I covered myself with my hands, and he blinked, taking a step backwards as he tore his eyes away. “I apologize for the lack of sustenance. We’ve had other pressing concerns to attend to.” Keeping his gaze averted, he set the bags and boxes on the dresser by the door. “Francesca acquired these for you. If they don’t fit, let me know. I’ll make sure she leaves your door unlocked going forward.”
He paused a beat, then said, “Since it’s Sunday, I’ve requested a dinner to be prepared. It’s a formal affair that we dress for and will honor the memory of my father. I’d like for you to attend.”
Though my pride wouldn’t allow me to say so, I almost would’ve agreed to dance naked on the table for food at this point. Almost. Instead of letting that particular cat out of the bag, I asked, “How long do I have to get ready?”
“Half an hour.”
“I’ll see you then.”
The beginning of our dinner, while delicious with its lasagna, endive salad, and freshly baked bread, could only be called awkward. I had the distinct impression that while Luca might’ve wanted me there, the other Varasso brothers didn’t. Not even a little.
Though I’d seen all of them at this point, it’d been under less than ideal circumstances, so Luca reintroduced me. Marco, the second oldest brother,
stood over six feet tall just like Luca did but had a broader physique, his suit straining a bit to cover his bulkier biceps.
He walked with a limp due to his injury, so that may have been part of his bad mood. He sat in a simmering silence on the opposite end of the table from Luca and myself, radiating his disapproval.
Alessandro, the youngest, spent the first portion of the dinner picking at his food and wore a bandage on his head, a result of the concussion the Bianchis had given him. He remained sullen throughout, squinting as he kept his eyes on his plate.
I remembered him as the techy guy from the basement and wondered if his squinting was because of his lack of eyeglasses. Maybe they’d been broken when he’d been attacked. He, Luca, and Marco all had similar dark features, though Alessandro and Marco were clean shaven.
Gabriel, the third brother, stood out as looking the most different. While he had dark hair, it wasn’t the same curly black as his brothers. His appeared browner in coloration, and he wore it shorter, more like a military cut. His eyes were lighter, too. More hazel. He did have the same long straight nose and square jaw, though.
A lady dressed in black in white served the dinner, bustling around the huge table efficiently. After she’d poured everyone their choice of either single malt whiskey or red wine, Luca raised his glass in a toast.
“To Angelo Varasso, our father. Though I do my best to take on his mantle, I will never replace him. May he rest in peace.”
“To Dad,” Marco said.
“To Dad,” Alessandro and Gabriel murmured in unison.
“Dinner is excellent as usual, Rosa,” Luca complimented the lady in black and white, resting a hand on her arm. “Thank you.”
“It’s a privilege, sir,” she said, offering him a sorrowful smile.
Once she left the room, Luca turned his attention to me. The bags and boxes he’d brought to my room had been full to bursting with new clothing. There’d been casual flats and formal pumps, a silk nightgown, some pajamas, and a week’s worth of dark business attire.
There had also been socks, a selection of bikini panties, and five rather matronly bras. In addition, there’d been four formal gowns, suitable for fancy Sunday dinners. I’d chosen the black one for tonight. It seemed appropriate.
Amazingly, every single bit of it fit me like a glove.
“I begin Molly’s training tomorrow, and I want to be able to depend on all of you to help her if she needs it,” Luca announced, still looking at me.
I got the feeling that he did this not to inform his brothers of his intentions, but to make sure they’d do as he asked.
Gabriel set his jaw but said nothing. Alessandro scowled, shaking his head. And Marco stared at his eldest brother in defiance. Although I was sitting right next to Luca, Marco’s gaze avoided mine like the plague.
“So this is how it’s going to be?” Marco said.
“Marco,” Luca’s tone gave a warning, but his brother ignored it.
“He’s not even cold in the ground yet, and you’re already changing things.”
“I’ll change whatever I please.”
“She disrespected him. Having her here is an insult to his memory. You’re doing our father a disservice,” Marco went on, but Luca had seemingly had enough. He jerked to his feet.
“What I do is my business.”