𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺.
The woman of impeccable beauty was the infinite definition of her name. Calm and poise.
Born into a violent life of guns and knives, you would assume a Mafia Princess like her would be training and preparing to be the next heir...
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"This is the second-best pasta I've ever had in my life."
Silver glances up from his own container of Ravioli, a classic Italian dish but when I had it with my family, they always loved to add something extra to it to make it different.
"What's the first?"
I smirk and pick up my fork, stabbing at a chunk of pasta.
"My father's."
He nods his head slowly, reclining his body back in the chair opposite me.
It was now around 8:30, we were sitting out on the patio facing the view of my enormous garden. The pretty star lights were hanging all around the roof of the patio, enlightening the area along with a few lanterns.
Silver had gotten us many Italian dishes from this downtown restaurant called Little Italy—and I have to say, it was the second-best Italian food I've tasted besides my father's natural cooking.
He bought a mixture of three different pasta's—claiming he didn't know which one I'd prefer. He also bought a dozen lot of meatballs, which were deliciously sprinkled with parmesan cheese and a homemade red sauce.
Bread came with the package of food and some slices of Porchetta.
Now, I knew between the two of us we wouldn't eat all of it, considering that the portions were quite generous. Although, I did not hold back on taking a bit—or a lot—of everything.
"Does your father usually cook for you?"
Silver looks done with his plate, his arms folded across his chest and eyes burning into mine. I lick my lips, rinsing a gulp of water down my throat and then wiping my mouth with a napkin.
"Um, yes. He cooks whenever he can, though he'll occasionally pre-cook something for me if they're out doing business and I don't want takeout."
I watch him nod again, his gaze fixed on mine. My body began to tingle, and the penetrating stare had me pushing away the food in front of me simply because of the moisture spreading between my thighs.
"You know," His deep voice echos off into the open, his relaxed body leaning forward—towards me, resting his forearms on the armrests. "I could cook for you."
Suddenly, my breath hitched at the low tone of his voice. His blue eyes flicker between mine, gently tipping his head to one side as he studies me.
"I'm sure you'd like it just as much as this. If not, better."
The way he said those words so deeply, so tonelessly. But with this stray of confidence, as if he knew his cooking was good. And to which, I don't doubt.
"Is this an invitation?" I raise my brow, my lips tipping into a gentle smile. His own cherry lips curve into a knowing smirk, instantly making me wish my period would've come at a different time.
