Page 24 of Mafia Darling

Like, that was a choice? “Uh, no. He didn’t.”

Brow wrinkling, Giulio stroked his jaw. “I’ll speak with him. Would you go home if you could?”

“Not to Toronto, but to New York or Boston, maybe. Anywhere but here. At least I’d be closer to my sisters there.”

“I get it, but I would miss you, Frankie.”

I rubbed my feet against him playfully. “I would miss you, too, but you know why I can’t stay. He’s hurt me too many times.”

“What’s a little love without hurt?” he said with a sad smile. “Italians have an expression, ‘l’amore non è bello se non è litigarello.’ It means a little squabbling now and then does a relationship good. That you come out stronger for it.”

“Squabbling?” I snort. “He locked me in a dungeon, left me on a yacht in the middle of a hurricane, and banished me to live under guard where I was kidnapped.”

Giulio’s mouth hitched. “At least you’ve seen him at his worst. Speaking of your sisters, you should call them. Both Gia and Emma keep texting me to ask about you. I’ve been playing dumb ever since D’Agostino kidnapped you, but I think they are starting to catch on.”

“Thank you.” I’d wondered what my sisters would do when they hadn’t heard from me, whether they would talk to my father or not. I guess they reached out to Giulio instead, thank God. The last person I wanted involved in this mess was Papà. “Except I’ll have to use your phone. God knows when Fausto will return mine.”

“Your tablet is in one of those suitcases.” He nodded to the bags by the door. “I packed all your things last night.”

“Thank you, G. You’re the best.”

“I know.”

I noticed his knuckles were torn and scraped, his hands swollen. “Is that from last night?” I tipped my chin toward his hands.

“Yeah.” He flexed his long fingers. “Hurts like a bitch today.”

“Do you like it? Hitting people and playing the mafia heavy?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Should we be talking about this?”

“Why wouldn’t we? Like, it’s weird that we’ve never talked about it before, don’t you think?”

“I do what needs to be done, like any good soldato.”

“That’s a bullshit answer. Be serious with me for one second.”

He exhaled heavily. “I can’t explain it, but there is this place inside me that feels unworthy, like I always need to prove myself to my father. He is the great Fausto Ravazzani and I’m supposed to follow in his footsteps. But how could I ever measure up to him?”

“He’s not so great,” I muttered dryly.

“Of course you’d say that. I’m his heir, though, and I want him to be proud of me.” He fiddled with his watch, adjusting the thick metal band. “It’s funny, I used to hate the violence, but the older I get the more I love it. I guess that makes me fucked up.”

“Not fucked up. Your father is il Diavolo, after all. It’s in your—” I bit off the last word. Shit, I had half Fausto’s DNA inside me, growing a baby. Would his genes guarantee a violent child?

“You don’t need to worry about that if you leave,” Giulio said, perfectly reading my thoughts. “I was raised in this life. The heir. I never had a chance. But your baby can grow up outside our world, somewhere nice with picket fences and no bullets.”

That was only if Fausto let me go—and something told me he wouldn’t.

* * *

Fausto

Mid-morning, I arrived in the kitchen to find my son and my woman laughing over café and cornetti. It was almost like the horror of the last month hadn’t happened. I felt a smile tug at my mouth. Things would soon return to the way they’d been, including Francesca fucking me with abandon.

Their laughter died as I prepared another espresso. But I had other things on my mind. I was exhausted. Enzo hadn’t broken yet, but he would. I had given him much suffering last night, enough to last for days.

Still, my mood was light. My dolcezza was back under my roof where she belonged.

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