Page 79 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
Neither can I, but she’s not the only stubborn one here. I’m not used to backing down, under any circumstances. It’s so ingrained in me that it’s like breathing.
And it feels safer to dig in my heels than accept that I might be in the wrong here. That I might be letting old wounds dictate my reactions.
I need to get out my pent-up energy before I say something else I’ll regret. Turning away from her, I stride to the wet bar in the living room and pour myself a glass of whiskey. Not the good stuff—I grab the first bottle my hand touches. I don’t deserve the smoothness of aged Macallan. I deserve the burn of whatever the hell this is.
Taking a deep pull from the glass, I turn back to find Paige watching me. Something about her hazel eyes studying me makes me feel unsettled, like everything is spiraling out of control.
I was so damn happy this morning when we learned the twins are boys. How did things turn to shit so quickly?
“How do I know I can trust you at all?” I ask, almost hoping she can give me a real answer. Some magic words that will make this all go away. “Did you meet with an FBI agent today or not?”
“A man approached me,” she says. “I didn’t arrange the meeting.”
“Are you sure? You seemed perfectly fine with me leaving you at that restaurant alone.”
“Well, I guess I’m a bitch for trying to be accommodating.” She’s back to being pissed, and it’s a relief. No matter how angry I am, I can’t stand to see those tears in her eyes. “I didn’t plan to be approached by the FBI, and I’d never tell them anything about you.”
“Are you sure about that? We both know that you hate my family.”
“I don’t hate you, though.”
My ribs are suddenly two sizes too small for my lungs. I finish off my drink before replying, letting the alcohol burn through the knot in my throat. “I don’t believe you.”
I expect those words to hurt her again.
But she surprises me.
She storms across the room, heels clicking hard against the tile, and jabs a red-manicured finger into my chest. Her eyes blaze, her lips curl into a sneer that doesn’t quite mask the hurt underneath.
“Listen here, Dario Andretti,” she spits, voice shaking with rage.
“You don’t get to do this.” Her finger presses harder against my sternum. “You don’t get to turn on me the second things get hard.”
She takes a breath—sharp and ragged.
“I know you’ve got shit from your childhood. I know people treated you like crap back then.”
Her voice softens, just for a second.
“But I’m not one of them. I’m not the enemy.”
She meets my eyes, unflinching.
“And I’m sure as hell not going to betray you.”
I’m so shocked that she’s brought up my past that I can’t form a response. That works just fine for her, because she has more to say, each word landing like a carefully aimed blow.
“You’ve got to let go of the past, Dario.”How dare she?She’s been holding onto her own dark past for the last fifteen years. I open my mouth to interject, but she keeps talking, steamrolling over any objection I might raise. “You’re a grown man now, and you need to learn to accept that someone can love you.”
My heart stops. Seizes up completely before slamming against my sternum so hard it hurts.
I stare at her for a long moment, time stretching between us. There are so many things I could say in response to that. I could defend myself. I could point out that finding out she met with an FBI agent doesn’t exactly inspire trust. I could tell her that she’s lucky Luca was the one to see her with the guy because anyone else wouldn’t be willing to keep it from my father.
But all of those responses come from anger and defensiveness, from that scared kid inside me who’s afraid of being hurt again. I can feel all of that fading away as the meaning of her words registers with me. I set down my empty glass and step closer, so that only an inch separates me from her baby bump.
“Are you saying that you love me?”
