Page 52 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

She never will be.

The garden is cold and dead, and I’m more than happy to add to the general ambiance as I bring my poor attitude outside.

The night is cold. Bitterly so. It feels good against my skin, which is still broiling from the emotions I felt inside.

I’m a fucking wreck.

And I feel so out-of-control, it’s fucking killing me.

I take deep breaths, letting the cold, damp air sear into my lungs. My Nonna would have a fit if she could see me out here, sucking in air like I’m a fish out of water when that air is probably more full of moisture than the sea nearby.

I’m finally more in control of my breathing when I’m aware of my phone buzzing in my pocket.

I frown. The phone is the one I keep on me at all times for my family to reach me. It’s intensely secure, and only a handful of people on the planet have the access that it gives. Normally I use burner phones, but this one is for family.

And for emergencies only.

Fear flushes through me, and I grab the phone, hesitating as I turn it over to see who it is. My money, of course, is on Dino, who tends to need the most consistent support, but Sal might also…

I pause.

It’s not either of my brothers, or my sister, or Luna, my niece who has just recently received her own cell phone and absolutely has the number to my private line.

It’s… my brother-in-law.

And former best friend.

Frowning, I pick up the phone. “Elio?”

“Marco,” he rumbles, his Italian accent thick enough to make me concerned. It tends to become a little stronger when he’s upset or in trouble.

“What? What happened? What’s?—”

“Nothing. No. Nothing like that,” he says quickly.

I pause.

There’s an awkward moment where I’m not sure if I should ask him what he wants to say, or if I should just wait.

I wait.

Elio clears his throat. “Ah. Well. How… are you faring?”

He also tends to fuck up and use weird English words when he’s nervous. “Fine,” I reply curtly.

“I see. Are things well with.. whatever you are doing?”

“Get to the fucking point, Elio,” I bark.

He huffs, the sound very European. “Am I not allowed to see how one of my… how someone I know and… find… that I…”

I’ve never heard Elio be this inarticulate. “Jesus Christ, are you fuckin’ choking?” I say.

“I want to see how you are doing, motherfucker!” he practically shouts.

I blink.

“Did you just call me to check in on me, Elio?”

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