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Matty looks both chagrined and deeply annoyed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bianco, it doesn’t work that way. She has to be approved?—”
“Mrs. Bianco?” Giorgia squeals and now she’s crying. “Oh my god, it’s true? You’re really married? This wasn’t some elaborate prank? Stefania, what the fuck is going on?”
I pat Giorgia’s back as she howls in hysterics. It’s the most absurd display I’ve ever seen from her and that’s saying something—she’s prone to overly emotional outbursts, it’s actually part of why I love her. The girl can’t hide what she’s thinking no matter how hard she tries. But right now, she’s a little overwhelmed, and it’s not helping her case.
I’m ready to fight a bunch of men three times my size when Laura inserts herself again.
“It’s fine, Matthew. I’ll vouch for her.”
He looks supremely uncertain, and I don’t blame him, because I’m gaping at her like she just said I love ponies and petting puppy dogs.
“I don’t know—” Matty starts, but Laura cuts him off.
“Are you going to stand there and tell a blood member of the Bianco family that I can’t vouch for someone in my own fucking home? Are you really that fucking stupid, Matthew? Because I’d love an excuse to jab my fist down your thick throat until you puke up blood, you dumb shitface.”
“Wow,” one of the enforcers says and I swear they all take a step back, even though Laura’s like a hundred pounds and five-foot-two.
“I like her,” Giorgia says through her tears.
“Let’s not rush to judgment,” I whisper to her.
Matty groans and rubs his face. “Fine,” he says, clearly unhappy but also not willing to get his guts punched from the inside. “But if this shit goes bad, you’re on the hook, Laura.” He spins around and addresses the gathered crowd. “Everyone back to your fucking posts. Stop staring and move, you pricks.”
The scene breaks up. Laura glares as the guys amble off, talking among themselves, several throwing her confused looks, and at least one of them looking like a lovesick teenager. I guess she has her charms, but for real, that’s like falling for a horny viper.
“Thank you,” I tell her, but Laura’s already storming off.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she tosses over her shoulder and flips me off as she returns to her house.
Which leaves me alone with a hiccupping Giorgia. At least she’s not bawling and screaming anymore, but she’s still clinging to me like there’s an iceberg coming and I’m the only floating door in sight.
“Hey, girl,” she says, sounding sheepish. “I guess I found you.”
I whirl on her, suddenly pissed off. “A phone call would’ve been nice. Do you have any clue how much trouble you’re in right now?”
“Well, how was I supposed to know you live on the Fort Knox of freaking city blocks? I just wanted to come make sure you’re alive, that’s all!”
I compose myself, because while her methodology was flawed, her intentions were pure. “How’d you even figure out where I live?”
The question makes her grimace slightly and her smile is chagrined, which means she fucked up big time. “I logged into your Ikea account and looked at your most recent orders. Don’t get mad! Remember you let me use it that one time because you had that fancy unique discount code and I really needed a new bedframe after my dickweed ex broke it and not even during sex?”
I groan and close my eyes. “I remember.”
“Well, you ordered some furniture, and you had it sent to an address on this block, so?—”
I open my eyes and stare at the sky. “You booked a flight and came to surprise me.”
“Exactly. I’m so sorry. I should’ve called or texted, but I was afraid that if I did, then maybe he’d get in the way.” She moves closer, her voice going soft. “Was he one of those guys just now?”
“No, Davide’s not home.” Luckily for us since I’m not sure how my husband would’ve reacted. “What were you thinking, Giorgia?”
“I was worried about my best friend, okay! And honestly, I was feeling guilty as fuck after our last conversation, and this whole marriage thing is bizarre and so weird, and I just had to come out and make sure that you weren’t like kidnapped or abused or whatever. And I miss you.”
She’s blinking rapidly and about to cry, but I’m feeling a big old lump in my throat too.
Because she cared enough to drop everything. She flew out here armed with nothing more than a hunch and an address, all because she’s my best friend and she wanted to make sure I was okay. That’s a hell of a lot more than my family has done so far; I can’t even remember the last time any of them called.
I pull her into a tight hug. My homesickness comes back with a vengeance, and maybe this visit is going to undo some of the progress I’ve made recently, but to hell with that.
