Page 32 of Scorned Beauty (Scorned Fate #5)

The Morettis had one on payroll. I didn’t sit on a couch to be psychoanalyzed by the hour. It was usually over a game of pool or darts or foosball. “According to her, I have mommy issues.”

“Like serial killers. There’s one on the loose right now.”

I scoffed. “Those are criminals perpetuating myths to cover their crime.”

“Like copycats?”

“Yes, remember that Boston Strangler case back when? One of them was a husband getting rid of his mistress because she was pregnant.”

“Yeah, Bianca told me that. The girls are probably over there discussing the Elyse Bailey case right now.” He uncorked the whiskey and poured two fingers into his glass. Interestingly enough, I craved water.

“I wouldn’t put it past Grigori to disguise his kill as the work of the Mistress Strangler. He has deep connections in law enforcement with access to the details of the case that were not made public.” We did too.

“You’ve been a person of interest, right?”

“Fuck you, Alessandro. You already know that.”

“You fit the profile.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” But there was no heat in my words. I was even amused. Maybe it was time to acknowledge the fact that I do indeed have mommy issues.

Dom, 16 years old

Ma was crying again. She’d been in bed for the past few weeks, rarely coming out of her bedroom to join us for meals.

And when she did, she was wearing the same ratty robe and her hair was piled on her head like a squirrel’s nest. Pop said she had a virus.

At least, that was what he tried to explain to me and Lucy.

I had my cousins and my friends for company, and was frequently out of the house.

But now that it was winter, and sports were on hiatus, I was roaming the vast mansion alone.

Our house staff had retired to their quarters because I offered to see to Ma’s needs.

Lucy had a music recital. She was the cellist in the orchestra, and Pop went to see her perform.

He asked me if I could stay with Ma. I wanted to do more than that.

There was guilt that I ignored her illness or whatever was plaguing her long enough.

Something happened after her visit to Grandpa last October, but I put off getting to the bottom of it because I didn’t want it to interrupt my classes.

Besides, Pop was handling it fine, until I noticed the taut stress lines on his face.

I fixed a tray of food. Cook prepared Ma’s specialty dish, lasagna ala Moretti, which simply meant lots of fancy cheese. I made the garlic bread myself. I’d assisted my mother enough times to know my way around the kitchen.

I balanced the tray on one arm and knocked.

I heard Ma call out, “Come in.”

She was sitting up in bed. Pop had already started a fire in the hearth before he left. Ma was surprised to see me. And that was when a memory hit me. I’d seen her this way before. I think when I was six years old. She’d been crying that Grandpa didn’t love her anymore.

“ Mio figlio ,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I crossed the room and set the tray on the bed. “But I wanted to, Mamma.” She loved it when I used the full Italian version of the word mother.

“I’m not hungry.” She pouted, but I could see that tiny sparkle in her eyes. Maybe all she needed was her children showing her we care. I wished Lucy would be less of a prima donna thinking about herself and how Ma’s bedridden state was consuming all of Pop’s attention.

“But you’re going to eat if I have to spoon-feed you myself,” I said firmly.

A hint of a smile curved her mouth. “You’re growing up to be as bossy as Paulie.”

“You like bossy.” I dug into the lasagna and held it out to her.

She accepted my actions of feeding her. It also filled me with accomplishment. I made her smile, even if it was just a little. I was taking care of family.

“Now tell me why you were crying,” I said. “Is it about Grandpa again?”

She took a sip of juice. Wine was not allowed because of her medications.

“Yes, and no. I don’t know, Dominic. I look at Ava and Cesar and they’re happy with their kids.

Like the barbecue this previous summer, remember?

I should be happy like them. I have a handsome son and a beautiful daughter.

A loving husband who spoils us. What more can I ask for?

” She sighed heavily. “Maybe your nonno’s acceptance doesn’t matter. ”

“What did he say to you?” I asked sharply.

I was never close to Emilio, but maybe because it was Pop keeping us away from the Chicago side of the family.

Afraid of its influence. He didn’t have a problem with our cousins who led the De Lucci crime family, maybe because he made his position clear that I would never become a made man.

Still, the allure of the forbidden was enticing to me.

“I used to be the mafia princess, you know,” she said, her eyes clouding as if transported back into her heyday. “Everyone wanted Emilio Moretti’s prized daughter. The most lucrative offer came not from the Italians, but from the Russians. It was a chance to be joined to Russian royalty.”

“Is this about the villas on the Amalfi coast?”

“Yes. The Russians were angry and refused to return the dowry. And to avoid war because it was an insult that I chose Paulie, Papa didn’t argue. But he never forgave me because Paulie wasn’t a made man. He wasn’t even the eldest son.”

“Did Grandpa say something about it to you again? It’s old history. Why bring it up?”

Ma smiled wanly and patted my fingers. “That’s your nonno. But don’t worry. I’ll get over this.”

But my mother didn’t. Three days later, I watched Pop emerge from their bedroom as if carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders. He sunk to the floor and buried his face in his hands. I was about to go to him when Lucy appeared out of nowhere and rushed to his side and hugged him.

I clenched my jaw. He wasn’t making it through to Ma.

I had to do something. I approached my cousin Mikey, who was the current underboss of the De Lucci crime family and told him I was interested in joining the family.

He looked pleased, but also thought I was out of my mind. The news reached Grandpa fast.

That was how crime families worked. The boss-to-boss bullshit.

Emilio called me that night and was the most enthusiastic he’d ever been, giving me pointers on where to start, even how to approach Pop.

Well, it was Pop who stormed into my room.

Without preamble, he roared, “I forbid it, Dominic.”

“You’ll forbid it now because you can, but when I turn eighteen, you no longer have a say.”

“I protect this family,” he snapped. “I can’t protect you if you put yourself in danger.”

“It doesn’t work that way and you know it,” I shot back. “I don’t have to work the streets.”

“You would have to deal with the criminal filth of the underworld, who has no compunction to have you killed.”

“As if that’s not what’s happening now? As much as you say we’re the legitimate side of the De Luccis, don’t tell me Mikey and them are not using your businesses to launder money.”

A movement by the door caught my attention. Lucy was glaring at me.

“Get out of here, Lucy!” I yelled at her and stalked toward her.

Pop blocked me. “Don’t you dare shout at your sister.”

“You coddle her.” I sneered. “Why don’t you teach her that this family is more than about her?”

My father’s face twisted in anguish and I almost felt ashamed at my own words. He gripped my jaw in his hands and squeezed. “This family is all I’ve ever cared about. I love your mother so much and it’s killing me I can’t reach her, but I am not sacrificing your life for my failures.”

I gripped my father’s wrists. “You’re not a failure, Pop. Let me help.”

He dropped his hands to his sides. “The price is too steep.”

I exhaled heavily. “But it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

Pop and I had more arguments in the following days, but one morning, Ma joined us for breakfast.

We were shocked.

She wasn’t in her ratty robe. She’d showered and changed, did her hair, put on makeup, and announced she was going shopping.

Pop and I locked eyes, resignation written all over his face.

I was on my way to becoming a made man.

Dom

The soothing waves of the ocean did nothing to alleviate my almighty hangover.

I rolled out of bed, parched. I didn’t even remember getting into it.

I sure as fuck hoped Sandro hadn’t carried my sorry ass and laid me in bed like Sleeping Beauty.

And he better not have taken a picture. I grabbed my phone and saw a barrage of messages.

I didn’t bother checking them and went straight to my video surveillance of Sloane.

All were blank except the perimeter and the kitchen. Fucking Sandro.

It was a little past midnight and I could see lights in her living room and hear the muffled chatter of the girls talking. I hoped they were helping Sloane cope, because it looked like I had my own shit to address.

To be in Sloane’s life the way she deserved, I needed to make changes in mine.

My father loved Ma to distraction. He said he had never been a victim of the De Lucci obsession curse, but I believed he was lying.

See, I wasn’t taking care of Ma alone. It was hard for me to see my old man struggle, not knowing how to reach the woman he loved to pieces.

Emilio’s cruel rejection was a trigger for Ma’s depression.

Lucy scoffed that it was all an act. Be that as it may, I had the power to pull her out of it.

If Ma was happy, Pop would be happy, and he loved her enough not to blame her for my choice.

Not so with Lucy. She was only eight years old when that all went down, but hell, did she hold a grudge against me and Ma.

I learned early in life to take care of what was mine. And I considered all the De Luccis and Morettis mine.

Like when Matteo went after Sera, and I stood up to Luca for my cousins.

Or when I had to address Nico’s beef with Joe Rossi. I had my suspicions he and Sandro conspired to whack the Rossi boss, but like all things mafia related, the less we talked about it, the better.

Then came the war between the Rossis and the De Luccis, where they kidnapped Bianca, and shot Renz. I was fucking furious, but I’d been the voice of reason in talking down Uncle Cesar and his boys from waging an all-out war.

The villas on the Amalfi coast had become a nonissue. We were not getting those back. Ma would just have to suck it up. Besides being tainted with the sex-trafficking business, they would be a constant reminder how I’d failed Sloane. Letting them go was the right thing to do.

Sloane insisted our affair was over, and we didn’t owe each other an explanation.

But we were both fantastic liars, preferring to hurt each other to protect that lie.

But the burden and shame were on me. I was in the position of power in this relationship.

I should have done something to not make that matter to Sloane.

See, I think I’m in love with this stubborn woman.

I needed to figure out how to bring her into my life without triggering World War III with my mother.

But Luca’s words were an echo in my head. Being as sharp as he was, my uncle knew my problems were not only the wealth and status imbalance, but also my mother.

I had to protect that choice with my life.

I choose Sloane.