Page 118 of Mafia Darling

“Wait!” Giulio said. “There’s one present missing.”

“There is?” Raffaele clapped his hands. “What is it?”

Giulio put his fingers in his mouth and gave a sharp whistle. One of the grooms emerged from the barn, leading a pony out toward the table.

“Oh, shit,” Marco murmured at my side.

“Tell me you didn’t, G,” my wife said, shooting Giulio an angry look. “Giulio! We said no big gifts this time.”

“He’s my brother. I’m allowed to spoil him.” Giulio went and took the reins from the groom. “Raffaele, come see your pony.”

With an excited whoop, Raffaele darted off his chair and hurried toward his half-brother. The joy on my youngest son’s face was infectious and I found myself grinning.

“Fausto,” my wife growled. “This is serious. He cannot do this every time he visits. It’s too much.”

“Can I have a pony, too, Papà?” Noemi’s eyes were wide and hopeful, a father’s weakness.

“Yes,” I told her, ignoring my wife’s gasp. “When you turn four.”

Francesca turned away in her seat, her jaw clenched. She wanted our kids to grow up humbly, not as spoiled mafia princes and princesses. I respected her wishes. Usually. But I would not deny my daughter equal treatment.

I had to put my wife in a better mood. “Dolcezza, come with me.”

“No. I need to clean up and get the kids back to the house—”

“Zia and Giulio will see Raffaele and Noemi inside. You’re mine for the rest of the night.” I’d already arranged everything. All I needed was her.

I plucked a half-full bottle of wine off the table and two glasses, then went to her. I held out my hand. “It’s time for your surprise.”

“Is Papà taking you someplace special?” Noemi asked Francesca. “Can I come?”

“No, this is just for Papà and Mamma,” I said. “Kiss us goodnight and we’ll see you in the morning.”

Noemi did as I asked, then we said goodnight to Raffaele. The sun had begun its descent and soon the kids would go to bed. They would barely miss us, if at all.

“Wait.” Giulio held out a piece of paper. “That’s a present for you, Papà.”

“For me?” I put down the wine and glasses, then accepted the paper. It was an address in Pozzuoli, outside Naples.

I instantly knew, but I still had to ask. My gaze flew to him. “Is this . . .?”

“Sì. A friend of a friend found that for me.”

Sensing the direction of the conversation, Marco was suddenly at my side. I handed my cousin the slip of paper. “Four and half years and my son is the one to find him.”

“Dai, I can’t believe it.” Marco clapped Giulio’s shoulder. “Grazie.”

The repercussions of this, of what it could mean for Giulio, dimmed my happiness. “Does this put you in any danger? I don’t want anyone connecting you to me.”

Giulio shook his head. “The friend, he’s like me. He knows who I am but he’ll keep it quiet. Don’t worry.”

I did not find this reassuring. I growled, “Giulio—”

“Papà, it’s fine. He has more to lose than I do, trust me. I’m safe.”

“I want to hear more about this later.” I pointed at him. “I won’t have you risking yourself to help me.”

“Okay, that’s enough business talk for now.” Francesca snatched up the bottle and glasses, then grabbed my arm. “You two can settle this tomorrow, when we’re not in front of the children.”

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