“No, you come home and tell your dad or me, and we will sort them out. I promise no one is ever going to be allowed to be mean to you again.” I hold out a hand, and Jazzy places hers in mine.
I’m not usually a violent person. But when it comes to this sweet, innocent little girl, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to protect her from being hurt. Even if that means I have to go toe-to-toe with a bunch of snot-nosed kids.
After touring the school, which Jazzy seemed to love, we showed her the house Carlo bought and let her pick out her own bedroom. She chose the one right next to the main, and I could tell Carlo was relieved. He likes to have her close. She asked when we were moving, and we explained that it needed to be furnished first. She quickly shifted from that topic to wanting ice cream. So we went back to the penthouse to get her some.
That’s where we are now. Carlo and me. In the kitchen. While Jazzy is playing in the living room. My shadow still hasn’t left my side. He’s being super attentive. Something is definitely up with him. I just don’t know what it is.
“We should do a dinner. With your friends,” I tell him. “We haven’t had them over yet.”
“I’d rather have a dinner party with just you and Jazzy,” Carlo grumbles.
My smile drops. “You don’t want me to host your friends? I don’t have to do it myself. You can get caterers or something.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to host, Antonia? I don’t want my friends taking up your attention, because I want all of it,” he says.
“Okay, sorry. It was a stupid idea.” I shrug. I don’t believe that he just wants my attention. Doubt creeps into the back of my mind again.
I’m not enough.
“It’s not stupid,” Carlo says as he pulls out his phone. He punches some buttons on the screen before bringing the device to his ear. “Louie, my wife is hosting a dinner tonight at our place. Charlotte is invited, and I guess you can tag along as her plus-one,” he says, cutting the call and dialing out again. “Sammie, dinner, our place, tonight. My wife is hosting. Don’t be late.” Without further explanation, Carlo hangs up and turns to me. “They’ll be here.”
My eyes widen. “I didn’t mean tonight! Oh my god, what are we going to serve them? Shit. What do I do?” I start looking around the cabinets. I’m not much of a cook. I was born with a literal silver spoon in my mouth. I never had to lift a finger in the kitchen. My father groomed me to be a wife, sure. But a mafia wife, not a housewife.
“Relax. Call down to any one of the restaurants on the lower level, and the chef will prepare something for us. Just choose what you want,” Carlo says.
“Right, I can do that.” I nod my head. “Do you even have silverware, Carlo?” I glance around the kitchen again as I start opening and closing drawers.
“Probably not the kind you’re looking for.” He laughs.
“It’s not funny,” I hiss.
Grabbing my phone off the counter, I call my friends and wait for one of them to answer.
“What’s cooking, good-looking?” Georgia says.
“Nothing and that’s the problem. I have an SOS. I need you and Luna to come to Aces. I’m hosting a dinner party, and I need it to be perfect—oh, and obviously you’re coming,” I tell her.
“Oh, fun. I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes. I just need to finish something,” she says.
“Me, by the way. I’m the something. That’s the second time in as many days that you’ve cock-blocked me, Antonia,” Jasper chimes in.
Carlo raises his brows at me. “Who the fuck is that?” he growls.
“Gotta go, Georgia. Leave the playboy at the frat house,” I tell her. I don’t know why Luna didn’t answer, but I’m sure Georgia will find her and bring her along.
Just like I predicted, forty-five minutes later, Georgia appears in the foyer with Luna in tow. “Oh my god, thank you so much for coming. I don’t know what I’m doing. Why did you even let me do this?” I turn to Carlo.
“You wanted to,” he says. “But we don’t have to. I can call everyone and tell them to fuck off.”
“No, you can’t. They’ll think I couldn’t handle it,” I groan.
“Who the fuck cares what anyone thinks?” Carlo wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s just dinner, babe. You’re overthinking it.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mumble.
“Okay, breathe in and out. What do you need us to do?” Luna asks me.
“I need a dining set and silverware and glasses.”
