Sarre knocked on the Amalfi front door and felt very much like a teenage boy picking up a girl on their first date. Why was it Giada never moved out of her father’s home? It seemed odd to him a woman approaching thirty would still live in her parent’s home.
The door opened and he found himself face-to-face with Lia Puglisi, Giada’s mother and he nodded. “Good evening.”
“Good evening. Come in. She’ll be right down.” Lia held the door open for him. “My husband is finishing a call in his office, and he’ll be right out.”
“Of course,” the teenage boy feeling was almost overwhelming as he cleared his throat.
“If you hurt her,” Lia whispered softly at his shoulder, “it won’t be the Amato mafia you need fear. I will hunt you down and make you wish it was an Amato soldier in your face if she sh
