Page 80 of Mafia Darling

“What did you talk about? What’s going on?”

He frowned as he worked the buttons. “You know I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s business.”

I put my hand on my chest. “But I’m family now. Team Ravazzani. I’m allowed to know business.”

The noise that escaped his mouth said he didn’t agree. “If my father approves, then I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know.”

Irritation prickled along my skin. I didn’t like being kept in the dark. Weren’t Giulio and I supposed to be friends?

Leaning in, I said, “If you don’t tell me, then I’ll tell you all about my amazing wedding night with of tons of rough sex and orgasms—”

“Dai, matrigna! Basta!”

I laughed at the genuine horror in his expression. “Every time you shut me out then I’ll talk about all the orgasms your father is giving me.”

“Gross, Frankie. Knock it off.”

“Knock what off?” Fausto asked as he appeared in the kitchen doorway

My husband strode in, looking sexy as fuck in a three-piece gray suit that hugged his body. But it wasn’t the bespoke clothing or expensive leather shoes that held my eye. Or even the classy silver watch peeking out from under the cuff of his dress shirt. It was the platinum band on his left ring finger that captured my attention. He was really mine.

“Oh, bella,” Giulio chuckled under his breath before he sipped his espresso. “You have it so bad.”

Not quite done torturing Giulio, I focused on Fausto, who was putting his cup and saucer into the porcelain sink. “I was just telling your son about all the amazing sex we had last night.”

Giulio choked on his espresso, then immediately started for the hallway. “Bacha ma culo, matrigna!”

I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing. “Same to you, figliastro!” Yes, I had researched the word for stepson for this very reason.

Fausto shook his head, like Giulio and I were two obnoxious kids trying his patience. “I need to speak with you,” he said to me, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.

I didn’t like the sound of that. “Oh?”

“You have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon?”

“Yes. At two o’clock.”

“You need to arrange it so the doctor visits you here.”

He didn’t elaborate or explain, which made me bristle a tiny bit. “Why?”

“Because I said so, Francesca. It’s safer this way.”

“But—”

“There’s no ‘but.’ Your safety and our child’s safety is my responsibility. The doctor may come here.”

“Fausto,” I snapped. “That’s fine for future appointments, but I can’t cancel at the last minute. I’ve already confirmed that I’ll be there.”

“Then call and tell them you won’t.” I started to argue, and he held up his hand. “I’m trying very hard not to raise my voice or lose my patience, but it’s safer for you in the castello.”

“And I agreed to have future appointments here. But we don’t have any of the equipment yet. How are they supposed to do a check-up? Also, who knows when she’ll be able to squeeze me in?”

“Have you forgotten your last name? She’ll squeeze you in, do not worry.”

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