“If I wanted to hit him with a knife, Val, I would have. I did consider putting it right through his chauvinistic heart,” Emmanuelle declared.
“I’m not worried,” Dario claimed. “She’s crazy about me.”
Brielle had already begun mixing her ingredients for her soufflé. She did her best not to laugh at the exchange between Emmanuelle and Dario. They did act like brother and sister, although a bit on the lethal side. Brielle thought Emmanuelle should have more ammunition if she didn’t already have it.
Brielle had been ordered not to investigate Dario, especially his past. She’d ignored that order, knowing Dario and Val’s man, Bernado, would never be able to track her computer, even if he tried. Everything she found on Dario had obviously been planted. It was good work, but most of it wasn’t true. That frustrated the hell out of her and only made her want to dig deeper.
“Why didn’t you tell me you run a thriving lavender farm, Dario?” she asked as she worked. She was careful to keep her head down, as if she was totally engrossed in what she was doing. “It’s an actual legitimate business. How do you find the time to run such a large farm and still do all your other work?”
There was a small silence. She looked up at Dario. His dark eyes were on her. As usual, there was no expression on his face, but the darkness in his eyes sent a shiver through her body. The rhythmic chopping ceased altogether, telling her Emmanuelle was looking at Dario. She must have been to Dario’s home numerous times, right? Was this such a huge secret she’d just given away?
She looked up at Elie, then back to Dario. “I’m sorry, Dario, was I not supposed to say anything? The only thing I remembered about that entire ordeal after I went down was the smell of lavender. I was calm because I knew you were there and I kept trying to ask you to give Elie a message for me.”
“A fucking bullshit message,” Dario snapped. “If you’d died on me, I wouldn’t have told him, that’s how pissed I would have been.”
“What message, mon amour?” Elie sent Dario a look that would have backed anyone else off.
The only way Brielle kept from smiling was to look down at her soufflé ingredients and begin work again. “I wanted him to tell you that you were always the one. He said to tell you myself, that it was bullshit to quit breathing. He had a few other choice things to say as well.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Emmanuelle said.
“You scared the fucking hell out of him,” Valentino snapped. “What did you expect?”
Brielle realized that was the truth. She’d scared them all. Somehow, she mattered to these people already, more than she ever had to her own blood relatives. “I suppose I did.”
“Um, really?” Emmanuelle came to her rescue. “It wasn’t like she planned to get shot. Valentino, I seem to recall that you were shot not too long ago. And, Dario, didn’t you take a couple of bullets as well? Elie? I’m pretty certain you were in the military with Drago and Demetrio and they tell some tale of you being all heroic and getting shot up and having to leave the military, which is how you ended up in Chicago. They said they told you to come here and work with Emilio.”
“Not the same thing, Emme,” Taviano said.
The others nodded. Vittorio and Grace had come in, listening to the conversation. Vittorio pulled out a chair for Grace, seating her close to everyone, pulled a pitcher of fruit-flavored water from the refrigerator and placed a glass in front of his woman.
“Vittorio?” Taviano asked.
Brielle looked up at Vittorio and her breath caught in her throat. He was very tall with broad shoulders and extremely fit looking. He had the same extraordinary dark blue eyes the Ferraro men seemed to have.
“No.” Emmanuelle held up her hand. “You don’t get to weigh in. You are the most overprotective man in the world, with the exception of Stefano.”
Brielle snuck a quick glance at Grace. She had bright red hair, pale skin, green eyes and was medium height with a slight build. She had a little smile on her face as she nodded her agreement with Emmanuelle’s assessment of Vittorio.
Stefano strode in. He was carrying a baby in one arm. Beside him, a little boy held his free hand, but the boy pulled free and ran to Vittorio, who scooped him up immediately. Stefano had clearly heard his sister’s description of him. “I don’t accept that I could possibly come close to being the most overprotective man in the world, Emme.”
“I want my niece,” Grace said decisively.