13.

TABBY

"Lou, that little girl is going to have my father wrapped around her little finger in no time, and don't even get me started on how my mother is going to feel about her," Luca said as I walked into the living room after putting Ember down for a nap. "I thought Brett's kid was cool, but Ember is awesome."

"Coco is a riot, but Ember's right up there with her on the wild and crazy scale, that's for sure," I said as I walked past the couch where he was sitting. "It's been fun watching the two of you get to know each other."

I had just opened the refrigerator when I felt Luca come up behind me. He rested his hands on my hips as he whispered in my ear, "Now that she's napping, we can get to know each other a little better too."

"As much as I'd love that I've got chores to do first," I said as I let my head fall to the side to let his wonderful lips nibble farther down my neck. "When she wakes up from her nap, she'll be a ball of energy, and I won't be able to get a thing done with her underfoot."

"Tell me what needs to be done, and I'll help."

"I've got to figure out what I'm going to make for dinner," I said with a sigh as I tried to focus on the items on the shelves in front of me rather than the tingles his kisses were sending down my spine. "I sincerely doubt you can help with that."

"Why do you say that?"

"To quote Simon, ‘There are too many restaurants in this town to ever have to worry about cooking at home.' Or something to that effect. He words it differently every time I suggest he let me teach him how to cook. If I offer to teach you, my guess is that you'll have the same sort of reply."

"You want to teach me how to cook?" Luca asked incredulously.

"I'm not trying to shred your man card or anything. I'm just saying that a person cannot live on leftovers, peanut butter waffle sandwiches, and grilled cheese forever."

Luca put his face next to mine, staring with me into the depths of the refrigerator as if dinner might miraculously appear.

"Okay, Lou. Lesson number one. Don't underestimate me," Luca said as he nudged me to the side. "I'm gonna cook dinner."

"Oh, no," I scoffed. "I've had way too much junk food today, and I'm craving something good."

"Like what?"

Just to be facetious, I said, "Italian."

Luca grinned as he pulled a barstool out and motioned toward it. "I'll give you something Italian, Lou."

"Yeah.I bet."

"Have a seat, pretty lady. Let me wow you with my culinary expertise."

"Good luck, buddy."

"What do you have to lose? If I fail, then I'll just send the guys out to bring home some authentic Italian food, and I'll wow you with all other things Italian."

"If you wow me much more, I won't be able to walk," I muttered. Already today, we'd had a quick interlude in the bedroom when Simon took Ember across the hall to visit Darlene. After this morning's antics, I wasn't sure how much more I could take. I knew it wasn't feasible that someone could die from too many orgasms, but Luca seemed intent on trying to prove me wrong. I was tender in spots that hadn't had any attention in way too long. I wasn't sure if I could handle another round . . . or two, as seemed to be Luca's way.

This morning in bed, he'd blown my mind, and when I thought for sure we were finished, he'd put me in a new position and done it all again. Just a few hours ago, he'd done the same thing, but this time, he took me from behind when he caught me alone in the bedroom and then held me up by my legs while he powered into me from his standing position next to the bed. Both times were mind-blowing. Just thinking about them now, I considered ignoring the tender spots and agreeing to order takeout so I could experience some authentic Italian in another way.

"Let's see what we're working with here," Luca muttered as he opened the refrigerator again. He sifted through the drawers and then walked over to the pantry and stood looking into it for a few seconds before he walked back over and opened the freezer. "Perfect."

"What's perfect? The fish sticks? Simon thinks they're gourmet cuisine."

Luca wrinkled his nose in disgust and then shook his head as he said, "Are they even made with real fish?"

"They should be."

"Doesn't mean they are," Luca said as he shut the freezer door.

I watched him move gracefully around the kitchen, checking the spices in the cabinet and gathering things from the pantry and refrigerator before he looked for the mixing utensils he would need.

I heard Ember moving around in her bedroom and got up to check on her just as Luca walked back over to the pantry. I shook my head at the thought that he was probably going to make spaghetti since I already had some canned sauce and noodles in there.

By the time I finished in Ember's room, this time making sure she was really sleeping before I left her, at least thirty minutes had passed. I was stunned when I walked into the kitchen and found Luca kneading dough while a fragrant pan of sauce simmered on the stove.

"What are you doing?"

"I know it's probably predictable, but I'm making meatballs with some sauce."

"But what is that?"

"Pasta dough."

"You're making fresh pasta?"

"Yeah. I really like tagliatelle, and you don't have any."

"Because I don't know what that is."

"It's pasta."

"I have pasta in the . . ." Because I couldn't believe my eyes or what was obviously happening right in front of me, I asked again, "You're making fresh pasta?"

Luca laughed as he aggressively kneaded the dough on the counter. "Yes, Lou. Is that a problem?"

"Holy shit," I whispered as I settled onto the stool directly across from where he was working. "And meatballs?"

"Yes. I thought we'd have a salad on the side, and since I don't have the time or supplies to make a decent dessert, I had one of the guys pick something up from a bakery a few blocks away. He's going to find some fresh Parmigiano Reggiano for me, too, because that shaker bottle full of shit in the refrigerator is an abomination."

"Holy shit."

"Do you like that stuff?" Luca asked with a disgusted look. "I can let a lot of things slide, Lou, but I can't allow you to put that crap on anything I make."

"You're a unicorn."

Luca laughed before he quipped, "I guess, if unicorns hate fake cheese. I do have a horn just for you, though."

I burst out laughing and started to make a sarcastic comment but got distracted as I caught sight of the muscles in his forearms flexing and rippling as he kneaded the dough. I got myself together enough to ask, "Do you cook very often?"

"All the time."

"Who taught you?"

"Mamma is an equal opportunity kind of woman and taught us everything we needed to know to run our own household. We had chores at a very young age and were punished if we didn't take care of them. If we didn't do our laundry, we wore dirty clothes. If we didn't help with the meal, we didn't eat. Simple rules that were very easy to follow, but, of course, we bucked them quite a bit."

"She didn't treat you like a pampered prince since you're a mafia king?"

"A mafia king?"

"Whatever you call it," I said as I waved my hand dismissively.

"Technically, it's a don, not a king. In Italian, the word ‘don' means boss."

"You were teaching Ember Italian this morning."

Luca nodded as he sprinkled a little more flour over the dough he was working. "I was. It's important for children to learn their history, and the language is part of that."

"How did you know she's part Italian?"

Luca's gaze snapped up to mine, and he wrinkled his brow. "She's Italian? Who is her father?"

I laughed before I asked, "Because all of you know each other?"

"You said he worked for a businessman here, so you came to the city to find him, right?" When I nodded, he said, "Who do you think that businessman answers to, Lou?"

"You don't even know what kind of business he works for."

"Well, he traveled. Weekly?"

"He came through town four times a month. He'd stay for a day as they went west, then stay for a day as they went home. He'd do that twice a month." Luca's eyes narrowed, and I asked, "Why is that important?"

"Did he come on the same day every time? For instance, was it always Tuesdays and Thursdays, or did he switch things up?"

"It was very random, and there really wasn't much warning that he was coming through. Well, at least none that he told me about when we talked on the phone. He'd just appear out of nowhere."

"Transporting."

"Yes, he said that he worked in the transportation industry. I assumed that meant his work had something to do with planes, trains, or automobiles. Now that I think about it, when I asked him what he did, he blew off my question and changed the subject."

"No, Lou. Not transportation. Transporting. He was taking something from point A to point B. There wasn't a predictable schedule because that would make it too easy for the law to catch him."

"What could he have been transporting that the law would . . . You think Ember's father was a drug runner?"

"It's highly likely. And from what you've told me about the small town you came from, it would make sense that he was flying under the radar - he didn't want to stop in a big town with a large police presence, so he probably chose small towns on the way to the end destination."

"I used Google Maps to take Simon on a virtual tour of my hometown one time, and he said, ‘That place looks like the town God forgot.'" Luca burst out laughing, and I smiled. "He's probably right."

"How many people live there?"

"Less than twelve thousand."

"And you came from that directly to the city? Wow."

"You've probably never been to a town that small." I laughed and added, "You've probably never even been to Oklahoma."

"I have. Me, my brother, and Zach took a road trip and went down there not long ago."

"Really?"

"Yep. My stepmom needed some help, so we drove her down to Texas, which took us through part of Oklahoma, thank you very much."

"Do you visit your father in Texas very often?"

"We go down there a couple of times a year, and he and Bernadette come up here quite often." Luca stepped away from the counter and looked around. "Where's the plastic wrap? The dough needs to rest."

I told him where to find it and watched as he stopped at the stove and stirred the sauce and then adjusted the burner. He grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and used the wooden spoon he was stirring with to dump a bite of sauce onto it and then blew over it for a second before he took a bite.

I watched all of this in awe, noticing the play of the muscles across his shoulders as he stirred and then the cut of his jaw when he pursed his lips to blow over the spoon. Everything about the man was art, music, living, and breathing beauty, but it didn't seem like he realized that about himself at all. His movements were very fluid, and he was comfortable in his own skin, which said a lot about his carefree personality, but that didn't jive with what I'd always imagined a mafia boss - or don, as he'd explained earlier - would be like.

He savored the bite in his mouth for a second before he sifted through the spice cabinet and added a few things to the pan. Once he'd stirred that in, he took another bite and then nodded before he filled the spoon for me.

He blew on it until it was cool enough and then held it out over the island toward me. I leaned forward, and he fed the bite to me. I felt my eyes go wide as the flavors burst on my tongue.

"That's delicious! How did you do that? Where did that come from? Wow!"

"You had everything I needed in the pantry," Luca said with a shrug. I watched him cover the dough as if he'd done it a million times and then set it aside and pull a bowl from the refrigerator.

I leaned forward to peek into the bowl and saw that he'd already started on the meat and asked, "And you're making homemade meatballs too?"

"Not exactly what I'd have chosen myself, but it will work."

"I have to . . . I'll be right back," I said as I slid down off the stool and walked toward the front door. When I pulled it open, I found two men I recognized from Luca's trips to the bar standing up from some folding chairs someone had placed in the foyer. I gave them an uncomfortable smile and greeted them as I walked past them into Darlene's apartment without knocking.

"What's wrong, Tab?"

"You've gotta see this."

"What?"

"There's a unicorn in my kitchen."

"You really did bump your head, didn't you?" she asked as I tugged on her hand to pull her up from the couch. "Are you feeling okay? Any dizziness or . . ."

"Come with me."

"Okay, honey," Darlene said doubtfully as she followed me out of her apartment and across the foyer. As soon as I opened the door, she gasped and asked, "What is that smell? Oh my God, Tab. You've outdone yourself this . . . Holy shit."

"I know, right?"

Darlene was standing just inside the apartment door and staring at Luca as he worked the meat in the bowl with his hands. "He's cooking?"

"Homemade sauce, fresh pasta, and meatballs."

"I don't even care if it's a lie, but please tell me the man has a tiny penis and absolutely no stamina," Darlene said, barely loud enough for me to hear. "There's no way he's real."

"I can't lie, honey. He's the whole enchilada with a side of rice and beans and even a sopapilla for dessert."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, but I get the gist." She sighed as Luca wiped his hands on a towel and then turned toward the stove. "I've seen a lot of things in my life, Tab, but this is my first live and in person unicorn."

"And he's mine," I whispered with a grin.

"Fuck off."

◆◆◆

LUCA

"And you're absolutely sure you don't find me attractive at all?" Simon asked as he leaned back in his chair and rested his hand on his stomach. He took a sip from the wine glass in his other hand and whined, "Not even just a little bit?"

"I've only got eyes for Tabby," I assured him as I tried to fight off a grin.

"Polyamory is an option, though, right, Tab?"

"I'm not going to share my . . ." Tabby looked at me in question and then back to Simon before she shrugged, not quite sure how to finish that sentence.

"Just go ahead and start calling me your husband," I suggested.

"It's weird because you've never even taken her on a date," Simon pointed out. "However, why go out when you can make this magic at home?"

"You think home cooking is unnecessary!" Tabby argued.

"Most of the time, it is, but this isn't . . ."

"Are you saying that I can't cook?"

"No! I'm not saying anything of the sort. It's just that . . ."

"You don't think I can cook!" Tabby wailed as tears filled her eyes. She sniffed and then looked down at the table as she tried to control her emotions. When Simon chuckled, she snapped, "Don't laugh at me Simon! I can't make it stop if you're laughing at me!"

"I'm sure you cook wonderfully, Lou," I assured her as he reached over and brushed a tear from her cheek. "I'll let you cook anytime you want to! I'll never cook again if . . ."

"Don't threaten me!" Tabby wailed.

"I didn't mean . . ." I looked over at Simon and found him staring at the table with his lips pulled between his teeth, his face red from trying to stifle his laughter. When he looked at me, I mouthed, "What do I do?"

"Welcome to the shit show, my friend. I'm gladly going to pass the baton to you."

"I am not a shit show, Simon, and both of you need to stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Tabby bawled. She sobbed loudly and asked, "What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you, honey," I said, trying to soothe her.

"Nothing? You don't think anything is wrong?" Tabby snapped. "I'm as big as a house, I pee when I sneeze, I get winded when I walk across the room, my feet hurt, my ankles are so fat they rub together when I walk, and don't even get me started on my thighs!"

"Your thighs are gorgeous, Lou," I argued. "It's gonna be okay, honey."

"No, it's not!" Tabby yelled before she pushed away from the table and stood up. I realized just how much effort that took when she moaned softly as she straightened, but she didn't acknowledge the discomfort at all, just walked toward her bedroom.

"Lou, babe, come back and . . ."

Tabby turned around and glared at me, tears streaming down her cheeks as she yelled, "People are trying to find me, you're here and perfect and funny and hot and can cook, and you've got this wonderful life, and I don't know if you really want me to be part of it or if you just want to win the race, and what happens when you do? Will you just throw me away? What about Ember? And she loves you already, and I think I love you already, but I'm fat and horrible, and you are probably just pretending you're interested in me. I'm as big as a house, and pregnancy is supposed to be a beautiful thing, but it's just not! It's really not!"

"That went off the rails pretty quickly," Simon muttered as he watched the bedroom door as if Tabby were going to burst through it and start another tirade. "Don't be alarmed, my friend. She's not always like this. She's calm and rational when she's not pregnant. I mean, she can be a little stubborn and a bit snippy at times, but this kind of thing is rare."

"There's a lot going on in her life that she can't control. That's taking a toll, I'm sure, and when you add in all the worries and fears about what will happen to the babies after they're born . . ."

"And what will happen if someone else finds her before you can whisk her off to your castle in Manhattan."

"Exactly. I hope she'll let us get this over with tomorrow but . . ."

"So, I'm not an expert on women by any means, but referring to your impending marriage as something you just need to ‘get over with' is probably not a good idea."

"I didn't mean . . . Shit. That sounded worse than it should have. I do want to whisk her away to my castle, and I'm frustrated that she won't let me do that right now."

"Well, there will be no whisking anytime soon. Right now, you need to figure out how to handle . . ." Simon waved toward the door Tabby had walked through and winced when we heard her sobbing. "Shit. I hate it when she cries. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to call an expert and get some sound advice on how to handle this type of situation."

"A doctor? A therapist? An exorcist?"

"Sort of. My father. When you meet my mom, you'll quickly see that she can be a bit dramatic sometimes, but when she was pregnant, it was off the charts. Somehow, Papà is always able to talk her off the ledge and make her smile again." I picked my phone up from the table, dialed Papà's number, and was happy when he answered on the second ring. "Papà, I need your help."