Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I was worried I was about to lose the battle when, suddenly, there were footsteps rushing in through the front of the house.
“Santo?” a man called.
Then, almost at the same time, the back door flew open.
“Dasha?”
I looked up to see Massimo running into the kitchen, a gun raised. “Ma?” he asked after quickly taking in the man on the floor beneath me.
“Mass,” Giulia said. “Aurelio,” she added, nodding to the other man.
“Aunt G, what are you doing here?” Aurelio asked. He tucked his gun away. Massimo kept his out.
“I got the alert.”
“And decided to serve the fucker ravioli?” Mass asked, lips twitching.
“I was on the way to August’s house with lunch. The ravioli had to be sacrificed,” Giulia said, giving me a soft look.
“Dasha, hon, how about you let me take him?” Aurelio asked, moving closer.
“Oh, sure. Of course,” I said, accepting Massimo’s hand to help me onto my feet in the slippery sauce.
Then Aurelio reached down and lifted David to his feet in an impressive feat of strength.
“Santo?” another voice called.
In rushed another Massimo, Dante, and Santo lookalike. The oldest brother, Nino. “Ma?” he asked, jerking to a stop.
“Bring your car into the garage,” Aurelio said, struggling with a wriggling David.
“Fuck you. I’m gonna fucking—“
That was another threat he didn’t get to finish.
Because Giulia raised her trusty skillet and whacked him in the head again, making him go immediately limp.
“Ma!” Mass called.
“Nice shot,” Aurelio said at almost the same time, dragging a now unconscious David toward the door to the garage.
“None of us wanted to listen to his empty threats,” Giulia said, shrugging.
“Where is Santo?” Massimo asked, looking around, his gaze settling on me.
“He’s… working. You know… with Dante and Dom.”
To that, Mass nodded. He tucked his gun away.
“Alright. You alright? Did he hurt you?”
“Just my hair,” I said, reaching up to rub my aching scalp.
“That’s not blood on you?” he asked, gaze sliding down to my legs.
My gaze followed, and a strange little laugh escaped me. “No. No, that’s pasta sauce.”
“Good. Smart using the emergency button.”
“Santo showed me it this weekend.”
“Of course he did,” Giulia said, eyes warm. “He wants to make sure you’re safe. Even if he hasn’t told his mother that he’s clearly dating someone seriously.”
“Oh. It’s, you know, kind of… new,” I said, rushing to defend Santo.
“Nah, don’t worry,” Massimo said. “She’s just got a weird way of saying she’s happy,” he told me, giving his mom a small smile. “Since Santo isn’t here, I’ll do the introductions. Ma, this is Dasha. Dasha, this is my mom G—“
“Giulia,” I said, reaching my hand out to her. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I can’t wait to hear about you. It seems several of my boys have been keeping you from me.”
“Ma…” Massimo started.
“What the fuck is going—“ another voice called, running through the house until he found all of us.
And there he was.
Augustine.
The youngest brother.
The three of them started to talk, so I grabbed tea towels and paper towels, then lowered myself down to the floor to gather up the ravioli and sop up the oily pasta sauce that didn’t want to be cleaned.
I was still on my hands and knees cleaning when more footsteps came rushing inside the house.
“Dasha!” Santo’s voice was raised and just shy of frantic. “Dasha!”
“She’s in here,” August called back.
“She’s alright,” Mass added.
“Thanks to Ma,” August added as Santo came running into the doorway, his gaze scanning the room until he found me.
“Dasha,” he said. All his tension drained out of him as he dropped down to his knees on the still-messy floor, and dragged me against him—pasta sauce and all.
“I’m okay,” I assured him, feeling the way his arms shook as he held me. “I’m alright. Thanks to your mom,” I added, my voice getting tight with how hard he was squeezing me.
“My mom?” he asked.
“Hi, yes, me,” Giulia called, making me turn to see her raising her hand. “The one who birthed you. Eighteen agonizing hours. No epidural. That mom.”
Santo hooked an arm around me, keeping me close as he pulled us up to our feet.
“I don’t understand.”
“Maybe your girl could explain if you weren’t actively trying to strangle her to death,” August suggested.
“Shut up,” Mass said, backhanding August across the stomach.
“Santo?” another voice called, making August tip his head to look at the ceiling.
“This is becoming a circus act.”
I didn’t recognize his voice at first. But as he strode into the room—all charming silver hair and warm eyes—I placed it.
Antony Grassi.
The man I’d met at Famiglia.
“Oh, Dasha,” Antony said, giving me a smile before his gaze scanned the room, taking everything in. “Still good with a skillet, eh, Giulia?” he asked, eyes twinkling as he looked at Santo’s mom.
“Can’t let the men have all the fun,” Giulia shot back.
A few more faces joined the crowd over the next few minutes. But most filed out when Aurelio came in from the garage, giving them a hard look.