Page 76 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
The question slips out before I can stop it, carrying more judgment than I intended. But how do you watch your child’s dreams get crushed and do nothing?
“My mother wasn’t exactly the protective type.” His voice goes carefully neutral. “She had her own way of coping with our lifestyle. Pills, mostly. And the occasional affair when she thought no one was looking. She didn’t have much to do with us unless she had to. We were mostly raised by nannies.”
He says it like it’s no big deal, but I can read between the lines. A cold father who crushed dreams and a mother who checked out emotionally. No wonder Lorenzo grew up thinking love was something you took instead of something freely given.
My mind drifts to his mother, and I feel a stab of sympathy. Did she even want children? Did anyone ask her what she wanted, or was she just another pawn moved around the board by powerful men?
No wonder she checked out. Prescription pills and affairs seem like reasonable coping mechanisms when your entire life is decided for you.
If I’d been raised by my biological family, would I be in some arranged marriage right now? Is that what my birth mother was trying to save me from—being used as a pawn in the games powerful, criminal men play?
The irony isn’t lost on me. I ended up there anyway.
But looking at Lorenzo, I can’t help thinking it doesn’t seem all bad in my case. Which probably makes me an idiot, but there it is.
I study Lorenzo’s face, wondering how he turned out so different from his parents. There’s darkness in him, sure. I’ve seen glimpses of it. But there’s so much more. Like the way his eyes soften when he talks about his family.
I don’t know much about his relationship with Dario, but I know he’s next in line to be don.
Somehow, I doubt that Lorenzo started training him at the young age of eight, introducing him to violence and crime before he even hit puberty.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to fulfill your dreams,” I say, surprised by his openness. It’s like learning about his deception has somehow freed him to show me more of who he really is. “I can’t imagine living like that, knowing you have no choices.”
“The Andrettis have run the mafia for three generations,” he says, but the words sound hollow. “My grandfather built this empire, and it’s my duty to keep it going.”
His words don’t sound like his own, and the bitter edge to his voice makes me want to reach out and comfort him. Which is probably stupid, considering everything I’ve learned, but I can’t help it.
My feelings for him haven’t disappeared. They’re still there, just as deep as before but heavier now. Complicated.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
I reach across the table and take his hand anyway. His dark eyes lock on mine, and the corner of his mouth lifts in that half-smile that never fails to make my pulse skip.
“Don’t feel too bad for me, baby,” he says, squeezing my fingers. “I’ve had a good life, even if I had to let a few dreams go. I’m rich and powerful, and I have a good family. It’s almost everything.”
“Almost?”
“Something’s always been missing.” His thumb traces across my knuckles, and I hate how right his touch feels. “For years, I thought it was about those lost dreams. But now I realize what I really needed was someone to remind me there’s life outside my obligations. You’ve done that for me, Mia. You’ve given me what I didn’t know I needed.”
My heart does that stupid fluttering thing again. No one’s ever said anything like that about me. No one’s ever been drawn to me with this kind of intensity.
Part of me wants to bask in it. The bigger part remembers why we’re having this conversation in the first place.
I pull my hand away, and his fingers twitch like he wants to grab me back. He doesn’t, though, which I appreciate.
“Those are pretty words,” I say, “but you stalked me and lied to me from the beginning.”
“I never lied to you.”
I give him a look. “Lies by omission are still lies, Lorenzo. You’ve kept serious information from me. You’re still keeping secrets.”
I fidget with my napkin, folding and unfolding it because I need something to do with my hands. Lorenzo stays quiet, letting me gather my thoughts.
“I care about you,” I finally admit. “I can’t lie about that. But I’m not sure it’s enough to overlook all of this. How am I supposed to trust someone who has this...obsession?”
“What’s so bad about that?” His voice drops to that dangerous whisper that does things to my insides. “My obsession with you comes from my feelings, Mia. I have darkness in me—I’ve never lied about that. But my need for you doesn’t come from that dark place.”
He bites his bottom lip, looking uncertain for the first time since I’ve known him.
