Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Antony had been a ruthless and fierce boss in his day. But once he’d handed over the reins to his eldest son, he got to relax into retirement, becoming the warm and lovable patriarch of the family, instead of the boss of the Family.
“That’s your uncle? You know, I can see a bit of a family resemblance,” Dasha declared. “He’s aged really well.”
“Quit eye-fucking my uncle,” I demanded, making a surprised laugh escape her.
“Hey, if you age half that well, you’re going to be a real silver fox one day.”
“I’ll keep that… oh, we’re spotted,” I said, seeing Uncle Ant making a beeline for us, stopping only to scoop a bottle of wine off the wall. From a high shelf. Uncle Ant always did like to show off a bit.
“Santo!” Uncle Ant declared as he got close to the table, tucking the bottle under his arm as he raised an arm.
I slid out of the booth, letting him grab the back of my neck as I gave him a quick hug. “Uncle Ant. How you been?”
“You know me,” was his answer, releasing me. “But I don’t know this lovely young lady.”
I barely managed to hold back an eye roll.
“Uncle Ant, this is Dasha. Dasha, this is my uncle, Antony. Dasha is Phil’s niece,” I explained. “From Phil’s Autos.”
“Of course! Phil. I heard about him. I’m sorry for your loss, honey,” he said, practically shoving the bottle of wine at me so he could hold Dasha’s hand between both of his.
“Thank you,” she said, giving him one of her megawatt smiles. “It’s so nice to meet you. This place is fantastic.”
“Wait until you try the food!”
“Santo was telling me it is even better than Lucky’s food. Which is hard to believe.”
“Best around,” Uncle Ant said, too proud to be humble. “Save for your mother’s cooking, of course,” he added, looking at me. “And Adrian’s as well. Have you brought her to Giulia’s table yet?” he asked, making me almost groan.
“Uh, no,” I admitted. “I haven’t seen Ma in a bit,” I added. I wouldn’t say the silent part out loud: I haven’t told my mother about Dasha. Though, I knew how information traveled in my family. She’d likely know by the end of the night.
Then, fuck, then I would never hear the end of it.
I could just hear my mother already. Who is this girl your uncle saw you with? When am I going to meet her? Bring her to Sunday dinner. Does she want children? Can she cook?
“I can’t believe he’s been keeping you from us,” Uncle Ant went on.
“Oh, no. It’s not… we’re…” Dasha tried to defend me.
But what were we?
What were we doing?
Clearly, neither of us had any idea.
“Oh, you’re always not until you are,” Uncle Ant said with a gleam in his eye. “Well, I won’t keep you from this lovely lady. Please enjoy your meal. Santo, you need to go see your mother,” he said, tone just shy of scolding.
“Um, can he be my uncle?” Dasha asked when I slid back into the booth. “He’s… a lot. But in a good way.”
“That’s pretty much how you can describe my whole family,” I admitted, spreading the napkin on my lap as the server came up to pour our wine. “Do you drink?” I asked.
“I don’t not drink,” she said with a shrug as she reached for her wineglass.
All I could think about as I watched her take a sip was how good that wine would taste on her lips.
My mind flashed back to her house, to her straddling me, to the soft skin of her ass in my hands, her little moans in my ears, the wetness of her pussy on my fingers…
“Oh my God,” Dasha said, eyes round. “If this is what wine is supposed to taste like, I’ve never had wine before.”
“Uncle Ant knows all the best,” I agreed, swirling my glass on the table, then taking a sip.
“So, since you had such good choices at Lucky’s, what is the best this place has to offer?” she asked, picking up her menu.
I ordered the Alfredo, she ordered the eggplant parm, and we agreed to share.
Though I suddenly wished I’d ordered every kind of pasta on the menu as she took her first bite and let out a moan that was damn near erotic.
“Oh my God. Wait… why is that so good? Like, the noodles even.”
“It’s made fresh daily,” I explained.
“Wait… the pasta is made fresh daily?”
“The pasta, the mozzarella, the ricotta, the bread… Basically, anything that can be made daily is made here.”
“I’ve never had fresh pasta before. I always just, you know, drop the boxed pasta into the water. Wait, you said you can cook. Do you make fresh pasta?”
“I don’t often, but I can. I worked in the kitchen here as a teen. Most of us did. So I learned all sorts of cooking tips and tricks, much to my mother’s dismay.”