Page 25 of Scorned Beauty

I left him on read and signed out of the meeting, leaving him to explain. I was crossing the foyer when Ma walked in with Sera. I should revoke their access to my penthouse.

Annoyance was written all over my mother’s face. Meanwhile, Sera struggled to keep the humor off hers. Gio, her son, was with her.

I gave the boy my attention. “What do you feed this boy?” I picked up the toddler and held him in my arms like a shield against the storm my mother was about to unleash. It confused people when I tried to explain that Sera and Matteo were my cousins, but they were married to each other. They were not blood related. Sera was my cousin through my Moretti side, while Matteo was my cousin on the De Lucci side. It was too early to tell who their son would take after.

“He eats a lot,” Sera said.

“How old is he now?”

“Nine months.”

“Is he walking yet?”

“Well—”

“Dominic, seriously?” my mother snapped. “What’s with the small talk?”

I grinned at her and walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Morning, Ma.”

“It’s afternoon,” she shot back.

“I was on my way to the kitchen for a shot of espresso. Anyone want one?”

“Si, might as well,” my mother muttered. I handed Gio back to Sera.

“Can we wait for you in the living room?” Sera asked. “Gio is starting to pull himself up to stand and likes to grab things.”

Ma gave Gio a fond look and then looked pointedly at me. This was going to be an uncomfortable conversation. Giving her grandchildren was not in my five-year plan.

I put a plate of butter biscuits and their espressos on the tray and headed for the living room. I used to have fancier pastries in the fridge. My longtime housekeeper quit and moved back to the Midwest, saying she’d had enough of city life and wanted to be closer to her grandchildren.

Poor Ma. My sister and I were not keen on domestic life anytime soon.

“So, what’s with the visit?”

Ma took a sip of her espresso. “You’re still playing coy. I told you to be at the dinner party last Saturday.”

“I was out of town.”

“That’s what Sonny said. Also, you were not responding to calls or texts.” I needed to touch base with my underboss, Sonny. He was in charge of our street business of smuggled goods and construction schemes while I kept our public face clean.

“I was in Cape Cod, in the middle of the ocean. No signal.”

“Didn’t I tell you it was an important dinner? Margo Winthrop was there.”

Margo Winthrop was the matchmaker of the mafia, billionaires, and politicians. She ran the company called Marriage Ink. She had contacts from powerful politicians to the powerful players in the underworld. Her expertise was to secure alliances.

I relaxed against the sofa. “I’m not ready to consider marrying into the Russian bratva to solve your problem.”

“My problem?” Her voice rose. “It’s a Moretti legacy.”

“If it was considered a legacy, Nonno shouldn’t have promised it to the Russians when you were not committed to the arranged marriage.”

“Let me remind you,caro mio, that you and your sister wouldn’t exist if I didn’t marry your papa.”

“Then why are they so important?” The properties in question were five luxury villas scattered along the Amalfi coast that were used as a dowry for Ma’s arranged marriage into the bratva, which she called off to marry Pop. The Morettis gave up those villas to avoid conflict with the bratva. The Russians accepted them to avoid embarrassment on both sides.

“Your nonno was heartbroken to let them go.” Ma pounded on her chest. “Before he died, I promised Papa I would get them back.”