Page 55 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

Don’t follow her up the stairs.

I walk close behind her just in case she falls, but even though she sways, she makes it up the stairs, holding onto the railing. “Go away,” she says petulantly, turning to look at me.

She’s forgotten her phone in the backseat of my car, and I’m damn sure not about to remind her.

In this state she might call Derek to come over and I’ll have to get more blood on my hands.

“Samantha…tesoro…”

“Don’t you fucking call me that. Not after how you’ve acted.”

“I’m not…” I pause, running a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Save it,” she snaps. “You’re only sorry because you’re territorial.”

I open my mouth to protest but she jerks open her door, stalking in and slamming it in my face.

I stand there, staring at the closed door, for a long time.

“Goddamnit,” I curse, too loud, and head down to the basement gym. I’m already dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, and throwing my fist into something that isn’t someone’s face sounds like the best option right now.

I throw weights around, beating the shit out of the bag that Elio keeps down there for his kickboxing.

My knuckles split because I haven’t wrapped them, but I don’t care.

By the time I’m finished, I’m sweating, breathing hard, blood trickling down my fingers.

It doesn’t help the wildfire in my brain.

I know that I can’t be with Samantha.

I accepted that a long time ago. Actually, I never even thought of it as an option.

Not one that I survive. I’ve been friends with Elio for our whole lives, and Samantha is all he has left of Grace.

I’m a fucking asshole. And Samantha is right. Sheshouldmove on.

But it will fucking kill me.

I don’t sleep.

I don’t go downstairs until lunch, my stomach growling. Samantha’s nowhere to be found.

Still holed up in her room, I guess.

Or… she’s snuck out.

I haven’t been exactly paying attention, trying to fight my own thoughts all night.

Panic rises in my throat.

I turn on my heel when I don’t see her in the dining room.

Elio still isn’t back from his date, so I suppose it went well. I head back upstairs and knock on her door softly. My knuckles sting.

“Yes?” she calls, and relief washes over me, nearly weakening my knees.

“Can we talk?”