“I’m thinking it isn’t a good idea for both of us to get angry at the same time, Taviano,” Nicoletta said. “You have a rip-roaring nasty temper, and mine isn’t so hot, either. Can you imagine the kind of fights we’re going to have?”
“We’re going to have one right now, a big one,” he said and kept walking straight down the sidewalk, nodding every now and again—rather curtly—to anyone who lifted a hand to him.
He half expected his woman to take offense and try to walk off in a huff, as she’d done at Stefano’s, but she kept pace with him, even if she did have to nearly jog. He slowed down to give her shorter legs a break, but his temper wasn’t in the least appeased.
“I should have been given the benefit of the doubt.” He shoved open the door to the pizzeria.
Berta, the waitress and sometimes hostess, looked up and smiled at them as they came in. She gestured toward the back. The restaurant was large, and two tiered, with tables and booths accommodating all sizes of groups coming in. Petrov’s was extremely popular. Aside from the locals, people came from all over to eat there. Take out orders were common as well. The pizzeria kept a few tables available for the locals to drop in when they got off work, which made them happy.
“Maybe you should have given me the benefit of the doubt,” Nicoletta said cryptically, the smile fading from her face. Her dark eyes went right back to smoldering. “I think you’re right. We might just get into a rip-roaring fight.”
Alarms went off. He bit down on his retort, taking a deep breath and replaying the scenario in Stefano’s penthouse. Taviano stepped back to allow Nicoletta to precede him. She followed Berta to the booth in the back, the one his family considered “theirs.” It was mostly in the darker side of the restaurant, allowing the shadows to fall across it, making it difficult for other customers to see them as they had dinner, giving them a sense of privacy.
Nicoletta slipped into the booth first and Taviano slid in next to her. Close. Thighs touching. She shifted away from him. Just an inch or so. It annoyed him.
“What the fuck, Nicoletta?”
“Don’t say fuck to me. I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like being blamed for something I didn’t do.”
Berta smiled brightly at them. “I would be happy to bring you the antipasto plate and breadsticks. Do you already know what you’d like, or do you want a menu?”
“We know,” Taviano said.
“A menu would be great, thank you,” Nicoletta said perversely.
“She doesn’t need a menu,” Taviano snapped. “She’s just being difficult. She likes pepperoni and black olive with extra olives and mushrooms. Thin crust, because she’s not really Italian. She just looks like it.”
Nicoletta kicked him under the table, but she didn’t put much of an effort into it. “She would like an Italian soda to drink along with water. Peach, please.”
Berta nodded. “What kind of pizza for you, Taviano?”
“I’m eating hers.”
“I’m not sharing with you,” Nicoletta declared. “Because you’re all kinds of an ass.”
“If you want ice cream, you’re going to share with me.”
“Fine, but only because I love the ice cream here.”
“You love me.”
“Sometimes I love you. I love ice cream all the time.”
Berta nodded again, a small smile on her face. “Water for you, Taviano?”
“I’ll have an Italian soda as well. Strawberry.” He waited until she left before he turned fully in the booth to face his woman. “Look at me, Nicoletta.”
She turned in the booth to face him. “I wanted to punch her. Right in the face. I know that’s childish and absolutely wrong of me. She is your mother, and a rider, and I should find a way to be respectful, especially with everyone around, but I was so afraid of jumping up and attacking her or screaming insults at her right in front of everyone that I had to leave. I had to. I couldn’t say anything because if one word escaped … I was so angry at her, I didn’t know what might slip. She’s just so above everyone else. She acts like she’s so much better. That she can plan our children’s lives and we’re just going to let her do it. I’ll burn in hell first, Taviano. She’s not getting near our children.”
Taviano couldn’t take his eyes off Nicoletta’s impassioned expressions as they moved across her face. The anger. The guilt. The ferociousness. The protectiveness. She was everything he could ever want. He’d wanted passion and he’d gotten it in abundance. Just seeing those expressions chasing across her face and blazing in her eyes had him wanting to sweep the basket of dried flowers off the table and lay her down on it. She was so beautiful.
“I’m not a mind reader, tesore. You could have indicated to me when we were alone in the elevator that it wasn’t me you were upset with.”