Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Nonna comes flying around the corner with a rolling pin in hand, shouting in Italian at a girl in uniform, probably a new hire.
“Whoa, Nonna,” Rosa says, quickly stepping ahead of me. She holds up a hand to stop Nonna’s tirade, and asks her in Italian, “What’s the matter?”
“She touched my bread dough!” Nonna replies in Italian, then curses her out.
Rosa turns to the girl. “Did you touch her bread dough?”
The girl can’t be more than twenty. Her eyes fill with tears and she wrings her hands. “I didn’t mean to. I thought it was Tosca’s, and she asked me to punch it down and let it rise for a second time, so I did.”
“No one touch my dough!” Nonna shouts, brandishing her weapon again.
Natalia, the little brat, giggles her little head off. Mario rolls his eyes.
“Nonna, it was a harmless mistake,” he says in his suave way. I stand and watch them with my hands in my pockets. I don’t fucking care about bread dough or new hires or damn near anything like this shit.
“Nonna, she didn’t mean it,” Rosa says. “Please, let it go this time.”
“You no go my kitchen!” Nonna shouts, as Rosa turns her away and escorts her back to the kitchen. I take Natalia’s hand, and Mario talks in a low voice to the new hire. I give him a side-eye. He is totally gonna use this to his advantage to get in the girl’s panties.
“Nonna’s funny when she’s mad,” Natalia says with a laugh.
“Nonna’s funny pretty much any time she talks,” I respond. She’s got a ready wit and doesn’t care to play games, so she cracks me up. I love Nonna and won’t forget that she’s the reason Narciso’s tyranny came to an end. That woman may be a calzone-making machine, but she can wield a pistol as well as any of the Rossi women.
Natalia skips at my side, and my heart swells. She makes me feel alive, being around her like this. Sometimes I think others around her find her annoying, always asking questions, never staying out of trouble. But I like that she doesn’t act afraid, like all of us did. Until we were old enough to defend ourselves from Narciso, anyway.
The Great Hall is empty, faint voices coming all the way from the dining room. We usually eat breakfast at The Castle in the Great Hall, but when we have guests or it’s a special occasion, we feast in the dining hall.
But from here, the large windows show the measures we’ve taken for safety outside. Tavi still has the dogs chained by the front door, but he’s brought every made man and man-in-training to secure The Castle. Armed men stand at every entrance, wearing comm devices, and a table in the dining room’s set up with laptops and notebooks. Added surveillance.
We won’t talk about business at breakfast, not with the littler ones and staff around, but after breakfast we’ll adjourn with the Montavios to one of the private rooms.
“Santo.” Sergio Montavio, younger brother to the late Nicolo, gives me a hug and slams his palm on my back. “How you been, brother?”
Sergio is another car aficionado, and in our youth, we spent many a summer under the hood of a car together. He winces. “Heard about the Maserati. Jesus, brother, I’ll help you kick the ass of whoever’s responsible.”
“Thanks, man,” I say, releasing him. “But I ain’t sharin’ that job.”
He grins at me. “Atta boy.” Then he sobers. “How’s Tuscany?”
“Sucks balls,” I say under my breath with a sigh, and he shakes his head.
“It’s bullshit, eh?” he says in a low breath. While the Montavios aren’t under Romeo’s rule, they show respect at all times. We all do.
“Yeah, man.”
“You comin’ clean?” he asks.
I nod. “I’ll tell everything I know today.” There’s no choice at this point. I’ll have to be discreet, but it’s time.
“Hey, motherfucker,” Timeo, the middle brother, says. Montavios are good stock, good-looking guys, strong, respectable men who look like they just came over from Italy. Shorter and stockier than the Rossis, they’re no less powerful and attractive. “Good to see you home.”
Home.
It hits me harder than I expect.
“Thanks, man. Good to be home.”
Staff mills about, filling coffee cups and bringing platters of pastry, but a large buffet sits up against one wall. One quick glance around the room and I find Rosa sitting beside Marialena, little Natalia on her lap. Vittoria sits beside them, and they’re smiling and laughing.
Mama sits with her nephew, Ricco Montavio, as they catch up. Ricco’s the only married Montavio and Boss to the Montavio family. When I look over, he’s proudly showing Mama pictures on his phone of their new little baby.
Tavi sits at the head of the table next to Elise, Orlando and Angelina on the other side. Small tables surround the main tables with made men and guards, all dressed and fitted to the teeth with weapons. While everyone talks, socializes, and eats, I’m watching every exit and looking for anything out of place.