I take her hand in mine. “I can be very convincing.” I smirk.
“I’m sure you can,” she whispers when I swipe my thumb across the back of her hand.
The sparks are there. Flying all around us in the thick night air. I feel it. She feels it. There’s no denying the connection we have. No matter what’s between our fathers, it has nothing to do with us—two people with no interest in their businesses—falling for each other.
“I’ve missed you,” I confess, and the words come out easier than I expect.
“I…”
I hang on her words, waiting to hear she feels exactly the same.
She gives me a small smile, blinking slowly across the table from me. “This is crazy, Leo.”
There’s no sanity in what’s happening between us. “Did you miss me?” I ask her point-blank. “Nothing else matters.”
“I did,” she says and sighs. “I shouldn’t have, damn it, but I did, which is insane.”
“Then we’re both crazy.” I laugh and squeeze her hand. “I’ll make things right.”
Her fingers curl around mine. “How?”
That’s the million-dollar question. There’re two stubborn, old-fashioned Italian men standing in my way. I have to convince them that we’re stronger together than apart. There’s nothing easy about it, but I have to face the two men who’re driving an invisible wedge between us.
“Don’t worry about it. Let me handle things. I’d move mountains to be with you, Daphne.”
“Do you understand how irrational this all is? We’ve known each other what…a month? I shouldn’t feel the way I feel about you.”
I can’t hide my smile. “Sometimes the best things in life go against reason.”
“Take me home,” she says, and no other words need to be spoken.
The drive back to my place feels ridiculously long. Daphne hasn’t stopped stroking my arm from the moment we pulled away from the valet. The second I get her alone in the elevator, I’m all over her.
Our mouths fuse together as our hands roam across each other’s bodies, wanting and needing more.
“God, I want you so bad,” I murmur against her lips and grip the back of her neck, holding her tightly.
“I need you,” she says as her fingers slide under my dress shirt and splay across my stomach.
We tumble out of the elevator as soon as the doors open. She’s in my arms, legs wrapped around my waist, kissing me with so much force my lips burn.
I carry her toward my bedroom, one hand in her hair and the other cupping her ass as she grinds her sweet spot against my impossibly hard cock. I lay her on the bed and cover her body with mine, trying to take this as slow as humanly possible.
I don’t want to rush. The plane was pent-up lust, but this is something entirely different. Her hands are sliding through my hair, tugging on the ends as she deepens the kiss and locks her ankles behind my ass.
My lips glide across her jaw until I reach the soft skin on her neck and the spot I know drives her wild. “Don’t you dare leave a mark,” she tells me.
I smile against her neck. “Not on your neck,” I promise her, but anywhere else on her body is fair game. It’s childish, I know, but I want there to be no mistake that Daphne Gallo belongs to me.
14
Daphne
I’m about to walk into the bar and head up to my parents’ for Sunday dinner when Michelle texts me.
Michelle: How did last night go?
Me: Great, but…
I stop typing and hit send. My head is no less jumbled than it was the day before. Spending the night with Leo was everything I thought it would be. The way he made love to me slow and gentle, I felt the connection between us getting stronger and more intense.
Michelle: Life’s short, girl. I kind of like Leo, and I don’t say that lightly.
I sigh, knowing those words aren’t easy for her to say. Michelle understands the precariously sticky situation being with Leo puts us both in.
Me: I just don’t want my life to be shorter because of him.
The danger is real, even if my statement is meant to be funny. I can’t deny that, at any moment, we’ll be found out and one of our fathers will take matters into his own hands. Leo said he’ll handle everything and find a way to make peace. But it would take a miracle to bring our families together.
“Hey, stranger.”
I jump when I hear Vinnie’s voice. “For fuck’s sake, don’t do that shit.”
“Who you texting?” He tries to look over my shoulder, but I put the phone against my chest.
“Michelle.”
“Tell her hey. I missed her last night.”
“Don’t even think about sleeping with Michelle,” I tell him, poking him in the shoulder as he walks by me.
“Hey, Michelle’s a little too…”
“She’s what?”
The thing I know about my brother is he’ll sleep with just about any woman on the planet as long as she’s willing. It’s not that he doesn’t have standards, he just loves the female body so much he seems to want to try them all out.
“She’s not my type.”
I grab his arm as he starts up the stairway to our parents’ place with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “You don’t have a type. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” He doesn’t look me in the eye when he speaks, and I know he’s hiding something. “You came home late last night, or early, depending on how you look at it.” He changes the subject to the one thing I don’t want to talk about.
“We’re almost late. You better hustle.” I point up the staircase, praying he’ll drop the subject because the boy is always hungry. “Ma probably already has the food on the table.”
Vinnie glances up the stairs, lifting his face in the air, and inhales. “Sausage,” he says with a smile. “My favorite. I’ll race you.”
He looks like the little kid I loved so much as he dashes up the stairs. When he was younger, everything was a competition, and I mean everything. He always wanted to be the fastest at everything he did. Usually, we let him win because he was faster than the rest of us. By the time he was sixteen, there was no competition anymore, but that didn’t stop Vinnie from trying.
Vinnie flings the door open, and it crashes against the wall and almost smacks him in the face as it swings back.
“Jesus,” my mother mutters as she carries the casserole of sausage, peppers, and potatoes toward the dining room.
“Sorry, Ma. It just smells so damn good, I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Well, slow down, Speed Racer.”
“Who?” Vinnie asks as he scratches the side of his head and follows my mom and the food into the dining room.
Angelo’s already in his favorite spot in the living room, arm flung across the back of the couch, looking relaxed. “Hey.” He ticks his chin at me. “Have a good night off?”
I run my fingers along the back of the couch but can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “It was relaxing. How was Vinnie last night?”
“He was Vinnie.”
“Busy?”
“Packed.”
“Hey. Hey,” Lucio says as he carries Lulu into the living room and sits down next to Angelo.
“Where’s Dee?” I ask, glancing around the living room, expecting to see her cheerful face.
Lucio pitches his head toward the bedrooms. “In Ma’s office, coloring with the kids.” He bounces Lulu in his lap, peppering her face and neck with kisses and making her laugh.
Delilah is such a good mom, and she’s scoring brownie points in the aunt department. I’m failing miserably at spending time with my niece and nephew, especially after I promised I’d be there for them after they lost their mother.
“I have to go see them,” I say before making my way down the narrow hallway. Their tiny voices fill the hall, and I watch through the small crack in the door as the three of them color.
“Do you think Daddy will ever find us another mommy?”
Tate, my niece, asks Delilah.
I clutch my chest and plaster my back against the wall, fighting the tears that are threatening to fall. I can’t imagine losing my mother now and I’m a full-grown woman, but Tate and Brax have experienced that kind of loss at such a young age.
“Oh, sweetie,” Delilah says in a soothing tone. “No one can ever replace your mommy.”
“I know.” Tate’s voice is almost a whisper. “But Daddy’s so sad all the time, Auntie Dee.”
Tate sounds wise beyond her years. In a way, she’s been robbed of a happy childhood and has been forced to grow up a little faster than most kids.
“Mama,” Brax says in his deep, little-man voice.
“She’s not here,” Tate tells him sternly. “She’s never coming back.”
I gasp and cover my mouth, hoping no one heard me. I’m devastated by her words.
“Come here, big man,” Delilah says as I peer around the corner, watching them again.
Tate is standing at her side, holding three crayons in her hand with the other arm wrapped around Dee’s back. Brax has his face buried in Delilah’s hair and his thick arms snaked around her neck, hugging her.
Delilah looks down at Tate and smiles. “Tate, your mommy’s always with you. She watches over you two every day, every moment.”
Tate looks around the room, no doubt trying to find her mommy. “I don’t see her.”
“That’s because she’s in your heart, sweetheart.”
“My heart?” Tate whispers and glances down, pressing her hands to her chest. “She’s inside me?” Her little lips part as her mouth hangs open.
“You’ll always carry her with you. And maybe someday your daddy will find someone else. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Tate nods with her hand still over her heart.
“But when he does, your mommy will always be with you.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
I wipe away my tears and plaster on a smile before pushing open the door, trying to lighten the mood. “Where're my monsters?” I call out, stalking into the room like I’m going to tickle them.
“Auntie Nee. Auntie Nee,” Tate calls out, running across the room and practically leaping into my arms.
I hug her tightly, running my hand down her back in soft, slow strokes. “Hey, doll. I missed you so much,” I whisper in her ear. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Auntie Nee.”
Delilah stares at me and smiles before taking a deep breath, probably happy for the rescue. The conversation was getting heavy even for a seasoned pro like Delilah.
“Dinner,” Ma calls out, saving us from having to dive deeper into the conversation.
“Who’s hungry?”
Brax screeches loudly, trying to scramble out of Delilah’s arms before she has a chance to stand. She lets him go, and he’s out the door before Tate’s feet can touch the floor.
“Thank you,” Delilah says to me as we follow the kids down the hallway toward the dining room. “I was starting to lose it.”
“You did well, Dee. I couldn’t have handled that conversation like you did.”
“Oh, please. You’re a natural,” she reassures me, and I know she’s just being nice.
While I love my niece and nephew, I’d never call myself overly maternal. I want kids someday, but I’m not sure if I could ever be as good of a mother as mine was to us.
“Sit, sit,” my father says and stands as we enter the room. I’m almost surprised he’s here on time because lately he’s been missing more than he’s been present. “The food’s getting cold.”
Pop’s a little more enthusiastic than he usually is, and we’re all thinking the same thing as we glance at each other around the table. He’s about to drop something big on us. Lately, it hasn’t been anything good.
I slide into the chair, making faces at Angelo because I figure he knows what’s going on.
“This smells delicious, Ma,” Vinnie says as my mother scoops out a giant helping onto his plate.
“I know it’s your favorite, baby.” Ma hands the casserole across the table, letting the rest of us get our own food instead of babying us like she always does Vinnie.
This dish are everybody’s favorite because it’s the only thing she can cook that’s actually edible. She’s been known to mess up the easiest recipes. But this one, she’s mastered, and it’s perfect every time.
“Can you give me the recipe? I’d like to make it for the guys in my frat.”
“It’s easy. Just throw sausage, potatoes, and peppers in a pan with a full bottle of wine, red or white, along with some water. Then stick everything in the oven, covered, of course, and let it cook for a few hours until the sausage is tender.”
“I don’t think even I could mess it up,” he says and smiles.
My father pulls out my mother’s chair and waits for her to sit before he finally decides to tell us what has him flying high. “So, I know you kids think I’m up to my old ways.”
There’s a collective grumble from around the table because there’s no thinking necessary. My dad has barely been around the last month, heading off to God knows where to do who the fuck even knows with him.
“You know your mother and I are planning our wedding,” he says.
“Which is when?” Lucio asks between bites.
“In a few months.” Pop smiles at my mom, who’s beaming as she gives him her complete attention. “Anyway.” He clears his throat. “There’s a lot of reasons why your mother and I never got married before.”
“We know, Pop,” Angelo says, and I can hear the annoyance in his voice.
“No, you don’t know, son.”
“With marriage comes legalities.”
That’s a word my father has hated his entire life. Legalities. He’s highly allergic to anything that resembles law, and that has always included marriage.
The boys are hanging on my father’s every word, but I’m starving, having skipped breakfast to make it here on time after a long and very pleasurable evening with Leo.
“Our money and assets have always been in your mother’s name so the government couldn’t seize everything if I was arrested.”
“When,” I correct him, covering my mouth with my hand to hide the hunk of steaming potato that’s burning my tongue.
My father sighs. “But there’s always been one thing, a big thing, that I’ve allowed my brother to be in charge of over the years.”
I wrinkle my nose in surprise. “Huh,” I mumble to myself.
“Now that you kids are old enough, and I’m finally cleaning up my act, I’ve asked Sal to sign those assets back over to me.”
“Why now?” Angelo asks, wondering the same damn thing everyone around the table is.
“I thought of it as an insurance policy for my old age.”
“What is it?” Vinnie asks before shoveling half a sausage into his mouth.
My mother covers my father’s hand with hers. “Just tell them already.”
“We’re part owners in a winery,” he says quickly.
My head jerks back. “What?”
“I thought that was Uncle Sal’s,” Angelo says, clearly knowing something about the entire thing.
“It’s always been ours too, but I never wanted to put your inheritance in jeopardy.”
“I have an inheritance?” Vinnie whispers and places his fork down on his plate.
“You do. I’ve asked Sal to divide up my stock equally between you kids, along with myself. In total, we own a third of the family winery in Italy, which, when divided five ways, is about six percent each.”
“What?” I ask again, still in shock.
Growing up, we were never hurting for money. My parents owned the bar, and my father had his other business dealings, always keeping us fed and clothed with a nice roof over our heads. Never in my life did I think we actually had something more. They never spoke about it, and my Uncle Sal left town when I was too young to remember anything.
<
br /> “So, are we talking about a little bit of money?” Vinnie rubs his hands together, letting greed get the better of him.
“Probably a couple million dollars each,” my father says, like he’s talking about the weather.
I feel faint. The room starts to spin, and everything goes dark.
15
Daphne
“I’m fine,” I say for the third time as my family stands around the gurney I’m currently lying on in the emergency room. “This is ridiculous.” I start to sit up because I’m ready to leave, but my mother pushes me back down.
“We’re not leaving until we find out what’s wrong,” she tells me.
“I didn’t eat this morning. It’s no big deal.”
“You’ve never passed out before, Daphne.” Angelo stands near my feet with one hand resting against my leg. “We’re not taking any chances.”
“Come on,” I plead, hoping someone will have some common sense. “Dad dropped a bombshell on us. My body went into shock. It’s seriously no big deal.”
They’re staring at me like I’m a wounded animal, waiting for the moment I kick the bucket. I wonder if this is what it’s like to be old or dying, and I know I’ll hate every moment of it. I think of Carolyn, Angelo’s wife, and the way we sat vigil at her bedside for the last week of her life. I hope we brought her comfort, unlike what my family’s doing to me in this very moment.
“Ms. Gallo,” the doctor says as he pushes aside the cheap yellow curtain that has concealed us from the chaos of the hallways. “I have some test results back.”
“What’s wrong, Doctor? Is she okay?” My mother’s practically in tears, gripping her chest like she’s about to hear news of my impending death.
“Maybe it’s best if your family leaves the room so we can discuss the results in private.”
That is the worst thing the doctor could say.
“Oh. My. God. You’re dying,” my mother cries out and almost throws herself on top of me.
I run my fingers over her red hair, trying to soothe her. “I have no secrets from my family. Go ahead, Doc.”
Flow: Men of Inked: Southside 2 Page 11
