Savio scoffed. “You being one of them.”
I relaxed, realizing the Capo wasn’t really angry at me. It was difficult to tell with his harsh expression.
“Dinner’s served,” Kiara said with a bright smile.
Out of habit, I held out my hands for them to take so we could give our prayers before we ate.
Everyone stared at my outstretched palms as if I was suggesting a satanic ritual, which come to think of it, would probably have been received better. Especially Remo watched my hands with utmost disdain.
“What’s she doing?” Nevio asked.
I lowered my hands, embarrassed. Savio took my hand and squeezed, sending me a grin. He, of course, found this entertaining.
“She wanted to pray before dinner, right, Gemma?” Kiara said gently.
“Why?” Nevio blurted.
“It’s tradition in my family to give thanks to God for the food on the table.”
Nevio pointed a finger at Remo. “Dad’s paying for the food, not God.”
“No pointing with fingers at people,” Serafina admonished.
Nevio looked at his father as if he hoped the man would disagree.
“Nevio,” he said in warning. The boy dropped his hand.
“Who’s God?”
Savio rolled his eyes. I couldn’t help but smile. That kid was a handful. “How about we just eat and save the existential topics for cozy snowy winter evenings.”
“There’s no snow in Vegas,” Nevio said.
Savio gave him a grin. “Exactly. Now shut up.”
Nevio opened his mouth, an enraged look on his face. When Greta put her tiny hand on his, he snapped his lips shut.
Kiara stood and started to fill the plates with food. I untangled my hand from Savio’s and interlinked my fingers, then I closed my eyes and hurried through my usual prayer.
When I opened my eyes, several eyes were on me. Kiara loaded lasagna on my plate. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “Don’t mind them.”
I gave her a grateful smile, ignoring the look Savio exchanged with the other men. I knew they weren’t religious, but I had no intention of hiding my beliefs only because they found them ridiculous.
Kiara and Serafina asked me about choir and kickboxing. I could tell that the conversation between the men at the table was… restrained. They didn’t see me as family yet, of course not. I was an intruder in their tightly knit unit, and it would take time to find my way into their family, but I hoped I’d be given the chance in the time until the wedding, so I already felt at home when I moved in.
When Diego picked me up later, I felt like Savio and I were on the right path.
Of course, I’d been completely ridiculous to think that.
Nino, Remo, and I were watching Kiara, Leona and Serafina go over last minute preparations with the staff of the most expensive hotel on the Strip—one that belonged to Will Reynold’s parents. They’d agreed to host the engagement party for free in their biggest banquet room, after some light coercion.
“I think Mr. Reynold’s eye is still twitching because of all the money he’s losing today,” I said with a grin.
Remo’s mouth twitched, but a smile didn’t find its way onto his face. This party wasn’t his style. Too many guests, too much attention. It fit me perfectly, however.
Diego strolled into the ballroom, already dressed in a black suit. His eyes took in the many tables and flower decorations. He shook his head. “When I asked for a celebration, I didn’t mean you should host a fucking ball.”
“It’s more fun this way, especially because it’ll piss off the right people.”
I fell silent when my younger brother Adamo sauntered into the ballroom. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?” I asked Remo.
“Because I didn’t know,” he said with a strange note to his voice.
Adamo was supposed to spend another month in the Famiglia. I hadn’t seen him in ten months, since Fabiano’s wedding. Despite his promise, he hadn’t visited when Kiara had given birth to Massimo five months ago. He seemed to enjoy his time with the Famiglia. Luca must have really done a good job whipping him into shape.
Kiara spotted him, too, and rushed over to him, hugging him tightly like a long lost son.
“Let’s welcome him,” Nino said, heading toward him. Remo and I followed a few steps behind our brother.
The moment Adamo spotted us, his smile wavered, and guilt flickered across his face. He looked down at my wrists, which were covered by sleeves. I was still pissed at him for helping our crazy-ass mother escape, not so much because of those ridiculous scars from slashing my wrists. That day could have ended far worse.
Nino touched Adamo’s shoulder. My little brother had grown. He was now Nino’s and my height and had even grown something that resembled a beard. Surprisingly, it made him look older than seventeen, and not ridiculous like so many teens that suddenly sported facial hair. I almost didn’t recognize him.