Page 48 of Mafia King
I had to learn to stop hating him.
The thoughts rain down.
Sometimes I think about what I lost.
It’s terrifying.
No one should count on being as lucky as I am.
You are in terrible, terrible danger.
“Tavie!” Gia calls.
I follow her eyes to a blur in a lightweight leather jacket crossing the doorway. He shoves one of the wireless headphones away from his ear.
Jesus. I should be dating guys like him, but he seems too young to even be my friend.
“Violetta is here,” Gia adds, indicating me expectantly.
“Hey,” he says with a quick wave, studying me carefully, and I remember that he’s against the idea of his sister being sold into marriage.
He must think I’m trying to be an example of why it’s okay.
This guy’s in for a big surprise.
He stalks off, and Paola shakes her head and sighs, “Boys,” making eye contact with Anette.
“Boys are nice,” Gia chirps, then checks the clock.
“He’s not coming half an hour early just because you’re ready,” her mother says.
“Which you shouldn’t be,” Anette adds.
“Oh, what’s the harm?” Gia kisses her aunt’s cheek. She’s so happy, staring expectantly at the tight bud of her life just before it blooms.
The doorbell rings and Gia gasps, bouncing up to go get it.
Paola grabs her arm. “You do not answer the door for him.”
“Especially if he’s early,” Anette adds, then calls back as she heads for the front door. “Get upstairs.”
Gia rolls her eyes and obeys, leaving Paola and I alone.
“I’m going to kill him,” Paola murmurs, using the threat the way you’d use it for an intimate—half-joking, while keeping the other half undefined. This is how I know she’s talking about her husband, Marco, before she gets to the next sentence. “He could let me tell her, but he cuts me at the knees.”Cutshas a particular venom and is accompanied by a hand slicing the air.
“Santino!” a man cries from the front door.
Shit. I have no time for this. Not another second. But I don’t know what else I expected him to do. I should have left a note that I was going to the drugstore for a pregnancy test. Checking every one in a ten-mile radius would have kept him occupied for a long time.
Gia is a pink streak across the doorframe as she rushes for the foyer, crying my husband’s name.
“Are you letting Armando sit in the car?!” she adds before the screen door creaks. “Mando! Come on in!”
Elbow on the counter, I lean over my teacup to get closer to Gia’s mother.
“Trust me,” I whisper, “I’m working on it.”
“Violetta didn’t tell me you were coming!” Gia’s voice gets closer.
