Beth followed Matteo’s gaze as it lowered to the fingers that he wrapped around his erection. Stroking it with one hand, he reached down with the other, skimming the curve of her hip and tracing her flank.

Nothing Matteo did should shock her, but she still gasped when he hooked her knee on his other forearm and opened her wide for his possession. Tracing her seam with his cock, he parted her folds, found her opening, seated his head, and thrust inside.

She whimpered when he hit bottom.

His hips snapped. He thrust in again, just as hard but not quite as deep. Her walls stretched to accommodate him.

“Better?” he asked, hips churning as he worked his length in and out of her.

“Yes,” she breathed, able to enjoy it now that he wasn’t ramming her cervix. “You’re a lot to handle. You’re so big.”

“And you’re as tight as I remember. I thought about you, on the road. I don’t have many regrets, but I hated that you were the one that I’d picked. You didn’t deserve to die.”

“I still don’t,” she whispered, hoping like hell that he agreed. She wanted to be the one who raised Dante. Otherwise, he’d be growing up with only his mob boss grandfather and crime family members for role models.

With or without her, the Viscontis would eventually turn him into a killer. She hoped to give him half a conscience like Val seemed to have.

“No, you don’t,” he grated, banging her harder now. Reaching between them, he found her clit and brought her to the brink of orgasm at warp speed.

The heated mist of the shower and her rising passion made it hard to breathe. She inhaled sharply and exhaled, air soughing between her clenched teeth.

She was close. So close. She felt her body stiffen with its approach.

He did, too.

“Come on, angel. Give it to me. Come on my cock. Come on, now. Come for me.”

Two more strokes and she was there, her body convulsing, her walls spasming and juices bursting, bathing his length. He fucked her until the waves subsided, then pulled out to finish. Fisting himself, he pointed his cock at her abdomen and ejaculated, shooting ropes of white onto her belly and painting her scar with his seed.

Tears smacked her eyes when she saw what he’d done. He had shown that he accepted her, scars and all. That he didn’t find her ugly.

Matteo had marked her as his.

* * *

When they finally made it to the kitchen to start breakfast, she pointed out the baby monitor on the counter. “The house has them in every room that I normally use, plus one for Constanza. If I’m working in the kitchen, I can hear him when he wakes. Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll get breakfast started.”

Matteo shook his dark, shaggy head. “No, bella. You’re going to get everything out that you’d normally use, then you’re going to sit while I make breakfast.”

Watching him get started, she realized that he didn’t just own Giovanni’s. Matteo could actually cook. He didn’t ask what temperature to set the oven. He knew. Using a chef’s knife and a mandolin, he sliced and diced vegetables like a seasoned chef, adding them to the pancetta once it had browned.

Matteo brewed coffee and made the frittata, starting it on the stove and finishing it in the oven. While it baked, he made grilled garlic bread for Bernardo, cutting it into slices when he was done.

Beth watched him work, admiring his form, studying his technique, and greatly enjoying the novelty of having a man cook for her. While he checked the frittata to see if the eggs were set, she put the fruit in a decorative ceramic colander that sat on a matching plate. Turning toward the breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen, she noticed Bernardo and Constanza, framed by the doorway to the hall.

They’d been watching Matteo work, too.

“Come on in,” she called. “It’s almost ready.”

Too late, Beth realized that she should have discussed eating arrangements with Matteo. She had invited Bernardo and Constanza to join her, welcoming their company, but the Viscontis might frown on sharing a table with the help.

She went to the stove, where Matteo was cutting the frittata. “We usually eat together. Do you mind?”

Matteo paused mid-stroke. Glancing over his shoulder, he weighed the options. “They can eat in here. We’ll eat in the dining room.”

It was what was certain to be the first of many changes.

Beth had Constanza set the two tables. Beth split the colander of fruit, adding a bowl to the kitchen table and carrying the plated colander into the dining room. She put the bread in two baskets, leaving one well within reach of where Bernardo normally sat in the kitchen. She took the other to the dining room.

Four glasses of water, three cups of coffee and a highball glass of cranberry juice for Beth completed the menu.

Matteo used a wedge-shaped server to add pieces of the frittata to Bernardo and Constanza’s plates. The rest of the skillet came with him to the dining room. He set it on a trivet that Beth had placed on the table to protect it from the heat.

Beth covered her lap with the paper dinner napkin, caught her lower lip between her teeth, and slid a glance at Matteo, who was arranging his napkin as well. Worried about this one last thing, she forged ahead anyway. “Bernardo usually says grace. Do you want to do it?”

Matteo’s momentary hesitation wasn’t lost on her. “You can,” he said smoothly.

“Okay.” Beth folded her hands, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the aromatic smells of the breakfast that he’d made. “Holy One, thank you for Matteo’s safe return. Thank you for our health, for our friends, our families, and our son. We ask that You bless the food that we are about to eat for the nourishment of our bodies. In the name of All That Is Holy, Amen.”

Matteo crossed himself. “Amen.”

He slid a wedge of frittata onto her plate, then served himself. Like Bernardo, he enjoyed bread but limited himself to one slice. He took his coffee black, letting it cool a little before drinking it.

She took one bite and closed her eyes, savoring the moment. It was all in the seasoning, but it tasted so much better than hers.

“Oh, Matteo. This is wonderful. Where did you learn to cook?”

He sat a little straighter and canted his lips. If she hadn’t seen the video of him, she’d never know that he was capable of smiling, he was so serious most of the time.

“My mother,” he said. “Her uncle was a chef. He owned a restaurant and catered on the side. When she was young, she helped in the kitchen. When she was old enough, she served at events. She watched. Learned. Eventually, she got to be better than he was. But she was in America by then.”

Pausing, he focused on the landscaped backyard that was visible through the dining room window. Surrounded by a tall privacy fence, it would provide a safe space for Dante to play when he was older.

“My father took one taste of her cooking and offered for her on the spot. They had twenty-five years together before she died. Breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth said, feeling the ache of his loss. Her brother’s death and her father’s suicide had been hard enough. She couldn’t fathom watching a mother die by degrees.

She prayed that she’d never have to.

“Thanks,” he murmured, shifting uncomfortably. “We added the 5K fitness walk and pink ribbon run to Italian Fest while she was still fighting it. We’ll need to be there early tomorrow. Plan to bring enough for the day, and layer up. The morning will start out cool but it’s supposed to hit ninety in the afternoon.

The forecast concerned Beth. “I don’t know how well Dante will take the heat,” she told him. “If it’s too much, we may have to find a place to cool down, even if it’s just to nurse.”

Matteo nodded. “The Ribelle tour bus is air-conditioned. We’ll have access both days, whenever we need it.”

“Oh, good,” she said lightly, careful to keep the doubt from her voice. She didn’t want to stereotype his brothers, but she half-expected the rock band’s bus to reek of weed and sex and have a bevy of groupies in various states of undress. “I’ve already made a list for tomorrow, to make sure that I bring everything. I just have to pack and load it.”

“For tonight, too,” he said. “The evening before Italian Fest, there’s a family cookout at the compound with aunts, uncles, and cousins. Dante is the Dom’s firstborn grandchild. Pop will want to introduce him to the family tonight and show him off in public tomorrow.”

Sweeping her with his gaze, Matteo took in her braided hair, short-sleeved blouse, faded denim jeans, and bare feet, before focusing on her breasts. “Wear something nice,” he told her, his eyes growing decidedly lambent. “Feminine. A sundress or blouse and skirt. You’ll wear panties to start.”

From the smoldering look that he gave her and the husky note in his voice, she could expect them to come off at some point.

It was her turn to shift uncomfortably.

She cleared her throat and corralled her wayward thoughts. “What time do we need to leave for your father’s?”

“We’ll eat around seven, but I’m manning the grills. I’ll need to start the prep work after lunch. Bernardo can bring you closer to time. Five-thirty, I think. I’ll have a window between loading the smoker and when the smaller stuff goes on the fire. I’ll get you introduced and settled before I need to start cooking again. Do you have clothes? Do you need to go shopping? I have an account at Berenger’s.”

The premier clothing store in Diamond Springs sold men’s and women’s lines, plus shoes, purses, jewelry, and accessories. What they didn’t have was a makeup department with its perfume counters, which spared her that assault on the senses.

It was also where she’d gotten the dress, shoes, and jewelry that she had worn last night. The store had all of her measurements now, from ring size to hat.

“I need to call them. The dress that I wore to dinner was soaked with breast milk by the time I got home,” she explained. “I need to see if they want me to take it to the cleaners or return it soiled.”

Matteo angled his head and rubbed the black scruff on his jaw. “Tell you what. I’ll leave early and take back the dress before I go to Pop’s. You’re a size seven now, right?”

Oh, he was good. Beth nodded, trying to not think of how he’d gotten that way.

“Show me what shoes you plan to wear. I’ll pick you something out for tonight and tomorrow and have them sent over. I can go straight to Pop’s from there. You have all day to get ready. I’ll see you this afternoon when you come.”

All day without Matteo. That should have come as a relief. Having him here made her nervous. She never knew what to expect with him. She certainly didn’t know what she should expect with his extended family.

Once he was gone, she planned to pick Bernardo and Constanza’s brains.