Page 74 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

Elio takes another breath and when he speaks again, his voice is stronger. “How’s Sam? Is she worried sick? I haven’t called her yet.”

“She’s… alright,” is all I can manage without completely falling apart. I can’t stop thinking of those wide brown eyes, her trembling lip, the tears streaming down her face. It makes my stomach roll.

“I’ll give her a call. And Dante?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I dunno, saving my fucking life? And for the advice. It helps more than you know.”

Guilt twists at the back of my head. “Don’t mention it.”

“Don’t fuck around and forget to come get me in the morning, I’m making Doc take this fucking IV out at daylight.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Ricardo still there?”

“No, but I’ll call him back.”

“That kid,” Elio hums. “His mom’s sick, you know.”

Ricardo’s younger than us, in his thirties. “Bad sick?”

“Cancer.”

I go silent. I know cancer is a sore subject around Elio, given how Grace died.

“Anyway, I need to call my daughter. I’ll see you bright and early. Call your girl and tell her you love her.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Your loss.”

It absolutely is. He’s right. There’s a pit in my stomach. He hangs up and I sit up on the bed, sighing heavily before getting up. My stomach is growling. I’m still tired enough I could probably still go back to sleep, but I should eat something.

I make my way out into the hall, pausing at the top of the stairs. I glance down to make sure Samantha isn’t on the couch, my heart pounding. She isn’t. I’m almost disappointed.

I almost turn around and head toward her door.

I descend the stairs. There’s remnants of Samantha on the dining room table. Saltine crackers. Ginger ale. I swallow hard. She’s probably cried so much she made herself sick. And it’s all my fault.

I was needlessly cruel, and I wish I could apologize. But all that would do is give her hope. Hope that can lead nowhere.

I head to the kitchen where I find a bowl of pasta salad. I demolish it while leaning against the kitchen counter, then wash the bowl in the sink and put it up. It doesn’t exactly make me feel better, but it makes me feel less nauseous, and that’s a plus.

I pull out my phone and call Ricardo.

“Dante?” He sounds half-asleep.

“Shit. Sorry to call so late.”

I actually have no idea what time it is. I hadn’t looked at my phone or my watch other than to talk to Elio and call Ricardo.

“It’s alright. What’s up?”