Page 77 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
Luca’s eyes meet mine and he doesn’t answer my question, but a shiver runs down my spine at what I see there. There’s acoldness in his gaze that brings to life the primal urge to put distance between us. I feel like prey trapped in the sights of a predator.
I follow my instinct and get out of the car, heading inside. Luca follows, stalking to the living room and taking a seat. I don’t know what to do with myself. It was different when I lived at Dario’s apartment and his men would hang around to keep an eye on me. This house ismyhome too. I picked out the couch that Luca is sitting on and the rug beneath his feet. I love curling up on the built-in bench at the bay window while I read, and my favorite coffee mug is sitting on the end table by his elbow, forgotten there after I had my morning tea.
Having Luca in my space like this, while he’s in a strange, almost aggressive mood, makes me uneasy. It’s like an enemy has entered my territory, and I realize in that moment that despite what I thought I felt toward Dario’s family, I hadn’t really thought of Luca as my enemy for a while.
The stark difference between my wariness in the past and the way I feel right now is eye-opening.
I fuss around the kitchen and master bedroom, unable to relax with him in the house. I resent this feeling. This is the one place I should feel comfortable, safe from judgment and threat.
Finally, Dario arrives at the house. When he walks through the front door, I expect Luca to pull him aside to discuss whatever urgent matter warranted hanging around the house all afternoon.
But he doesn’t. They barely speak at all before Luca excuses himself and leaves. I don’t hear what words are exchanged, but Dario’s face is grim when he turns to where I’m standing at themassive kitchen island. I grip the edge of the smooth stone on either side of my body while watching him approach.
This is not the same man that I parted ways with a few short hours ago. Something is weighing heavily on his mind, a darkness shadowing his features that sends dread slithering through me.
“Dario...is everything okay? First Luca was distant and weird, and now you seem...off.”
He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it—just a sharp, cutting sound that makes the hair on my arms stand up. His eyes hold an accusing glare, and I fight not to break eye contact. Then, his next words hit me like a bullet between the ribs.
“Tell me something, Paige. Why the hell are you talking to the FBI?”
30
DARIO
I didn’t wantto believe it.
When Luca texted me minutes after I left Paige at the restaurant, I was sure he must be mistaken. My brother doesn’t make mistakes—not about things that matter—but this time, I needed him to be wrong.
She’s talking with a man flashing an FBI badge.
The words on my screen might as well have been written in my own blood. Then came the picture, captured right as the man flipped open his wallet for Paige to see. It was taken from outside the restaurant, through the window far from their table, so it wasn’t crystal clear—but it was sharp enough to twist a knife in my gut.
I instructed Luca to hang back until the fed left, and not to say a goddamn word to Paige. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of rage and disbelief. I’ve been working with the manager of our bar over the last few weeks to make changes that will boost business, and today’s meeting was crucial—going over numbers, determining if our strategy was working.
But all I could think about was Paige and that fucking badge.
Is she betraying me? Selling the Andrettis out to the feds, one dirty secret at a time?
I haven’t shared much about my business with her, but I haven’t tried to hide anything either. It didn’t seem necessary. She’s always known who I am and what I do for a living. If anything, it’s been a relief not having to keep secrets or decide when to come clean about my mafia connection the way I would in any other relationship.
But maybe I was a fucking fool to trust her so easily.
By the time my meeting ends and I finally head home, I’ve driven myself half-crazy thinking about how deep her deception goes. Is she wearing a wire? Has she been recording our conversations? Are there FBI agents listening to us fuck?
Part of my rage is fueled by the pain I’m burying deep inside. I hate feeling like a fool, and it guts me that I’ve come to care about Paige more than any other woman I’ve ever known. More than I thought possible, more than is safe in my world.
I never should have let go of the doubts I had at the beginning. When I first brought her to Vegas, I suspected she was a liar.
Now I know I was right.
She doesn’t care about me. No woman has ever really cared. I feel like I’m still just that stuttering loser from grade school, that pathetic kid everyone laughed at. I’ve given Paige parts of myself I’ve never shared with anyone, but it wasn’t enough.
I’m not enough.
That thought twists in my chest like barbed wire as I arrive home. Or rather, I arrive at the house I bought for us. For our future. For our sons.
Christ, am I a complete idiot? I was ready to give this woman everything—my name, my protection, my fucking heart.
