Brielle laughed, feeling much better. If she was busy, not just sitting around trying to think up things to say, she wouldn’t chatter like an idiot. “As a matter of fact, Taviano, I’m very tough. A few bullets won’t stop me from making a dessert. Let me look in the fridge and freezer and see what you have.”
Taviano looked like his oldest brother, Stefano. He had the same black hair that seemed artfully messy and the same blue eyes. His nose was straight, his jaw strong and covered in the signature Ferraro persistent darker shadow that helped, despite his sensual mouth, to make him look tough, confident and a bit arrogant.
“She’s tough because I gave her the air right out of my lungs,” Dario stated from where he was lounging against the wall.
Emme flung a knife at him. It lodged beside his left ear, the tip buried deep in the wall. Dario sighed and yanked it free. “You’ll be the one over here mudding and painting, you little monster. Val, keep your woman under control.”
“No woman is tough because you breathed your nasty air into her lungs,” Emmanuelle declared.
“Actually,” Brielle said sweetly as she scrubbed her hands. “Dario’s breath smelled just like lavender. I think that’s what brought me back. I was hovering above my body watching everything happening and then this lavender scent began calling to me. It was impossible to ignore. You know how lavender is, Emme. One feels so calm around lavender.”
“You could use more lavender in your life, Emme. You’re always wound up so tight,” Elie said. “We should find out where to order some for you.”
“It’s really good for you.” Brielle studied the contents of the fridge and then the freezer. “I can make little fresh peach or apricot soufflés if everyone likes them.”
“That sounds delicious,” Emmanuelle said. “Is it a lot of work? I’ll lend you a hand when I finish chopping all the veggies—which Val or Dario could be doing for me, so I could help you.” She looked up to glare at the two men.
“Lavender is supposed to be calming, Emme,” Elie continued. “Dario, if your breath smells like lavender, maybe you should go breathe on the dragon and see if that calms her down. You have to get up close and personal so she gets the full effect of your sweet breath.”
“I have a gun, Elie,” Dario announced.
“Tell me what you need, Brielle, and I’ll get it for you,” Elie offered. “You can sit on the high-backed stool up by the counter.”
“I’ll need to be able to move around,” she protested and then stopped at the look on his face. He’d brought her against his better judgment. She was in the kitchen working rather than in a bed. Cooperating with him might work in her favor. She gave him a smile. “Thanks, honey.” She rattled off a quick list of everything she’d need.
Elie was fast and efficient, keeping out of Taviano and Emmanuelle’s way as he maneuvered through the kitchen, getting all the ingredients and the necessary mixing bowls and utensils. Brielle loved watching him move. He had a panther-like quality to him, silent, muscles moving beneath his shirt. He was wearing casual clothes, but the tee stretching over his chest was a dark charcoal with thin, gray stripes. Somehow, his choice of clothing emphasized the predatory quality to his movements.
Emmanuelle looked up from where she was chopping vegetables with swift efficiency. “Seriously, Brielle, do you actually remember Dario and Raimondo doing CPR on you? How could you when your heart had stopped?”
Elie sighed. “Could we just not talk about this? Walking into my house and seeing my wife on that table with the surgeon up to his elbows in blood was the worst experience of my life.” He fixed a stern eye on Brielle. “We aren’t repeating it. Ever.”
Taviano laughed. “Lay down the law, brother. I hear you loud and clear. Does your woman? My experience with women—which comes mostly from growing up with my sister, I’ll admit—is they don’t hear a thing we say to them.”
“Or if they do hear,” Dario corrected him, “they ignore you because they don’t have to deal with the consequences of their actions.” He didn’t look up from his phone. “Or they believe their actions have no consequences.”
Emmanuelle threw another knife at him. This one stuck very close to his shoulder—so close, it just missed his immaculate dark blue shirt.
“Getting a little too close,” Valentino reprimanded her, striding across the room to yank the knife from the wall. “If his bodyguards were here, they might decide they have to protect him and then we’d be in a shoot-out.”