Page 50 of Mafia Darling

And the only way to get it, apparently, was to give her everything in return.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Francesca

When I came downstairs for coffee, I was surprised to find Giulio already at the breakfast table. I assumed he’d still be asleep, considering last night.

“Buongiorno,” I said, going to the espresso machine and finding my decaf supply. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

My espresso brewing, I turned to face him. “You were high as fuck last night.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. I smoked too much in the car.” His gaze found mine and the sadness that lurked there gave me a moment’s pause. What had happened?

He said quietly, “Thank you for convincing him to send Paulo away instead of . . .”

“Of course,” I said immediately, my brows flying up in surprise. Fausto told Giulio about that? “I have your back, G. Always.”

There wasn’t anything else to say, no other kind words to ease his heart. So I focused on my espresso then took a seat next to him, waiting.

Finally, he rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m so tired of lying and pretending, of hurting. And it’s only going to get worse. He’s not even in the same city. He’ll forget about me and I’m stuck here, marrying some woman I don’t give a shit about.”

The misery in his voice sounded more than theoretical. “Has Fausto chosen someone?”

“Not yet. He plans to bring the candidates here when things calm down.”

How generous of Fausto. “I’ll speak to him.”

“I would say it’s a waste of time, but you got him to change his mind about Paulo. You are the only one he listens to, apparently.”

It hadn’t been listening as much as letting him eat me out then fuck me. “I don’t know about that, but he owes me after what’s happened. I’ll ask him to give you more time.”

“Thank you, bella.”

“It will get better, G. We’ll figure something out. Drinking and getting high aren’t going to help, though.”

He slouched in his seat, not meeting my eye. “I know. Fausto wants me to take over security from Marco.”

Wow. “That’s huge. Are you going to do it?”

“You act as if I have a choice.”

“You could tell him no.”

He let out a dry, bitter chuckle. “That would go over well. I’m not you, Frankie.”

“You have to be honest with him. You have to tell him what you want. Otherwise you’ll grow resentful.”

The edges of his mouth curled in a tiny smile as he sipped his espresso. “You are so wise, matrigna. No wonder Fausto knocked you up.”

I rolled my eyes. “I think that had more to do with my boobs than my brain—and stop calling me that.”

The sound of shoes clicking on tile grew louder, interrupting us, and Fausto soon strode into the kitchen. He wore a white dress shirt and navy trousers that hung loose on his trim waist, looking like a goddamn cover model for Hot Dad magazine. After a nod to Giulio and me, he went to the espresso machine. Normally, I loved to watch the graceful way he moved, but I averted my eyes and focused on the table. I was still pissed at him.

No one spoke as the machine whirred. I could still hear his angry voice ringing in my ears. We both know you belong to me. You will always belong to me. Wrong. He couldn’t treat me like shit then think a few “dolcezzas” and “amores” would fix everything.

When he had his espresso, Fausto came over to the table. He bent and pressed a kiss to Giulio’s head. “Have you eaten?”

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