The Spia Family Branches Out

by Mary Leo

  I opened the bottle of oil and poured some out on a clean cloth, then dabbed it on his wound. It would help it heal.

  “What was she driving?”

  “Who?”

  “Angelina. Who else are we talking about?”

  He sighed, then grinned. “Angelina does not drive. She has . . . how do you say . . . a problem with her eyes. She is not so good with the space around her. She has no license to drive and would not know how to drive a car.”

  This was not the answer I was expecting. “Maybe she hired a driver?”

  “To run you off the road? No. That would only be someone she brought with her from Italia, and she came with your papa only.”

  “Okay, that explains why we were nearly rammed by someone driving the same white Mustang in the inn’s parking lot. They nicked our back fender, so whoever it was probably has black paint on their front bumper.” Then I flashed on Audrey’s handgun in her purse.

  “I have a hunch who may have shot at you and Angelina and my dad, but I have no idea why she would hang Angelina in that olive tree. It doesn’t make any sense. But we might be able to prove it was or wasn’t her.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you. But if we could steel her gun and give it to Nick, he can . . . ”

  Giuseppe abruptly pulled away from me just as I was about to start bandaging his shoulder. “Who is we?”

  “Jade, Lisa and I. We already have Angelina’s weapon. We took it from her room.”

  “All three of you can not have her weapon. Which one has it?”

  “I do,” I lied, not wanting to give Lisa any kind of trouble. I could handle Giuseppe much better than she could.

  “You can not give her weapon to Nick. It will be bad for you. You must give it to me.”

  “You? So you can shoot somebody? Oh, no. Besides, you already have a gun, probably two or three. You certainly don’t need another one.”

  “Then show me her weapon.”

  I didn’t want to show him anything, much less Angelina’s handgun, which I didn’t have.

  “Why?”

  “Because your uncle, he pulled a thirty-eight bullet out of my shoulder. Is this the kind of bullet from Angelina’s gun? I mean . . .” He shrugged. “Maybe she give her gun to someone else to shoot me, shoot your papa.”

  My heart sank. I could lie and tell him it was, to save my cousin Audrey from his wrath, but he would eventually learn the truth. It was totally the wrong bullet for a completely different handgun. Angelina’s weapon was a .9mm Glock. This meant that my cousin Audrey was looking like the shooter.

  But what about Bruna and the muffins? How did she fit into all of this?

  My mind was going to explode.

  I had no idea what to do or say about this current unfortunate situation, so instead I did the only thing I knew would distract him from his current crusade.

  I kissed him.

  TWENTY-TWO

  A Kiss Is Still A Kiss

  I should have known better than to kiss a man when he was already half naked in my bed, especially when the attraction to that man was such a powerful force that I lost all control just looking at him.

  As expected, his kiss was more than a kiss, it was a magical moment of complete and absolute passion, the likes of which rivaled anything I had ever experienced in my entire adult sober life. The inebriated part of my life didn’t count because I couldn’t remember most of it.

  His lips were warm and soft against mine, and when he touched his tongue to mine I thought I would internally combust, if that was even possible. His hand ran through my hair, then down my neck and got very close to my right breast when a loud voice in my head threatened to rip off the top of my head.

  Stop!

  I pulled away, realizing that I had somehow crawled into his lap, and was now lying across him, ready for . . . well . . . almost anything.

  “I . . . um . . . can’t do this,” I told him, trying to force my body into an upright position when my mind only wanted more of the same, please.

  “But you want to,” he muttered as he continued to stroke and touch any exposed skin he could find. My body felt as if a match had been lit from within. “I can tell when a woman wants more, and you my darling, Mia, want more.”

  He spoke right to my most deepest and desperate passions, like he sensed what I was thinking. Was I that obvious?

  “No . . . I mean yes . . . but I can’t,” I told him as I reluctantly squirmed out of his tantalizing and unbelievably tender embrace.

  “Why? We are betrothed. This is just the beginning of our lives together.”

  That statement confirmed my inner strength and I was able to put my two feet firmly on the floor and stand. “You keep saying that, when you know we aren’t even dating.”

  He smacked the bed with his hand. “Then we should date, if that is what you want.”

  “What I want and what I am willing to do aren’t always the same thing.”

  “And you want me? No?”

  I wanted him more than I could say, so instead I said, “No. Right now, I want you to go home.”

  “But my shoulder, it is hurting.” He feigned misery, sliding down on the bed. “You said I should rest.”

  The guy was nothing if not one of the most charming criminals I’d ever met.

  “And you should, just not in my bed. You have a perfectly fine bed in your own apartment.”

  He let out a long slow sigh. “If this is what you truly want, I will go.”

  I took a couple steps back, shoved my hair behind my ears, screwed up my determination and looked him dead in the eyes . . . oh, those eyes. “I don’t know what I want, that’s why you need to go. Now. Please!”

  He slipped out of bed, flexing his one healthy incredible arm and that ripped chest of his. My knees actually felt weak, and my heart banged against my chest. I prayed to God for help. I was in dire need of all the assistance I could get.

  He stood and tried to get into his bloodstained shirt, but couldn’t lift his arm.

  “Here,” I said, rushing to his side to help. As I stood behind him, his musky scent tickled my desires and I wondered what it would be like to press up against his strong back and run my hands up his ripped chest.

  I pushed the thought away when he said, “Thank you, Mia.” His words rumbled through me with a thick Italian accent, feeling like silk brushing against my skin. Goose bumps prickled up and down my arms and legs.

  When he finally turned to face me, I refused to gaze into those amazing eyes of his or I would lose this battle for sure.

  “Thank you for changing my bandages,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” I mumbled as I turned and led him to my front door, then opening it so he knew I meant business.

  He stepped outside and the automatic light came on, giving him a wonderful amber glow, tempting me once again with his good looks and sexy smile.

  “The motion light went on,” I said more to myself than to Giuseppe.

  “This is good. Now you can see who is outside your door.”

  “That’s just it. I’ve always had a motion light outside my door, but it didn’t go on when we had the intruder in my apartment. That means whoever broke in knew about the light and must have either broken it or turned the bulb so it wouldn’t go on. The person who broke in had been in my apartment before. That’s even scarier.”

  “I think I should spend the night . . . to keep you safe,” he said, leaning in, running a finger under my chin. I immediately moved away from his touch, which sent a shiver through me.

  No way could he ever spend the night again. Not after that kiss.

  “I’ll be fine. I have a wooden door now, and it has a big lock.”

  “Then we should date. I want to ask you for a date. Tomorrow. For lunch. I will meet you here and we will go to town. In my car.”

  “You have a car?”

  “But of course.”

  The thought of being alone with him in a car was not something I co
uld endure.

  “I’ll meet you at Oliva e Fico deli at eleven,” I told him. “I think that’s better. I have a hair appointment in the morning at Roman Holiday. I should be done by then.”

  “If that is what you want. We will talk again tomorrow,” he murmured in a low voice, as he reached out and touched my fingers with his.

  This time I didn’t pull away. Instead, I allowed a sweet shot of heat to race up my arm and settle in the core of my being.

  “Tomorrow,” I whispered, knowing damn well I needed to stay away from this man.

  Then he turned and hurried down the stairs, while I went inside, double locked the door, and pulled out all the ingredients to make lasagna. I’d been planning on making it for a couple days, but hadn’t had the opportunity . . . until now. Nothing got me through these types of situations like cooking a complicated dish . . . a level four complicated dish. My lasagna fit that description to the letter.

  Lasagna — Level Three Or Four

  (depending on type of sauce or if you grate the cheese)

  1 lb. box of lasagna noodles (if using no-boil noodles, assemble lasagna the day before to help soften the noodles or soak them in hot water for about ten minutes or you can make your sauce runny so the noodles will cook properly in the oven)

  24 ounces of ricotta cheese (either low fat or full fat . . . NEVER use cottage cheese)

  1/4 to 1/3 cup finely chopped Italian parsley

  1 raw whipped extra large egg (or 2 whipped regular sized eggs)

  2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese (shred by hand for level four)

  1 cup grated Parmesan cheese (grate by hand for level four)

  1/4 tsp. black pepper

  1 1/2 lbs. ground beef or turkey or chicken (can omit meat completely)

  ½ pound ground Italian sausage meat (beef or turkey or chicken … optional)

  4 to 5 cups of pasta sauce *recipe follows (or use 1 to 2 25 oz. bottles of marinara sauce)

  **To take this to a level 4+, make your own lasagna noodles. You can find several good recipes online.

  Preheat oven to 350

  Cook noodles as directed (al dente). Blanch in cold water with a little olive oil added to the water so the noodles won’t stick. It might even help to lay them out on oiled waxed paper, or several oiled cookie sheets making sure the noodles don’t touch. Meanwhile, in a large bowl mix together with large spoon ricotta cheese, parsley, whipped egg, and black pepper. Savor the scent of the freshly chopped parsley mixing with the creamy ricotta, yum!

  On the bottom of 9 x 13 baking dish spread about one half cup of the sauce, then layer noodles, about four or five (only overlap by a quarter inch or less), making sure they don’t touch the sides of the pan (noodles will expand). Spread about 1/3 of the ricotta cheese mixture on top of noodles. Then add 1/3 of the meat mixture, followed by 1/3 of the mozzarella but only use 1/4 of the parmesan cheese. Ladle on sauce until everything is covered. Stack two more layers like this until you get to the top layer of noodles. This layer should only have sauce and the remaining parmesan cheese. *Note: You can also add mozzarella on the top, if you so desire.

  Cover the pan with foil (careful not to touch the foil to the noodles) and bake or let it sit in your refrigerator overnight to meld all the flavors together or to allow the no-boil noodles to soak up the sauce. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes until the sauce bubbles. Can remove the foil for the last 5-10 minutes if lasagna is too wet.

  Remove from oven and let sit for at least 10-15 minutes to allow the pasta and sauce to firm up before serving. Cut in squares and serve with an arugula salad drenched in a mild extra virgin olive oil, shaved imported parmesan cheese, pear shaped tiny tomatoes, and white champaign or balsamic vinegar.

  Lasagna can be frozen for up to one month, so make a big batch and freeze it in individual servings for those days when you want to enjoy a great Italian meal.

  *Spia Pasta Sauce

  15 skinned plum tomatoes peeled and chopped (blanch tomatoes in boiling water until skin begins to split, remove with slotted spoon, plunge in cold water and peel skin off and discard. Cut out stem base and chop on a dish to catch all the juices)

  3 Tbs. tomato paste

  1/2 chopped onion

  1-2 cloves smashed or chopped garlic (can use less garlic)

  1/4 cup finely chopped Italian parsley

  2-3 Tbs. finely chopped fresh basil (depending on taste)

  1 tsp. salt (less if you are on a salt restricted diet)

  1/4 tsp. black pepper

  1 carrot chopped in three chunks (remove carrot before serving)

  1 cup water (more or less depending on thickness of sauce)

  1/2 cup grated parmesan or romano cheese

  1 tsp. hot red pepper flakes (optional)

  extra virgin olive oil (you can drizzle one to two tablespoons of a robust oil over the sauce when done, and mix in for extra flavor)

  Sauté the onion and garlic in any good quality extra virgin olive oil until tender, (onion will be translucent) but not brown. Add the tomato paste and let cook for about a minutes. Add the chopped tomatoes and stir adding the water, more if sauce seems too thick. Add salt and pepper to taste, along with hot pepper flakes if you want a kick! Add carrot and let the sauce simmer on a back burner, (do not scorch) turning every so often for about 1 to 1 1/2 hours. Turn off heat and ladle over hot pasta. Sprinkle grated cheese over the warm pasta or serve the cheese on the side.

  Enjoy the scents as you relax into real comfort food. For extra fun, pour a flavored sparkling water into a lovely wine glass or flute or even a classic Champaign glass. Garnish with a perfectly ripe strawberry.

  Cooled sauce can be stored in the freezer for up to one month.

  TWENTY-THREE

  13 Ex-Mobsters And A Baby

  Just as Leo pointed a handgun at Giuseppe as we made love under an olive tree, a chirping sound pulled me out of what was both pleasurable and horrific all at the same time.

  My eyes sprung open as I gaped at my pure white ceiling, thankful it had only been a very bad dream.

  I rested there with a head fog for a moment until the fog lifted and I could grab my phone off the nightstand and see that it was my mother calling me. She never called when she could just walk up my stairs and visit me in person. Mom was not a phone kind of gal. There were only two times when she would call me, I figured: when someone had died, or if she was in jail again. I was hoping for the former. My mom behind bars had been a nightmare I didn’t want to relive anytime soon.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked before she could utter one word.

  “Your cousin Rocco’s wife is in the hospital ready to pop out their baby any minute. You need to come.”

  I glanced at the clock next to my bed. It wasn’t even eight a.m. yet. I needed more sleep.

  “You know how these things go. It could take hours,” I said, mid-yawn, stretching out on the same side of the bed where Giuseppe had lain only hours before. My pillow still carried his scent.

  “Alessandra’s been in here all night. Rocco didn’t want to tell us until it was time. Now it’s time. Get dressed and get over here. It’s the first baby born on the orchard. We need to be here to welcome her in.”

  “Mom, she’s a baby. What does she know?” I yawned again.

  “You would say no to a tiny baby? You have no heart.”

  My mom knew all the right buttons. “I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

  “Make it thirty,” she said and disconnected.

  I laid there for another moment just as Giuseppe’s kiss came roaring back, causing me to jump out of bed as if he was still in it. In the next fifteen minutes I had cleaned up, gotten dressed, downed my morning tablespoon of olive oil with lemon, poured hot tea in my travel mug along with milk and honey, grabbed a biscotti from the glass jar I’d restocked from Dolci Piccoli Bakery and took off for Sonoma Valley Hospital on Andriux Avenue.

  Fifteen minutes later, having only known this hospital through the ER, I pulled my red pickup into th
e ER parking lot and took the space next to, of all things, a white Mustang.

  What?

  I stepped out of my truck and made my way over to the Mustang thinking that the likelihood of this car being the same Mustang that tried to run us into the trees then scraped by us at the inn was totally and completely impossible.

  I quickly checked out the car for any scratches and didn’t see any. When I peeked inside through the heavily tinted windows, there were no indications of who owned it. No extra sweaters or coats on the back seat. No water bottle in the cup holders. No papers or books on the floor. No Spia’s Olive Press brochures on the passenger seat. It almost looked brand new, as if whoever owned it was some kind of neat freak.

  I was just about to walk away when I decided to give that front bumper a closer look and sure enough, a faint streak of black paint still shown on the otherwise shiny bumper.

  I almost couldn’t believe the nerve of this person to park the Mustang right out here in the open, almost begging for me to spot it. Did this person want to be caught? Want to come clean? And what about Angelina? Was the owner the killer?

  I took a picture of the license plate number and the black streak.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Lisa.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t call her because she kept the sound on her phone turned off and didn’t look at it while she was working. She didn’t look at email or any type of message until she was done writing for the day, which was sometime in the late afternoon.

  Along with all her other brilliant traits, Lisa was extremely disciplined.

  By the time I exited the elevator on the maternity floor of the hospital, and headed for the waiting room, I could hear my family’s voices echoing all the way down the hall.

  As soon as I entered the large waiting room, I realized that most everyone had already arrived. The room was packed with the Spia clan, including Giuseppe, who tossed me a sexy grin.