When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(41)

“He’s a player,” Brooke concluded.

Chloe tilted her head back, busted out in laughter. “Gio is a player. Bella this and bella that. I don’t think Luca has called a woman beautiful since he was twenty-one.”

Brooke sucked in a breath and held it.

“Francesca. He tells my niece she’s beautiful. And he compliments my mother and me. Family is the most important thing to him.”

And my family is as dysfunctional as they come.

Chloe tilted the last of her wine back and set the empty glass on the table. “Let’s settle up here and go home for the main course.”

“How do you stay thin with all the pasta?”

She laughed. “Yoga.”

Chloe waved at Salena for the bill.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Can I join you?”

“I have a class on Tuesday and Thursday, but I practice every day on the terrace. Around seven.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes. I have extra mats. Come out if you’re awake. You’ll like it.”



The kitchen was popping. Orders were flying in, and Luca was demanding the staff to perform.

And they were smiling.

Happy to be busy.

The past few years had been sketchy. Lots of downtime and half the staff . . . hell, quarter staff. That wasn’t the case tonight.

They’d made it.

The restaurant had made it, Luca thought.

“Luca?”

He heard his sister calling his name.

He looked up, saw her standing at the door to the kitchen. It was her night off and she was dressed for an evening out.

“Sí.”

“Brooke and I are in the grotto.” Chloe waved a paper in her hand. “Unless you have a better idea,” she said, handing her requests for dinner to him.

Luca took the paper without looking at it. “Brooke?”

Chloe smiled and walked away.

Oh shit.

His sister and Brooke.

Brooke and his sister.

Luca looked at the order, considered the request, and then threw it away.

They wanted a shared pasta plate and a shared main.

And what kind of shared information were they exchanging?

Luca dished up a few orders while preparing what he planned on serving his sister and Brooke.

When it was done, he cleaned his hands and picked up the plates. He told his second he’d be a few minutes and to take over.

He walked past the main dining room and into the grotto. A private space that locals knew about, and those who bothered to look up details about the restaurant’s features. Private parties and special events . . . and yes, family meals were often taken in that space so long as paying customers weren’t dominating the room.

Two small parties were there, and Brooke and his sister. They were laughing, a bottle of wine between them.

He met Brooke’s eyes before he made it to the table.

She had beautiful eyes. Revealing and honest. Right now, they told him she’d been drinking and, if he wasn’t too far out of the game, she was happy to see him.

Luca had to admit, that feeling was mutual.

“Buonasera.”

“You didn’t have to bring it yourself.” Chloe was speaking, but Luca didn’t look at her.

“I did.” He set the plates down with a smile. “It looks as if you both have been enjoying the evening.”

“We’ve had a great time,” Chloe said for the two of them. “Did you know that Brooke has been to Rome and Florence?”

Luca glanced at his sister, then back to Brooke. “I did not.”

“No wonder she loves it here so much.”

“And I thought it was the company,” Luca said, smiling.

The heat in Brooke’s cheeks blossomed as she met his stare.

A brief moment of quiet passed before Chloe cleared her throat. “A shared plate doesn’t mean twice as much food, Luca.”

He forced his eyes away from Brooke to look at his sister. “You don’t have to eat it all.”

“Italian cooks . . . ‘You don’t have to eat it all’ and then when you don’t, ‘What was wrong with the food? Are you sick?’ Beware, Brooke, this is a trap.”

“In Italy they don’t serve American portions,” Brooke said.

“We can’t get away with that here,” Luca said under his breath.

“D’Angelo?” a patron called from the other side of the grotto, pulling Luca’s attention away.

He looked directly at Brooke. “If you’ll excuse me.”

As Luca turned, he heard his sister snicker.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


“Hi, Dad.” Brooke relented and called her father after two days, but not before she’d learned that he was now able to roam about the facility. As much as a wheelchair would allow him to roam, that is.

“You finally . . . finally called.”

Instead of addressing his comment, she added her own. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. I heard you’re out of isolation.”

“You sound mad.”

Brooke closed her eyes and smiled before she spoke again in an effort to sound happier. With the phone on speaker, she clasped her hands in her lap to keep from biting her nails. “I don’t want to argue with you. The last time we spoke was very upsetting.”