A Righteous Kill (28 page)

The two Katrova-Connor girls were each gale forces of nature in their own, completely opposite ways. Luca met Hero’s eyes across the corner of the island. She smiled at him and raised a sarcastic eyebrow that said,
Aren’t you glad you came?

His own amused smile said,
Actually… Yes.
Were they doing that couple thing where they talked with their eyes? Because that was just fucking new territory. Luca had an overwhelming urge to reach for her hand. He just—needed to touch her. The realization that he actually could in this scenario came a second too late.

Eoghan’s dynamic presence entered the room a split second before he did, preceding him with a kinetic energy that may have presented on the Richter scale. “Is that you, kitten?” he sang in his Irish brogue before setting down his beer—presumably from Andra— and planting a kiss on Hero’s cheek. “Did you invite that Latin lad of yours? I just set him a place at the— oh, there he is!” The Irishman’s copper beard split in a wide grin when he turned and noted Luca standing against the wall. “Welcome, son!” he boomed, grabbing Luca’s palm with the mitts he called hands and pumping it in an enthusiastic handshake. “’Tis good to see you bringing me girl to church.”

Luca’s mouth went a little dry at the man’s use of the word ‘son.’ Just how serious did the man think he and Hero were, exactly? “I’ll admit she’s the one who brought me, not the other way around.”

The man’s grin only widened. “In any case, I hope you both brought your appetites, there’s enough to feed a small army here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Luca balefully eyed the pot full of faux meat.

“Call me Eoghan,” he cuffed Luca on the shoulder and turned back to his daughter. “What took you so long to get home? Where is the rest of everyone? And what in the name of the holy infant Jesus is that?”

Luca took everyone’s unruffled acceptance of Eoghan’s rapid-fire questions as indication that such dialog was commonplace.

“It’s tofurkey,” Hero supplied.

“Smells decent, at least.” Eoghan peeked into the roasting pan they now all surrounded. Luca had to admit, it was the most edible looking meat substitute he’d ever come across, not that the standard was set high.

“I know what took you so long to get here.” Knox nudged Hero with his elbow. “You two were making out like teenagers in the car. You were parked at the curb long enough before you came in.”

Luca felt the blood drain from his face. He knew he was blanching about as white as a brown boy could go. Curbside, he’d been on the phone with Vince, going over status reports and surveillance details for tonight. But he
had
nearly devoured Hero on the cathedral lawn, in front of God and anyone else who wanted bear witness. “That wasn’t what we—we weren’t—I didn’t—” Cue the I’m-not-sleeping-with-your-daughter-smile. Was it working? Was Izolda still holding that huge knife?

Hero’s father laughed and clapped his arm again. “Don’t worry yourself, son, I’m not your priest, and frankly, I don’t want to know.”

Luca’s relieved breath delighted everyone, and laughter nearly drowned out the sound of the front door closing.

Rown strode into the kitchen looking like a Viking in a tailored suit followed by the black leather-clad Demetri. Before addressing the room, they each took a turn to bend and kiss their mother’s offered cheek as though paying respect to a medieval royal.

“What did I miss?” Rown asked, giving a meaningful nod to Hero. They’d discuss Connor at a better time.

“What smells so good?” Demetri shouldered in-between Hero and Knox and scowled down into the pot. “That looks like warmed over—”

“It’s
tofurkey
,” Hero explained for the umpteenth time. “Knox made it for me.”

“From scratch,” Knox amended, picking up a wooden spoon and smacking Demetri’s hand as he poked the structurally suspicious loaf of tofu. “Don’t touch it!
God
. You haven’t washed your hands.”

“What are the rest of us going to eat?” Rown asked with a curled lip.

“A whole lotta this.” Knox took his left oven mitt off, unveiling his middle finger.

“Don’t be vulgar in the kitchen, Lennox,” Eoghan reprimanded with a smile. “Your mother doesn’t like it.” He turned and slid his wide shoulders between Hero, Knox, and the ovens. To Luca’s astonishment, he reached up to both of his middle sons and planted hello kisses on each of their masculine jaws. “Demetrius.” (smooch). “Berowne.” (smooch). “What kept you?”

Luca shifted a little uncomfortably at the very strange,
very
un-American custom of related men kissing, even if it was on the cheek. But, he supposed, if anyone wanted to question the men of the Katrova-Connor family about their masculinity, they could step
right
up. Probably would end up chewing on their own balls before they were finished, but he’d pay money to see it.

“Sorry to be late, we were talking to Father Michael,” Rown said, and left it there.

“But seriously, what’s for dinner?” Demetri wandered to the ovens to investigate.

“I braised
you
jack holes lamb shanks and am just finishing them in the oven. Then I made my garlic/rosemary potatoes, blanched asparagus, and homemade seven-grain bread.” Knox held out his arms as though to graciously receive his accolades.

Luca’s mouth watered. Who knew the most dangerous cage-fighter alive was also a master chef?

“Braised?” Rown queried.

“You sear the juices, rub them with
herbs de Provence
, and then simmer them in my secret sauce.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard you like to smear ‘em in your secret sauce,” Demetri snickered.

Hero and Eoghan joined in the brothers’ laughter, so Luca felt it safe to follow suit. He liked a family who could crack dirty jokes.

“Demetrius!” Izolda said from her corner of the kitchen. A smile quivered at the corner of her mouth, though her dark eyes flashed with temper.

Luca cut off mid-laugh.

“I said
not
in the kitchen.” Still chortling, Eoghan took one glance at his wife’s face, sobered, and then biffed Demetri upside the back of the head.

Luca instantly stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides. The action instinctively stirred his temper and set fire to his blood. A father shouldn’t humiliate his son. Shouldn’t strike him. Especially on the head. Luca took a reflexive step toward Eoghan before he caught himself.

Wait. This wasn’t
his
family. Wasn’t his problem. Probably wasn’t even a big deal.

Forcing a deep breath through his nostrils, Luca watched a still-laughing Demetri reach up and grab his dad’s hand on the back swing. “Sorry, Ma,” he threw over his shoulder as he sucker-smacked Eoghan’s solid chest.

“You’re goin’ to be sorry,” Eoghan vowed. “When I knock next week into you.”

“It’s knock you into next week, Dad,” Knox corrected.

Laughter exploded around the kitchen as everyone alternately goaded and dodged the laughing, slap-boxing pair. Luca forced his shoulders to relax. It was all a joke. He slowed his breaths. They were playing.

They loved each other.

“You okay?” Hero stepped over to him, entwining her fingers through his.

Luca swallowed his heart. “Yeah.” He even sounded like he meant it.

Izolda had traded her knife for Knox’s wooden spoon, which she brandished like Excalibur. “Take that out of my kitchen or I’ll bruise you both.” Father and son turned from enemies to refugees as they ducked the flat side of the spoon and escaped into the dining room.

Eoghan popped back in to distract his wife with a kiss while he grabbed his abandoned beer, then ducked back out with a wink at Luca.

“Gets pretty chaotic around here,” Hero said apologetically.

Luca was saved from having to come up with a reply by the oven timer.

Knox demonstrated his famous reflexes as he lunged for the lower oven, extracting a much larger pot. “Let’s see these beauties.”

A sizzle and a puff of steam preceded the most appetizing smell Luca had ever come across. “I think I’m dating the wrong sibling,” he joked. “You’d be surprised at what kind of things I’d lower myself to do for that kind of food.”

Knox grinned at them both. “All you have to do is keep my baby sister happy.”

And alive.
Luca added silently.

Izolda opened two bottles of red Zinfandel and poured them into separate decanters. “I will put these on the table and then tell Romeo is time for dinner.”

“Oh, is Connor here?” Hero asked. “I didn’t see him.”

“He’s in his bedroom,” Knox said with a meaningful glance while artfully arranging the lamb on a platter and spooning the reduction from the pan over the meat.

“
His
bedroom?”

Knox nodded gravely. “Shanna left him two nights ago. They were fighting because she didn’t want him to retire, but after twenty years, I don’t think he’s got any more to give the military, you know? We’ve all seen it. He’s not… the same.”

“I know,” Hero whispered, her chin wobbling a little. “But she just… left him?”

“She failed him,” Luca said without thinking, then winced. This wasn’t really his business.

Knox regarded him with approval, though. “Fucking A, she did,” he agreed. “Fourteen years down the shitter, just like that. She’s filed papers, the whole works, and he’s acting like it’s nothing. He even left her the house and moved in here until he figures shit out. Sounds like she’s going after everything.”

“Even his pension?” Hero asked, appalled.

Knox shrugged, but didn’t look optimistic. “He won’t talk about it, but you know how she is.”

“I know how she waited to do this until after her little ‘procedure’ was paid off,” Hero snarked.

“Ain’t nothing little about those,” Knox made a gesture as though gigantic breasts took up the length of his arm.

Luca chuckled.

“Come to think of it, that bitch
never
called me,” Hero ranted. “Haven’t heard from my own sister-in-law in the past two months. That two-faced cow. You know what? I’m going to—”

“Romeo! Dinner!” Izolda’s call interrupted as she walked down the hallway to the back stairs that led up to the second floor bedrooms.

Knox made a
zip-it
motion with his hand across his mouth and picked up the platter of lamb.

“Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?” Izolda called sweetly.

Silence.

The matriarch swiftly changed strategies. “Are you going to make me come up there,
mal’chik moy
? Because we both know I will.”

The house held its breath for what seemed like an entire minute before a door opened and closed and a deep, muffled voice carried down to the kitchen.

“Thirty-eight years old and Connor’s still afraid of Mom.” Knox gestured to Luca with his head and then to the large pan on the stove. “You mind grabbing the potatoes?”

Luca nodded and reached for the pot, which was still warm, but not hot enough to need protection on his hands. “I’m a little afraid of your mom,” he only half joked.

“Don’t let Knox fool you,” Hero laughed as she grabbed the asparagus and followed them to the dining room. “We all are. Even Pop.”

“Speak for yourself.” Eoghan made room for the food at the large round table and ducked out of the way. “I’ve learned over the years how to disarm your mother. It’s not easy, but it can be fun.” He gave a suggestive waggle of his ginger brows and a sinister smile.

A chorus of disgusted groans and one or two feminine ‘Ewwwwwwws’ erupted around the table. Eoghan ducked with a merry snicker as a linen napkin sailed toward his head.

“What’s this?” Izolda asked from the entry.

Eoghan whirled around. “Nothing at all, my love.” He pulled out a seat for her and she took it with a suspicious lift of an eyebrow.

“Told ya,” Hero murmured.

Unburdened of his dish, Luca stood by the round table stuffed with nine chairs and wondered what to do next. He was suddenly very aware that he’d never done this before.

Family dinner.

Sure, he’d dined with people, usually at restaurants. But growing up, his family barely ate food, let alone
with
each other. He and Coach Peck usually ate in front of the TV like proper bachelors were supposed to. He’d carried the tradition into his adult life. Not that he only dined in front of the TV. He sometimes ate in the car. At his desk. At a pub for lunch with colleagues. At a nice place with friends or on a date, but by the time they got back to someone’s
house
they were hungry for something else. Something that never,
ever
led to dinner with the parents. As far as he was concerned, this shit only happened in the movies. Or, like, in the fifties.

After Connor lurked in and took the empty seat to the left of his father, Luca noted a seating pattern emerge. Oldest to youngest. First Conner, then Rown, followed by Andra, Demetri, Knox, and finally Hero, who grinned and patted the seat between her and Izolda.

Hero’s mother was already dishing a generous portion of potatoes onto his plate and Hero picked up the decanter and filled his glass with wine.

Luca stared at his plate as food appeared on it. The unobtrusive chandelier cast a golden glow on the table, warming the soft colors of the food along with the atmosphere and suddenly he couldn’t seem to swallow. Couldn’t breathe. For two months, he’d wondered to himself how Hero could have survived that awful night. Everyone said it was a miracle. That it would have taken superhuman strength of will to fight through the pain, the blood loss, the hypothermia, the surgery, and the painful recovery. Not to mention all the emotional blowback.

But she’d had to, he saw that now. She had to make it back
here
. To this meal. To this family. Luca would have fought off the reaper single-handedly, too, if he’d had so much to live for. She had a
home
. Not just any home, one filled with laughter and chaos and pure, protective acceptance. Maybe there was a heaven, maybe there wasn’t. But if someone told him that paradise was better than this, he’d slit his own throat to get there, because he just couldn’t imagine it.

“Luca,” Izolda’s voice prodded gently.