thick white gold with a stunning array of diamonds that twinkle under the overhead lighting. “It’s gorgeous,” I breathe.