is insanely ornate: golden mirrors on the walls, sleek marble floor, a Roman-style statue sitting in one corner. But Carlo walks to the table as though it’s the most mundane place in the world. He drops down gruffly, not even bothering to glance in my direction.
Suddenly, the table is quiet.
“Shall I say grace, Mother?” Carlo asks eventually.
“Yes—and, please, son, try to smile.”
He cracks a grin which doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks more like a wolf showing its teeth. He still hasn’t looked at me. “Is that good enough for you?”
We all bow our heads as Carlo says grace, talking a lot about getting through hardships, about having the resolve to stay strong and stick to the right path. He’s basically asking God to help him stay away from me, it sounds like. Which is just fricking fine by me.
I’m sitting right next to him, though, and he still hasn’t looked at me. Fine, he wants to play games?
“I’ll dish up the pasta,” I say, rising. I go around the table. Alda wants a little, Emily wants double portions, and I give myself a healthy heaping, too. Then I set it down … as far away from Carlo as I can. His bowl is empty. It’s the kind of move a petty eight-year-old would be proud of, and yet I’m glowing with a savage pride. “I did the sauce, but please, try the bread. Alda is a magician.”
Carlo’s chair scrapes on the floor as he pushes back. He makes to walk around my chair to get to the carbonara. I push my chair back, blocking his way.
“Isn’t it nice to just stretch your legs out sometimes?” I say, smiling at Alda and Emily in turn. Alda stares in disbelief. Emily gives me a you-go-girl grin.
“Hazel,” Carlo snarls.
I glance up at him, bringing my hand to my chest. “Oh my, Carlo. When did you arrive? You should’ve said hello!”
“Ha, fucking, ha.”
“Carlo!” Alda snaps. “This is not Sole Nero!”
“Apologies, Mother,” Carlo says, bowing his head. “But it has been a long day, and it promises to be a long night, and I’m hungry.”
“Perhaps you should show our guest some respect, then,” she says.
Carlo and I lock eyes. I get the sense we’re sharing a moment, silently admitting to just how ridiculous this is. He takes a step back. I can’t help but laugh as he bows theatrically and politely requests, “May I please have the serving dish before I perish from hunger?”
Emily giggles. Carlo is smiling, though somehow he makes it look grim.
“Of course,” I say brightly. “All you had to do was ask.”
Dinner proceeds. Emily regales us with her latest plot idea. About halfway through, Carlo slips his hand under the table, resting it on my knee. I’m still wearing my shorts. Sensations crawl up to my sex, shimmering. To my disbelief, Carlo begins to move his hand slowly up my thigh. I slam my legs shut, trapping his fingers. Everything is suddenly hot, really hot, way too freaking hot.
“That sounds great, Emily,” he says, not even looking at me. He works his hand loose and strays close to my center and then, teasingly, lifts his hand away to reach for a piece of garlic bread. He bites into it, licking the fingers that were just inches from my pussy. “Delicious. Really, really delicious.”
I sit back, annoyed at being flustered. I thought I had the upper hand, what with the whole War of the Serving Dish, but now I feel oddly defeated. I think about grabbing his dick under the table, but somehow I don’t think it’d have the same effect. He’d probably like that.
What’s worse, he’s still not looking at me. It’s like I don’t exist.
Typical fucking Carlo. Human one minute, sociopath the next.
11
Carlo
After dinner, I leave the mansion and head out to the club. When I get there, I’m glad to see Nario leaning near the door that leads to the basement, arms folded. Business will save me. It’s hard to think about a woman when you’ve got the entire weight of the Family resting on your shoulders.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Nario says as we walk into the basement, toward the heavy electronic security door. The music gets quieter the deeper we descend.
“And what’s that?”
“You’re hoping we will not have to torture him.”
“He’s a lunatic killer, and the son of my enemy,” I say. “What do I care?”
Nario narrows his eyes as if to say: are you forgetting I’ve known you for years? He knows that I have