“Alessa?” Stella Adimari gaped out at them, as if not immediately recognizing her daughter, standing among two large, suited men.
Rocco brought them to a stop a respectful distance away, their feet just barely off the ramp.
Alessa smiled and slipped from his side. “Surprise,” she said with a weak laugh, “I’m home for the weekend. I hope that’s okay.” She stepped up to her mother and pulled the slightly shorter, silver-haired womaninto a hug. “Hi, Mom.”
Stella’s arms came around her and she squeezed tight, as she often did, before she let go. Her brown eyes were big and glossy, somehow reflecting the shine of her hair. She probably still had some natural brown left, but when she’d started seeing ‘more than a little’ silver slipping in, she’d decided to embrace it and dyed her whole head. It’d shocked the entire family, so for a week straight they’d all taken to calling her ‘grandma’ instead.
Alessa remembered, only in that moment, her mother had actually loved that joke.
“My goodness, look at you!” Stella swept her hands up and down, framing Alessa but not touching. “I haven’t seen you dressed like this in years. You look like a woman!”
Alessa fought the need to smack herself in the face. “Mom, please.”
“Mrs. Adimari,” Rocco said, stepping forward and smoothly drawing Alessa back to his side. “We’re sorry to drop in unannounced. Are you and your husband available for a visit? Or should we come back?”
Stella’s eyes widened and she shifted her weight, regarding Rocco openly. “You—you’re the man I spoke to on the phone.”
“I am.”
She looked back to Alessa.
Alessa smiled. “Introductions will be easier with Dad around.”
Stella nodded, drew herself up, and pulled the door wide. “Of course, of course! Come in. Alfonso! Alessa’s home! And she brought men!”
Alessa stumbled.
Rocco caught her around the waist, Emanuele’s choked-off snort catching in her ears.
The Adimaris were more than Rocco had expected, and also exactly what he’d hoped for. Though their home was modest, it had obviously been filled for many years with love and life. Most of it had been adapted to accommodate Alfonso Jr., who struggled to spend too much time on his feet and always required no less than a cane. But for a man who had spent the better part of two decades on forced retirement, he was still sharp.
Rocco saw easily why he might once have been someone a previous mafia head would have entrusted with a job as precious as protecting a dear loved one. And there were signs, small and subtle though they were, that the De Salvos had not yet forgotten the cost Alfonso had paid in his service to them. Just as the carefully maintained lawn surrounding only Al’s grave, the fresh flowers lining the base of the stone, and the quality of the marker itself, all indicated that the youngest Alfonso’s sacrifice was also remembered.
But he wasn’t just meeting Alessa’s parents to get a behind-the-scenes look at how his allies treated their people, useful though that information could be. So, shortly before dinner, when Alessa allowed her mother to drag her out of theroom for something involving ‘women’s things’ that was sure to take more than a second, Rocco decided the time was upon him. He hadn’t wanted to be too obvious, after all.
“Do you smoke, Rocco?” Alfonso asked before Rocco could act.
The question threw him, just for a beat. “No. But I’ll sit with you if you want to go out for one.”
Alfonso smiled. “Stella doesn’t like it much, but she lets me light up for occasions. Just let me grab my cigar from my office, I’ll meet you out back. We can talk there.” He looked in Em’s direction. “What about you?”
Em didn’t hesitate. “No thank you, sir. Three years sober.”
Alfonso whistled, already rotating the wheels of his chair. “Good man. None for you, then. You’ll have to tell Stella if you’re dry, too, though. She’ll just assume you’re a drinker.” He added the last with a laugh as he rolled from the room.
Rocco looked over at Em. “Has it been three years?”
“And two months, technically.” Em smiled.
“Damn. You should’ve reminded me so we could have celebrated.” He clapped the man on the shoulder as he stepped past, toward the patio door. “Don’t let me miss year five. We’ll do something then.”
“I dunno, you might have your hands full by then,” Em replied with a wide grin.
Rocco smiled and continued out the door. He damn sure hoped so. He spotted the patio furniture set off to the side and made his way there, choosing a seat just one removed from the space obviously left open for his host’s chair.
Alfonso didn’t keep him waiting, and in moments his cigar was lit and he was blowing out his first puff into the early evening air. “So, Rocco … ordinarily this would be inappropriate, but seeing as you’re sleeping with my daughter, you’ll have to forgive me.” His gaze hardened. “What are your intentions with my Lessa? Tell me straight. I know what world we live in. I need to know what kind of support my girl’s gonna need.”
Rocco smiled at the no-nonsense question. “That is what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. Something like anxiety twisted his gut. “I’m not playing any games with her. Alessa is … everything. And I have every intention of making her my wife, of keeping her beside me so long as I live.”
