Sweet Pain (Amatucci Family #3) - Sadie Jacks Page 0,91
Momma looked at Papa. He smiled before bussing her knuckles. Their hands entwined, Papa said his customary blessing over our food. “Per la famiglia, per gli amici, per l'amore, per l'onore, ti ringraziamo, amen.”
My mind provided the translation without missing a beat: For family, for friends, for love, for honor, we thank you, amen.
A round of ‘amens’ rose before everyone started digging into the meal. I smiled in true pleasure. I watched my family, my friends dig into the meal I’d helped prepare. I watched their faces as they took their first bites. That slight fluttering of eyelashes, the quick inhale. It was the biggest compliment I could think of.
Ryker filled my plate with a small mountain of pasta and red meat sauce. I ripped apart my first of many pieces of garlic bread.
We ate in happy conversation. Ribbing, joking, laughing, groans of playful disgust. These people were my happy place. My refuge. My solace. My anchor.
Ryker took my free hand, threaded our fingers together. More than the others, this man was my joy. My shelter. My heart’s keeping. My tether.
When I looked over at him, I saw the same joy reflected in his gaze that probably showed in mine. This family accepted both of us, exactly as we were. That Ryker had embraced this family as readily as I had blew my mind, healed my heart. Their acceptance of him soothed the jagged edges of my tattered soul.
**
I groaned. Between the bread and pasta overload, I was going to need to be wheeled to my bedroom. Or waddle. Even my yoga pants felt tight. “Stick a fork in me, I’m done.”
Ryker chuckled under his breath as he flexed his fingers on my thigh. “I love you. I love your cooking. Tomorrow we eat salads and meat. No carbs.”
Momma snorted. “Protein is for pansies.”
Ryker didn’t rise to the bait. He was probably fighting off his own carb coma. Other than the quick ham sandwich we’d had for lunch, we’d really only had carbs today. I was feeling it, that was the freaking truth.
The Amatucci siblings rose from the table. Like the well-oiled machine they truly were, they had the table cleared and the dishwasher loaded before Momma or Papa could direct them. I smiled as I watched the familiar circus.
The New Trenadie mafia family cleared their own table, washed their own dishes. Cooked their own meals. They were a family in the truest sense of the word. I was just happy to be claimed by them.
“Food is done. Now for business. Foster, you leave,” Momma said. She pointed a stern finger at the elevators.
Foster’s mouth dropped open for a second. He looked at Ryker.
Ryker shook his head. “I’m not the head of the family.” He jutted his chin back at Momma.
I swear, my adopted mother had little birdies dancing in circles over her head as she looked at my man. She nodded. She looked back at Foster. “Si. You can stay on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“Take the oath. You can choose to remain outside what our Willow calls the ‘back of the house.’ But you will hear no family business without taking the oath. Decide.” She crossed her arms. “Now.”
Foster looked at Tali.
She was pointedly studying her wine glass. Her arms crossed over her belly. I saw the slight tension in her shoulders as she waited for Foster’s answer.
It seemed I was going to have to corner my sister and pry the details out of her. And depending on her answers, Foster might or might not retain his kneecaps. I glared at the man.
His upper lip curled when he looked at me.
I crossed my arms, raised a single eyebrow.
Momma slapped a hand on the table. “Now.”
Foster turned back to our matriarch. “What is involved in this oath?”
“Fight club rules,” Ryker said.
Foster’s lips twitched. “I can handle that. If I break this oath?”
Mas cleared his throat. “You will not live long enough to regret your decision long.”
Foster nodded. “I’ll take it. Do I get to choose which areas of the back of the house I want to be in?”
My eyes widened. Foster was either an idiot or very comfortable with his skills and personal integrity.
“No. If you want back of the house, you join up like any other recruit. Depending on your skill set and some other factors, you would be allowed into select areas. But that is a discussion for another time,” Turo said calmly.
Foster nodded. “I’m ready when you are, Mrs. Amatucci.”