Page 98 of Till Death Do Us Part
I liked the way Viviana never complained, taking my ideas in stride. “I’m certain you’re better at that than I am.”
She grinned. “You taught me how to make lasagna. I’d only eaten it before in restaurants. Yours was much better.”
It was Chiara’s recipe, my mother’s cook. She’d even taught me to make the noodles from nothing more than flour and eggs. It was a rigorous process that left the kitchen covered in flour dust. With Viviana, we used store-bought noodles, but the rest was all Chiara’s recipe.
“We can plan a menu of both traditional Italian and Mexican dishes,” I said. “Serve it buffet style. No messing with formal dining. We’ll hire staff to carry trays of drinks and keep the buffet filled. You’ll oversee them if you don’t mind. I prefer the casual approach.”
“We can do it.”
My smile grew. “We can. Now to set a date.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and noticed I’d missed a call. My forehead furrowed as I stared at the unknown number.
“Qué pasa?” Viviana asked.
“I received a call late last night. I didn’t answer it.” When I looked up, the memories of what kept me from answering filled my cheeks with warmth. “I figured it was my cousin, but I was wrong. I don’t recognize the number.”
“Did they leave a message?”
I shook my head. “The area code is 916. I don’t recognize that. Do you?”
“No, lo siento.”
“If it was important, they’d have left a message.” I finished the rest of my coffee. My bagel was mostly gone as was my fruit. “I’ll go upstairs and shower. We can look at the calendar and talk with Silas.” My smile grew. “We’re going to have a party.”
My mother was always the one who enjoyed entertaining. My father enjoyed showcasing his wealth. It was why he insisted Dario’s wedding take place in their Ozark mansion. I didn’t try to host gatherings during my first marriage. Our townhouse was too small even when compared to my father’s Kansas City apartment. As consigliere, Rocco’s father also had a large home. Between our parents, entertaining was always done at one of their homes.
That didn’t mean I didn’t want to do it, only that we didn’t have the means. If it made me a bad person or even a stereotypical Mafia/cartel wife that I was excited about bringing our family and friends into our beautiful new home, then so be it. The fact Aléjandro had allowed me to decorate was the icing on the cake.
After a call with my mother-in-law, we narrowed the party date down to two options in August and one in September. I told her I’d talk to Aléjandro and get back to her. Honestly, I was feeling almost giddy knowing that she and Jorge would attend. Josefina told me she couldn’t wait to see what we’d done. Of course, they’d stay on Bella but come to our home for the gathering.
While Aléjandro wasn’t as excited about the party as I was, he didn’t nix it either. The date was set for the second Saturday in September. That would be four months after our wedding. It was also one month after Catalina’s baby was due. I had high hopes they would be willing to come and show off the baby.
Near the end of July, I began making the calls, inviting my family. Giorgia was overjoyed at the prospect of us seeing one another and her seeing our house that I’d talked so much about. Mother said she would come in bright colors. Her mourning period would be officially over, and she was already purchasing a new wardrobe. Dante asked if Andrés Ruiz’s family would be in attendance. When I said they were invited, he sounded interestingly pleased.
Dario called me before I had the chance to call him. His news was more exciting than a housewarming party. Catalina was well and my brother was officially the father of a seven-pound, six-ounce baby girl named Ariadna Gia Luciano. Her name was the combination of the names of both Catalina’s grandmother and Dario’s. My new niece was undoubtedly the personification of our alliance. I made a note to send Catalina flowers.
Aléjandro provided me with the phone numbers of the lieutenants’ wives. Valentina Ruiz and Maria Ruiz were both gregariously happy with their invitation. Of course, Valentina told me about her new granddaughter and her planned trip to Missouri. Before we disconnected our call, my mother called me back, ecstatic about her new role asnonna.
It was as I began to enter Liliana’s number that it appeared on my phone—the unanswered call from a few weeks earlier. The realization knocked a bit of my excitement out of me, replacing that emotion with something akin to fear.
What happened to make her call me?
Why didn’t she leave a message?
Is she all right?
I hit the green button, the call connected and began to ring. After about three rings, the call went to a voicemail that wasn’t accepting new messages. The next day I tried and had the same result. After a third attempt, I took my concern to my husband.
A little before dinner, I found Aléjandro standing at the vanity in our bathroom with a towel around his waist, his hair wet, shaving cream on his cheeks, and his bronze flesh covered in water droplets. Despite the fact he looked tired, I couldn’t help pausing and taking him in. Heat began to build beneath my skin as I leaned against the doorjamb with my arms crossed over my breasts and scanned from his dark mane to his bare feet. My gaze no longer lingered on the silver scars but on the definition in his muscles and the indentations of his torso.
Aléjandro turned my way with a grin before turning back to the mirror. “I hope you like what you’re ogling.”
“I’m not ogling.”
Completing his task of shaving, he reached for a towel and wiped the remaining shaving cream away. We met somewhere between the sink and door.
I wrapped my arms over his broad shoulders and inhaled the cool, clean scent. “I didn’t realize you were home. I could have washed you.” I let my hand float down his bicep to the place where he’d been stabbed. “This is healing well.”
“You’re responsible for that.”