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Everyone’s at the mansion for a cookout to celebrate Mamma’s eightieth birthday.
She didn’t want anything formal, so I only invited the other heads and their families over to spend the day with us.
I head toward where the men are sitting and take a seat.
Dario points to where the kids are standing in groups, and he lets out a chuckle. “Rosie is following Enzo around. He can’t shake her.”
I watch as Dario’s sixteen-year-old daughter sticks to my second-oldest son like glue. When Enzo stops and wraps his arm around her shoulder, the poor girl almost melts into his side.
Fuck.
I better have a talk with Enzo, who’s just turned twenty. I don’t want him getting any ideas until Rosie’s eighteen.
Thankfully, he gives her a brotherly hug before letting go of her.
My gaze follows Enzo as he walks to where his brother, Christiano, is talking to Angelo’s sons.
When my firstborn glances at Sienna, one of Franco’s daughters, I let out a sigh.
“Your son is staring at my daughter,” Franco mutters.
“They’re all fucking staring at each other,” I grumble.
Dario lets out a chuckle. “Love is in the air.”
“The fuck it is,” I grunt before climbing to my feet and walking to my sons.
Christiano notices me first and comes to throw his arm over my shoulders. “Having fun?”
“Not with you undressing Sienna with your eyes.”
He lets out a bark of laughter then shakes his head. “I’m not.” A serious expression tenses his features, “But if I were, would that be a problem?”
“Christ,” I sigh. “No, but ask Franco’s permission before you decide to date his daughter.”
“Of course.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “So you are interested in Sienna. She’s older than you.”
He just shrugs. “Only by three years.”
He gives me a playful smirk before walking to where Georgi is talking with Valentina. I watch as he goes to stand between his sister and Renzo’s son, being an overprotective big brother.
I taught him well.
Fuck, at least everyone’s keeping it in the Cosa Nostra family.
“Why are you scowling?” Gabriella asks as she comes to stand next to me.
“The kids are growing up too fast,” I mutter.
“What do you mean too fast? They’re already adults,” she argues.
“Not Gianna.” I look at my fifteen-year-old daughter, who’s sitting beside her grandmother. “She’ll always be our baby.”
I wrap my arm around Gabriella’s lower back and tug her to my side. “Everyone looks happy.”
She nods. “It was a good idea to keep things casual today.”
