Chapter 21

"What's all the fuss?" a tiny voice shouts from the kitchen and out staggers Nona Jo, all four feet nine inches, with that gray mop of hair of hers teased into a beehive. A beehive you can see through right to her scalp, but a beehive, nonetheless.

It's Sunday dinner and Cooper is making quite the entrance as my family does its best to give him the stink eye. Thankfully, Nona Jo is here to talk some sense into them—I hope.

Nona Jo is as round as she is tall, but she packs a mighty punch with her words. She's one feisty broad I wouldn't want to meet up with in any alley, and certainly not the alleys around here.

"Is this him?" She breaks through the barrier between my father and mother and waddles over. "Is this the man who's going to finally give me the great-grandchildren I've been waiting for?" She pulls her glasses out of her bra and slides them on. "Good going, Effie. He's a hot one." She reaches up and gives Coop's cheek a pinch. "Sure you're a Lazzari," she tells him with a slap. "But you've got the body, the face, and more importantly, the hair of a god. I have a feeling your good genes mixed with Effie's good genes are going to produce a superior race of Italians. And who knows? A Lazzari Canelli wedding might even be one to stop the turf war that's been going on for ages. It's about time we have peace in Little Italy, and it's you two who are going to bring it."

She says that last bit like a threat.

"Now where's my Watson?" she asks as both Watson and Spooky queue up for some Nona Jo loving and boy does she ever bring it. I'm not sure who's licking whose face more.

"Cooper, meet the family," I say. "You've already met my sneaky sister, Niki." I take a moment to glare at her. "The cutie next to her is my older sister, Seraphina. She works at the bookstore across the street from Lottie's bakery. She's got a steady Eddie and she's practically hitched."

Seraphina shoots me a look. "That steady Eddie of mine can be kicked to the curb at any moment. He's never so much as talked about rings." A devilish grin glides on her face as she offers Cooper a hand. "So nice to meet you," she purrs and now I'm glaring at both of my sisters.

Seraphina is cute as a button, same dark hair, same dark eyes as the rest of us. But she's hardwired to be a little Miss Priss, and that's probably why she's been the golden child for as long as I can remember.

My brothers are up next.

"My brother, Luciano, the baby. He works masonry with my pops." Cooper pauses to shake his hand and Luciano looks as if he's already plotting where to bury Cooper's body. Probably under a pile of wet cement. "And the one with all the facial fur on the end is Nico, Niki's twin. He owns and runs the Last Call Lounge." Our Uncle Vito left it to him in his will, but I leave that part out. No one works harder than Nico and I'd hate for Cooper to get the wrong impression of him.

"The Last Call?" Cooper tips his head as he looks at my brother. "I was there just last week."

"You were?" I squawk as the two of them shake hands.

"They've got great wings," Coop says and Nico gives a furtive nod.

"You bet we do, buddy," Nico practically sings.

Buddy? At least Nico's not ready to bury him.

"Come around again sometime," Nico says like a dare. "It'll make it easier for me to keep an eye on you. Just remember, anyone who hurts one of my sisters is only going to hurt themselves." He crosses his arms, and his biceps turn into boulders as they stretch his T-shirt to capacity.

On second thought, he'd be more than happy to bury Cooper.

I glance to my parents, who still haven't taken their eyes off of him. Here goes nothing.

"Cooper, this is my mother, Renata. She works part-time at her sister's salon, the Hairway to Heaven." Mom looks like me plus thirty years. She dyes her graying locks jet black and wears it in the same beehive as her mother-in-law. And tonight she's donned her crisp white Battenberg lace apron—one I know for a fact she didn't cook a single dish with. I can tell she's rolling out the red carpet for Coop.

Mom loves bowling and booze, but Cooper can figure that stuff out later. Apparently, we've got some procreating to get to first.

"A pleasure to meet you," Cooper says as he carefully shakes her hand.

"Please, call me Mom."

I roll my eyes at that one. "Trick-or-treat?" I ask Coop in the event he's planning his exit.

He shakes his head. "Not even close."

Suit yourself.

"And this would be my pops," I say, giving my daddy a hug, but that stone-cold expression he's been wearing since we walked through the door only galvanizes itself. "He's known as Big Tom, but you can call him Dad," I tease.

"Big Tom works," Dad says, shoving a hand in Cooper's direction. Dad is tall, large, and more or less a giant teddy bear with his swath of gray hair, warm smile, and chubby cheeks that I still love to snuggle up to.

"Nice to meet you, Big Tom," Cooper says sincerely. "My dad goes by Scary Santino. He's got a scar that stretches across half his face that he got riding his bike as a teenager."

"You're Santino's kid?" Dad's eyes widen as large as Mom's meatballs. "We used to pal around when we were kids ourselves. Wait a minute." He straightens. "I was with him when he got that scar. We just stole a pack of cigarettes from the liquor store and tried our best to hightail it out of there." He points a finger my way, then zooms to my siblings. "Just because I did it doesn't mean you can. Nobody breaks the law in this family. Not anymore," he mutters. "I can't believe you're Santino's kid." A goofy grin rides up his face as he takes in Cooper. "We hung out quite a bit back in the day. But then we let all that turf war stuff get in the way. I'm real sorry about that, too. Tell your dad Tommy says hello."

"Aww, Tommy?" I coo just as Nona Jo belts out a whistle.

"If we keep this up, we're going to starve the poor guy out of the house," Nona Jo calls out so loud they heard us back in Honey Hollow. "A man's stomach is the key to his heart." She wags a crooked finger in my face. "You keep him well-fed, and he'll never stray far from home." She gives Cooper a pointed look. "An Italian wife who doesn't feed her husband risks losing him to a rival cook. And in our family, that's a fate worse than death."

"And on that note"—Dad pats his stomach—"mangia."

We quickly flock toward the table. The men take a seat while my sisters and I help my mother and Nona bring out about twenty different dishes.

Tonight, we eat like kings—round and happy Italian kings to be exact.

We've got my mother's homemade lasagna taking center stage with its layers of pasta, savory meat sauce, and gooey cheese melting in my mouth with every bite.

Next to it sits a steaming dish of chicken Parmesan, golden and crispy on the outside, tender and flavorful on the inside.

There's osso buco, Veal Saltimbocca, baked ziti, stuffed shells, mostaccioli and gravy, along with meatballs the size of my head. And let's not forget the creamy risotto with their perfectly cooked grains mingling with Parmesan cheese and sautéed mushrooms. A platter of bruschetta, topped with juicy tomatoes and fragrant basil, and then drizzled with balsamic glaze. And, of course, no Italian meal would be complete without a basket of warm, crusty bread to mop up every last drop of sauce.

We finish the culinary party off with my mother's famous tiramisu.

We've officially died and gone to Italian heaven.

Every last soul in the room moans with approval as we nearly empty out every last dish, and that's not a small feat considering the fact my mother made twice the feast she does on a regular Sunday.

Dad and my brother invite Cooper to watch the football game in the den. And my sisters and I join them while scrolling on our phones the entire time.

Watson and Spooky are cuddled up in Mom and Nona Jo's laps respectively, and this moment in time couldn't feel more Norman Rockwell if it wanted to—the Italian edition, of course.

It feels so normal.

So perfect.

It feels as if every last one of my dreams has come true.

The game ends and Dad nods to Cooper. "So what's the big case you're working on?"

"Sal Marino's murder," Coop offers up without hesitation. "I still have one more suspect to speak with and hopefully it'll wrap up quickly after that."

"Who's that?" Luciano asks, stealing Spooky from Nona. Luciano is lucky he's cute or he'd be missing a limb by now.

"Sergio Sorrentino, part owner of Mangias," Coop says before looking my way. "I was thinking of taking you there. I figure we could split a pizza and quiz him on his whereabouts that night together."

"Effie already beat you to it. She nabbed him at Mangias," Niki offers up, and I do my best to stab her with my eyes. Is that a thing? I'm making it a thing. "He was at the Tavern of Terror that night. Effie told him she saw him having it out with the deceased. And then he said something about checking out the competition and that someone there owed him something."

Cooper lifts a brow my way.

"Lottie and Noah invited me to lunch." I shrug. "But if you want to take me to dinner at Mangias, I won't say no." I pat my stomach. "Except maybe tonight."

The room breaks out into a good-natured laugh, and soon we say goodnight to one and all.

Some way, somehow Cooper Knox Lazzari survived Sunday dinner at the Canellis, and nary a bullet was fired. Not yet anyway.

We leash up the dogs and head on out. I take Cooper by the hand and lead him around to the side where a magenta-colored bougainvillea is doing its best to eat half the house.

"Guess where we are?" I ask, wrapping my arms around him and he does the same—albeit his hands are dangerously lower on my backside, but I'm not complaining. In fact, I wiggle my hips a bit so they sink down lower still.

"The open grave where you're going to bury me?" He tweaks his brows, but that stone-cold expression makes me wonder if he's serious.

"I'll have you know this is the fun zone, aka the safe place where my family can't see us from the windows or the porch. I used to bring all my dates here so we could make out like there's no tomorrow and they'd live to tell the tale."

"I'm starting to think you really do care about me."

"Are you kidding? I don't share dogs with just anyone. Which reminds me, what are we going to do with Spooky?"

"We'll deal with him later," he says, landing a kiss just shy of my lips and backing away. "I've got something far more delicious on my mind."

"Why, Detective, whatever could that be?" I bat my lashes up at him as he swoops in again and touches his lips to mine. This time I grab him by the back of the neck and hold him hostage there.

We make out like teenagers and make out like there's no tomorrow—if only he'd live to tell the tale.

If only it wasn't me who had to pull the trigger.