Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
I try to calm myself, but Riccardo notices me flinch when he clinks his glass against his plate, and he smirks. I swear he’s making it his personal mission to send me over the edge. He launches into another tirade about crypto, his voice unnecessarily loud.
“So that’s when I told him volatility scares the weak. You have to dominate and diversify.” He slams his hand on the table, rattling the dishes as he laughs at his own punchline. “You should have seen his face. What an idiot.”
I close my eyes as Beppe nudges me, sensing my distress. He’s not the only one. I feel Romeo’s thigh bump against mine—once, twice, then a few more times in succession. It’s a rhythm, I think. A different song.
I welcome the distraction, following along as he starts to tap his fingers against the table, and I open my eyes to watch. After a few more seconds, the pattern emerges, pulling a familiar rhythm from memory.
"Chalk Outlines" by Ren and Chinchilla.
Without making a conscious decision, my fingers move of their own accord, tapping against the table when we get to Chinchilla’s part of the song. It’s a duet.
Soon, we’re tapping together, and everything around us disappears as my heart begins to slow and my breathing calms.
It isn’t until we finish, and I’m staring at him, that I realize it was the song I’d added to my journal. The one I’d coded for Orion—being Romeo.
Of course, it shouldn’t surprise me that he figured it out. That’s how his brain works. But I’m less certain of whether he’s figured out that he is Orion.
“What are you two doing over there?” Riccardo snaps.
Slowly, I drag my gaze away from Romeo and turn to look at Riccardo. He’s sweating profusely, and he looks more pale than he was a few minutes ago.
“What kind of secret—” Before he can finish that sentence, he clutches his stomach, a horrified expression washing over his face as a loud gurgle fills the silence.
“Fuck!” He shoves his chair backward, scurrying from the table as quickly as he can.
“Everything okay, Riccardo?” Rafe calls after him, feigning concern.
“Fine,” he croaks.
Just as soon as he says it, he whimpers, and a wet, explosive sound ripples through the air. Liquid soaks into the back of his pants, and he curses.
“Oh, that doesn’t look too good, cuz,” Rafe says. “I think you just shit yourself.”
“Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious.”
He waddles off, and everyone waits until he’s out of sight before laughter erupts at the table. I glance up at Romeo, and he wipes the amusement from his face.
“Why did you do that?” I ask.
“Because he’s a dick.” Romeo shrugs. “You gonna snitch on me, Gabi?”
I search his face, wondering why that question feels like a test, or if I’m just reading too much into things. His eyes are slightly glazed, and he looks relaxed, so he must have done as Angelo suggested and smoked a blunt. Enough to take the edge off, but not enough to disarm his sharpness.
“Why are you being nice to me?”
“You said you didn’t want to fight anymore,” he murmurs. “This is me not fighting with you.”
My traitorous gaze drifts to his lips, and I blurt something stupid before I can stop myself.
“I’m with someone, so whatever this is—don’t think I’m flirting with you.”
A hint of humor flashes through his eyes. “Lucky him.”
“It’s not Riccardo,” I clarify, only realizing my mistake a moment after I say it.
He arches a brow at me. God, I don’t know what I’m doing. I shouldn’t be telling him this, or anyone really. It could have very real consequences if it gets out. But for reasons unknown, I continue to over explain.
“We’re casual, but still a thing. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea here.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He leans back in his chair, perfectly at ease with this conversation.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. I guess that answers any lingering questions I may have had. He was either messing around earlier, or I misread the situation.
I’m embarrassed, but grateful when Nonna comes around and interrupts us.
“No more dancing for you.” She shrugs.
“I guess not.” I smile at the mischievous expression on her face. Clearly, she knew what she was doing when she handed that glass to Riccardo.
“This, this, and this one.” She points at the pans on the table, letting me know which ones are vegetarian. “Should I dish for you?”
“I’ve got it, Nonna,” Romeo tells her.
“Such a good boy.” She squeezes his shoulder, beaming at him with unconditional love.
I doubt it would alter her opinion if she saw him bleeding a man dry in the woodshed. Considering Nonna told Angelo to bust some kneecaps at his own wedding, there isn’t much that goes on in this family that seems to rattle her, as long as it’s not on a Sunday.