Chapter 9

I can seeright through her.

Whatever her reasons for leaving, she was trying to hide behind her need for food. I’ll allow it for now, but before I slip the ring I have for her on that finger, she will tell me everything she’s been up to.

“What does my Baby want to eat?” I call over my shoulder as I start taking items out of the tiny fridge she has in this kitchenette.

“I thought we could go out.” I roll my eyes without her seeing.

I’m sure she did.

As if a crowd would stop me from getting the answers I need from her.

“Let me cook for you, Baby.” I turn to see her wearing a short blue dress.

It cuts off right at her knees.

“Wow,” I smile at the vision she makes.

“Will this due?” The grin on my face grows.

“You are a vision. You’ll due Babu. Now come sit. How does an omelet sound?” She licks her lips, and I have to mentally tell my dick to stand down.

That wasn’t for you, asshole.

“A Greek one?” I turn to grab the feta cheese and tomatoes.

“Could you slice the bread? I know how go you are with a knife.” I wink at her as she scolds at me.

“I am sorry. Sometimes, my temper gets the better of me.” I snort.

“Sometimes?” She shacks the knife at me, sending crumbs all over the small counter between us.

“Watch it,” I drizzly olive oil in a pan to heat up while I beat the eggs.

I pour them in next, then half the grape tomatoes, before dropping them in with the eggs. A dash of oregano, salt, and pepper follows, with the feta going in last before I flip the omelet in half.

“Do you want the bread toasted?” She shakes her head as she makes coffee.

“No, just buttered.” I frown remembering something Milly said while pregnant.

“Isn’t coffee and soft cheeses bad during pregnancies?” Gianna laughs as she turns to watch me slide her food on a plate.

“Only in America. Italian women have been eating everything the earth provides for centuries without any problem.” Touché.

“Come sit and eat it while it’s hot. I’ll get you your coffee.” She sits and picks up her fork, but before she takes a bite, she looks at me seriously.

“One sugar and,” I cut her off.

As if I would forget.

“And a splash of heavy cream. Yes, baby, I know.” I whip my eggs, adding cheddar ham and peppers before pouring her coffee.

She watches me like a hawk to make sure I make it right.

“Would you not marry me if I fucked it up?” I slide it across to her waiting hands.

“I’d stab you again for sure.” Ouch.

“I’ll remember it always.” I drop a kiss on her lips quickly so that I don’t burn my own food.

“Mmm, this is perfect.” I laugh as I plate my Western omelet.

“It should be. My mother is Greek, after all.” She stops with her fork halfway to her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” The good-natured mood in the room turns cold.

“I know nothing of your family, and they are becoming mine today.” Ah, I see.

“You’ll have plenty of time to learn Baby. Now eat up.” We sit together with the only sound in the room coming from our silverware and the occasional moan that does jack shit for my erection.

I’m just about to swipe the plates off the counter to eat her when a soft knock comes to the door.

“Who can that be?” I muse as I button the shirt I left hanging open while I cooked.

I hear a gun being cocked behind me and chuckle.

“Stand down, Baby. It’s just Mama.” I open the door, and there she is, smiling up at me.

“Lucas!” She hugs me tightly, but not before I see who is standing directly behind her.

Oh fuck.

“Romano,” Gianna hisses, and I stare at my mother.

“Were you supposed to get married without your Godfather?”

Fucking shit.

Maybe we should have gone over my family tree a little more closely. I chance a glance over my shoulder to find my pregnant fiancé with a very curious look on her face.

She’s got her Glock pointed at the doorway, and I’d swear she’s trying to decide who to shoot first. Me or the head of the Chicago mob.

Why are weddings and funerals always so fucking dramatic?