Page 93 of Die for You
Regardless of his injuries, he traveled in the state he’s in for his family.
Valentina got up and left.
Lettie is missing.
He’s doing what any man should do when his family is at stake.
“Cazzo di bastardu!”
I may not understand Sicilian, but I’m pretty sure he just called me a fucking bastard.
Rubbing my jaw, I grin, impressed ’cause his little delicate hands can surprisingly throw a punch. If I didn’t hate the dude, I would respect him for being here and standing his ground.
But I’m not that kind of a forgiving guy.
Nico has memories of my daughter that should be mine. He protected my family when I should have. Valentina calls him darling. And my daughter calls him Daddy.
I’m envious of him because I may be rich in possessions, but I would give all of them up for the life he lived. To me, he is the wealthiest man in the whole world.
So now, I get it.
I get why Valentina loves the guy.
He’s honorable, protective, and puts his family first—he’s everything I’m not.
He raises his voice, asking me something, using his hands as all Italians do. Unlike Valentina, I don’t have the patience for a translator, so I call out to Roberto, who isn’t far away.
My men know to be on hand in case shit hits the fan, which is often.
“You’re Sicilian, correct?”
He nods.
“Good. From now on, you’re my translator. Tell me what this motherfucker is saying.”
I gesture to Nico that the floor is his and for him to speak his piece, and fuck me dead, does he speak. But it’s far from peaceful.
His monologue goes on for what seems like minutes.
His voice gets louder and louder.
His cheeks redder and redder.
Roberto nods, appearing to take it all in.
When Nico finally shuts up, I look at Roberto, who opens but soon closes his mouth. He rubs the back of his head, clearly attempting to sum up what Nico just spewed.
“He said…he said he’d rather not stay here.”
I look at Roberto for a full ten seconds before bursting into hysterical laughter. Both he and Nico look at me like I’ve lost my mind. And I probably have.
Once I’m done cackling like a schoolgirl, I say, “I think he said a little more than that.”
Roberto adjusts the thick gold crucifix around his throat. “He wants to know where his daughter and Valentina are. That America is an ugly place with terrible food.”
“And?” I prompt, as there is more.
“And that you’re a fucking asshole, and when he gets better, he’s going to kill you.” Roberto takes a subtle step backward while I cock my head to the side, impressed once again with Nico’s balls.
