Page 55 of Mafia Darling

They both nodded. My sisters knew this world, knew what my child would endure, the kind of life ahead. Emma said, “Well, what names are you thinking about?”

“I haven’t really thought about it. Choosing a name feels too . . . real.”

Gia smirked, her voice dry. “Because the ultrasounds and vomiting didn’t make it seem real?”

“Stop,” Emma told her twin. “Let Frankie come to terms with it in her own time. I want to see the castello and the estate.”

“Are you sure you aren’t too tired from the trip?” I asked them.

“No way. I slept on the plane. I feel amazing,” Gia said. “We should go clubbing tonight.”

I knew Fausto would never allow that. “Slow down. How about we go harvest grapes instead?”

“Fun!” Emma said at the same time that Gia groaned.

Laughing, I stood up. “It is fun, actually. And you’ll get to see the estate.”

“Can we drink wine after?” Gia asked.

“Of course,” I said. “Well, you two can drink wine. I’ll keep you company.”

“This is going to be the best trip!” Emma exclaimed as she rose.

“I know. I’m so glad you’re here.” I grabbed their hands and pulled them toward the path, happier than I’d ever been since arriving in this country.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Fausto

Francesca sparkled at dinner. Rarely had I seen her so animated, so happy, and I liked seeing her like this. As we ate, she entertained us all with tales of growing up, as well as her adventures so far in Italy—cleaned up, of course. Her sisters didn’t know about the kidnapping, and I wondered if she would ever tell them what happened.

“The gelato in Rome was the best I’ve ever had,” she was telling them.

“You certainly sampled enough of it,” my son said with a grin, which caused Francesca to pick up a roll and fake throwing it at him.

Zia playfully reprimanded them both in Italian, which made everyone laugh.

I was quiet, observing. The dining room was lively and full, something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was nice. If I had a big family like Marco’s, every dinner would resemble chaos such as this.

My eyes flicked to Francesca, seated at my right. She would bear my child next spring, and I could hardly wait. I wanted as many children as she would agree to. An only child myself, I hadn’t planned for Giulio to be alone, so I was thrilled at the prospect of more Ravazzani sons and daughters running around the castello. Hopefully I lived long enough—and stayed out of prison—to see it.

The Guardia had gone quiet after approaching Francesca. As we suspected, Rinaldo was no one, probably hoping to make a name for herself before retirement. This didn’t mean the government wasn’t working on a case against me, though. Except the case must not have been very strong if they were foolish enough to try to turn Francesca.

A bare foot slid over my shin and I tried to mask my surprise. My muscles clenched as I fought to stay still, not wanting to frighten her. If my dolcezza wanted to play, then I was more than ready.

Francesca leaned closer, her voice low. “Can I take my sisters to Rome? We could stay at your fuck pad.”

“It could be your fuck pad, too, if you would put on the ring.”

She bit her lip and slid her foot higher, teasing me with her toes. Sparks raced over my skin. “That doesn’t answer my question,” she said.

“Where is your foot going, piccolina?”

“Where would you like it to go?”

“My answer depends on if you are still angry with me or not.”

She threw her head back and laughed, the sight causing my stomach to dip like a gull at the beach. Madonna, I loved her. I always wanted her this happy. I should have threatened her father weeks ago to get Emma and Gia on my plane. Instead, I had waited until yesterday. Lesson learned.

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