Page 102 of Runaway in the Mafia
“My mother?” I croaked.
He nodded vigorously.“Mi dispiace,I didn’t realise it wasn’t allowed.”
I sighed and dropped my gun.Fuck.I was losing it. Grabbing my phone, I called Mamma.
“Figlio mio,you never call me. W—”
“Is my wife there?”
“Sì,of course.”
“Tell her to come out in ten minutes.”
“You’re coming for lunch?”
“No. I’m taking her home. Out. In ten minutes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
AHANA
Iwas in the kitchen with Lia and Ada rolling out thegnocchiwhen heavy, rapid footsteps pounded through from the hallway. All I caught was Ada’s devious grin before the kitchen door exploded and Vitale burst through it.
“What did I tell you about disobeying me?” he growled.
Ugh?“I didn’t—” One minute I was standing, and the next I was hanging over his shoulder as he stormed out. Lia burst out in giggles.
“Hey Bhagwan,what is wrong with you? Put me down.” He answered by smacking my butt. The sound resonated in the hallway. Crawled all over my burning ears. I didn’t think I could turn crimson with my dark skin. But I’d bet that was the colour the heat rushing to my cheek turned me. I lifted my head and caught Ada grinning.
What was wrong with this family? How was this funny in any world?
“Let me down, Vitale.” He didn’t miss a step in his stride. “Now.” We were already out on the driveway, and I landed inhis passenger seat. He yanked the belt and snapped it in place. His body was a wall of unfiltered rage. “I don’t understand,” I muttered.
“Of course you don’t.” The door slammed on my side.
I caught him in the rearview mirror, rounding the car and kicking the back of it. He loved his car. I didn’t understand what I had done to anger him. It obviously did nothing to cool him because when he slid onto his side, he was still boiling with rage.
“What did I do?” I asked softly.
He glared out through the windscreen. “I told you not to disobey me, Ahana.”
“But I—”
“Not fucking now,” he gritted through his teeth.
I locked my lips. Not because I wanted to, but because through his anger, I could feel the sheet of his pain. For some reason, it made my heart feel constricted.
Tension coiled inside the metal walls. Outside, it ate the miles like a famished beast. He drove it like a madman. A confident lunatic. But even when his driving was rash, I felt safe with him.
No music rustled between us. Just a copious anger and raw, silent pain. Halfway through, I gingerly rested my hand on his clenched fist framing the gearshift. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t shrug it off. I encircled his hand and kept it that way all the way back.
We arrived home in a cloud of dust.
Home?
The hot engine sputtered and sparked. Vitale’s anger burned next to me.
“I’m sorry.”
