"That has never been an issue? Loyalty-wise?"
"I had a very loose relation to the family back then. I was fascinated by the whole thing, don't get me wrong, but my parents were never directly involved, so it wasn't like anyone was worried about the alliance. If you can call it that. All Arturo and I did was wage war in private. But, thankfully, that is all over now. Because of you. So, you and Lorenzo, you are keeping the house. Which means you need to decorate it."
"I think that is more Lorenzo's place."
"Darling," she said, leaning forward, placing a fine-boned hand on my forearm. "These powerful men, they really don't care about the drapes and the backsplash in the kitchen. But since you will be the one in the kitchen, you do care. I hear you bake for the men all the time," she added, eyes warm. Dare I think it—approving.
"I am a much better baker than I am a cook," I admitted, shrugging.
"No worries, Gigi, we will work on that together. I know. I don't look like someone who knows a spatula from a frying pan, but I practically lived in the kitchen when the boys were young. They had hollow legs, I swear, always needing more and more food to fill up. But I loved that. Do you want children?"
"I do," I told her, smiling a little at the idea of a bunch of little green-eyed children running up and down the halls.
"You don't worry about bringing them into this?"
"Did you?"
"Of course. But that being said, the world as a whole is an ugly place to bring children. War and homelessness and people dying of preventable diseases, climate change, kids being shot in school—sorry, I have been binging the highlights of the news since I have been away. It's all a little overwhelming. My point is, no one can actually guarantee their kids safety. At least with this family, the kids have armed guards around all the time looking out for them. Do you want just a couple?"
"I used to tell my mom that I wanted a football team of kids. Now, I am thinking maybe a few less than that."
"I always wanted a bunch as well. I probably would have kept going. If it was another man. But, as you can imagine, Art was not a good father. He was harsh and overbearing and I cringed at the idea of bringing more children into this environment. I would love it if you made me a grandma of a football team."
"Well, I mean, it is a little soon to be talking about that, but I like the idea of it. So, what do you think about this one?" I asked, holding up a gray swatch.
"With those new wood floors?" Celeste asked, brows pinching, giving me a "you know better" look.
We spent the afternoon poring over the magazines, hemming and hawing swatches and paint colors and wallpaper.
It was the closest thing to having a mother I had known in a really long time.
"Hey, what's the matter?" Lorenzo said, coming into the kitchen after having said goodbye to Celeste at the door.
It wasn't until then that I realized I was blinking back some rogue tears.
"I just really love your mom," I admitted, giving him a watery smile. "It's nice to sort of... be a part of a family again."
"There's no 'sort of' about it," he told me, pulling me up onto my feet, dragging me against his chest. "You are a part of this family. And I'm glad you love my mom."
"She insisted I decorate the house. But, of course, I am going to run it all by you. It's your house."
"Nope. I don't need to see it. You cover the decorating shit. I cover the making the money and keeping us safe shit."
"What if I picked a pastel pink for the master bedroom?"
"Well, we can fuck with the lights off," he decided, giving me a smile before pulling me up for a quick kiss.
"What did the doctor say?" I asked, having been more worried about his head than he had been. Because, apparently, big, powerful mafia dons didn't worry about pesky things like bullet holes and brain surgery and medically-induced comas.
"He said the same shit the doctor at the hospital did. I might still get some headaches. He said there was always a chance of issues with attention span or seizures. Don't see any of that shit happening, though. I feel fine. Ready to get back to working out. But he wants me to give it another couple weeks. You know what, though?"
"What?"
"He said no running. He didn't say shit about dragging my woman upstairs and fucking her until she can't see straight."
"Well, then he must think it is perfectly safe to do so," I told him, smiling, mostly because we had already been spending more time with our clothes off than on some days, and he was no worse for the wear.