Page 58 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince

"That was different. You put me in a corner and expected me to lie about what I’m not, when I didn’t have a choice. You had no right?—"

"I had every right," I snap, stepping toward him. "I listened to you tell me you didn’t believe in permanence. That you didn’t want to be tied down. You think I was going to hand over two babies to a man who called fatherhood a cage and implied the best way forward was an abortion?"

For a moment, the color drains from his face, as if he’s realized what he had said.

Then the mask slips back on, and he’s the same man he always was.

"You should have told me anyway," he says, voice tight with fury. "You should have given me the chance."

"Why?" I ask, feeling the edge of tears but refusing them. "So you could prove what I already knew? So you could abandon them the same way you walk away from every woman who gets too close? So they would live a lifetime learning their father is the worst fucking example of a man to exist?"

He looks at me like he doesn’t recognize me.

Maybe he doesn’t.

"I’ll marry you," he says, his voice so quiet I have to strain my ears to listen. "I’ll do what Luca wants. But don’t expect anything else. I’m not going to play house. I’ll be their father, and I’ll protect them, but that’s it. My life is mine."

A bitter laugh escapes me, barbed and raw.

"Trust me, I wouldn’t dream of trying to be part of your life. You think I want to share a bed with you? You think I want to be chained to a manwhore who only remembers how to care when it’s too late?"

His eyes darken, and for a moment, I think he’ll throw something.

But he doesn’t.

He just steps closer.

"You’re angry," he says. "You have every reason to be. But don’t pretend you know me anymore."

"I know enough," I say. "And I know what you are."

He doesn’t reply, but perhaps that’s because we’ve exhausted all words, all possible hope of any sensible conversation.

I walk to the door and pause with my hand on the handle.

"When you come by the south wing," I say quietly, not turning around, "do it as their father. Nothing else."

10

DANTE

Ileave the study without speaking to anyone.

Not to Luca, not to Marco, and definitely not to Gianna.

The rage coils under my skin like a living thing, quiet and hot, and I know if I open my mouth right now, I’ll say something I won’t be able to take back.

The gravel crunches under my boots as I walk across the estate courtyard and get into the car.

I don’t bother calling ahead.

Everyone in this city knows the Salvatore name.

They’ll make room for me, like they always do.

By the time I reach the brothel, the sun is bleeding into the horizon.

The lights are warm here, the music low, the voices never too curious.