Page 49 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

I push my food around on my plate, taking a tiny bite of mashed potatoes. “In vino veritas.”

He goes silent, stiff. “Yeah, well. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Of course it matters.”

He sighs and puts his fork down, chewing and swallowing before leaning back against his chair. “Samantha…”

Notlittle one.Nottesoro.Just my name.

I feel like there’s a rock in my throat. I can barely swallow around it. “Papa’s always out with that blonde, and you’re always gone, and I’ve been all alone for days.” My voice comes out whinier than I want it to.

“Ricardo’s here.”

“Ricardo’s weird,” I say flatly, hoping to make him laugh.

He doesn’t even crack a smile. Dante finishes his plate and stands, picking it up and taking it to the kitchen without another word.

My chest hurts when I hear him laugh, the sound of water running. What’s he doing? Helping Maria with the dishes?

I huff out a breath and look down at my plate, pushing it away before getting up and hurrying upstairs, tears burning at the backs of my eyes. I have to get out of here.

Distract myself. Stop thinking about Dante.

I call Sofia first, but I don’t get an answer. She’s probably holed up somewhere with Dmitri. Wiping at the tears that have slipped down my cheeks, I call Reese instead.

He answers on the second ring.

“Please tell me you want to go out.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Badly.”

“Thank God,” he groans. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of Sofia.”

I frown.

Usually when Reese is desperate to go out, he’s celebrating or he’s on the outs with Vaughn. And it doesn’t sound like he’s celebrating.

“What’s going on with you and Vaughn?”

He goes silent. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh…kay,” I say slowly. That’s not like Reese.

He talks about any and everything, even if it is something emotionally vulnerable.

He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, and he’s been mad about Vaughn Ricci since high school. “Where are we going?”

“There’s this place called the Dove.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Heard it’s a dive.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But I don’t want to be around a big crowd tonight. I just want to get drunk.”

“And maybe after a couple you’ll tell me what’s going on?”

“Maybe,” he hedges.

“Alright, I’ll get Ricardo to drive us. We’ll pick you up in say, an hour.”