Page 47 of Mafia Darling

“What do you regret, Fausto? That you lost your little plaything? Or that I showed loyalty to your only son and heir, and you perceived that as some sort of slight against you?”

Fausto’s chest heaved as he bowed his head. “I told you that I love you. I want every bit of you, like we had before. Yet you hold back. You want me to treat you like Katarzyna, then? Fine, I will treat you like Katarzyna.”

“I don’t fucking want you to treat me like Katarzyna. I want you to give me space so, I don’t know, maybe I can wrap my head around what’s happened to me over the last month. You are being incredibly selfish and butthurt for someone who’s entirely in the wrong!”

“You come to me, begging me for a favor, wearing that red lingerie. And for what? You whore yourself out so easily? I don’t want a whore. I want the woman who gives herself over to me, who surrenders to me so sweetly I could choke on it.”

“If you call me a whore one more time, il Diavolo, I will stab you in your sleep. And fucking you on the sofa is surrendering. Did you need it in writing?”

“You let me have your body but that’s all. Everything else is locked away and I am allowed to be pissed about it.”

“Then be pissed at yourself. I’m giving you all I can right now, until I can trust you again. That is, if I can ever trust you again.”

Growling, he put his fingers through his hair, tugging on the thick strands like he might rip them out of his head. “Tell me what I can say! Mi dispiace, perdonami. This is driving me crazy.”

“There is nothing you can say. You claim to love me, yet you try to send me out of the room tonight, telling me it’s a family matter that doesn’t involve me. Am I your family, Fausto? Is our baby going to be your family? You need to fucking decide.”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Really? Do I? Because so far, you’ve broken every promise you ever made to me. So, forgive me if I don’t believe a damn word that comes out of your mouth anymore.”

He snarled, “I do not like being called a liar.”

“I’m sure you don’t, capo, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are one.”

Spinning on my heel, I stalked out of the gym and slammed the door behind me. Both of the security guards watched me pass, their mouths hanging open, eyes big and round. I kept going.

One thing I knew for certain, I was sleeping in my old room tonight. Fuck Fausto and his comfortable bed.

* * *

Fausto

The morning brought clarity to my problems with Francesca, much like the daylight that broke over my vineyards at dawn. As I drank my espresso and watched the workers arrive for la vendemmia, I thought about my family. For so long it had been Giulio, Zia, and me. Yes, there were cousins, but my son and my aunt were the two people who mattered most to me. I would gladly take a bullet for either of them at a moment’s notice.

Now Francesca mattered to me, as well. Regardless of how it started, she and this child were part of my family. I’d waged a war to get her out of Enzo’s clutches, and I would die before I let her go again.

It was past time to prove it to her.

But first things first. Picking up my phone, I texted my son that I expected him in my office in the next ten minutes. Marco arrived as I hit send. “Have a seat,” I told him. “Emilia sent a text this morning and said she needs to talk as soon as possible.” I’d asked her to quietly begin looking for money that might link one of my men to Enzo or the GDF.

“Is this about looking into everyone’s accounts?”

“I fucking hope so. I want answers.”

Marco settled into his favorite chair and crossed his legs. “I checked on our prisoner. Wounds are healing as they should. No sign of infection. He should be ready this afternoon for another session.”

“Good. If Emilia can’t find anything, perhaps we can get Enzo to talk.”

Because Emilia didn’t know our code system for phone conversations, I unlocked my desk drawer and took out a burner phone. Marco would dispose of it as soon as the call finished. Just as I started dialing, Giulio walked in. He looked healthy, freshly showered, not hungover in the least. Scowling at him, I pointed to a chair. “Sit and listen.”

Emilia answered and told me to wait a moment. There was some scuffling, like she was walking somewhere, so I put her on speaker.

“Ciao,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”

“We can hear you. Are you free to talk?”

“Yes. I’m hiding in a storage closet.”

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