Page 147 of Wounded King

He takes a torta della Nonna for himself and a small cup of espresso, black, and returns to his spot by the wall. Papà regains his composure and winks at Zia Rosa, who, waving her towel, marches out of the room, swinging her voluptuous behind seductively, making me nearly choke on my cake.

"I might have to marry that woman," Papà declares.

Marcello snorts. "Good luck with that. Many men have tried."

The flaky pastry I just put in my mouth turns to ash, making it hard to swallow, and a question burns in my mind. As inappropriate as it might be right now, I need to know. "What are you going to do to Mom?"

Papà's expression turns serious. "I don't know yet, stellina."

"You can't kill her," I blurt out.

"Violetta," he tilts his head.

"You can't." I insist.

"Violet," this comes from Marcello, and slowly, he shakes his head at me. "Bianca has hurt your father a great deal," he begins, surprising me by taking his side. Then again, they're both men, so I shouldn't be that surprised. And both capos at that.

"I get you guys have some code of honor," I interrupt Marcello, "but she's my mom, and you can't kill her."

I haven't fully had time to process my mother's betrayal yet. Or the fact that she's been manipulating me and my siblings for years, but she's still my mother. The woman I loved and adored. That's not going to change, no matter how mad I am at her. Not even now, after finding out that she isn't the person I always believed her to be. That she lived in luxury while my siblings and I… well, we didn't exactly starve. And dressing us in secondhand clothing hasn't hurt us one bit either. So what that we didn't get to go to private schools or summer camps; it's that she purposefully withheld our father from us… I sigh. Yeah, I still have a lot to work through mentally.

"We don't have to solve everything right now, today, Violetta, eh?" Papà says.

"Your family is still under my protection, that includes your mother," Marcello promises.

His words assure me like only he can. I understand that what my mother did is unforgivable, especially in the world she lived in—my world, now. It's ironic that after she took us away from the mafia, I fell for a mobster. It almost makes me believe in fate and destiny.

"No, Papà, we don't," I agree, squeezing his hand.

Enzo has glued himself to me. I have no way to rid myself of his presence short of shooting him, and given the fact that I'm about to confront the woman who is the reason for Violet's injuries. I understand his desire to be part of it. Understanding it, however, is a far cry from being happy about it.

"How long are you planning to stay in the city?" I inquire. It's not a polite question. Having the capo of another mafia family from a different territory around is always a danger. No matter the family ties.

"As long as it takes," he replies dryly. We both know he's not going anywhere until he resolves his family issues.

"I can't allow you to harm Bianca, regardless of what she did," I reiterate my previous statement.

His sigh is deep and full of inner conflict. His hazel eyes, a perfect replica of Violet's, are filled with indecision that contradicts the brutalness of his expression. Which, in all fairness, is a result of the many scars.

"I was going to divorce her for another woman," he says, looking out the window. "That's why she left."

Bianca alluded to that, but I hadn't been sure if I believed her at the time. I've had a chance to get to know Enzo over the past few days, and he is not the type of man who would kill his entire family. His wife? Possibly. But not his kids. His love for them is obvious. I'm not convinced that Bianca didn't feel threatened by him and ran, but I'm also not convinced that she didn't run out of vindictiveness over her husband's affair. Whatever the true reason was, it's none of my concern. I'm not getting in the middle of their marital problems other than making sure this man doesn't kill my future wife's mother. Violet may be angry at her right now, but her death would devastate her.

"She is a very vindictive person," Enzo continues, as if he plugged the thoughts from my head. "She was…isa good mother, I'll give her that, but she's also the most selfish, manipulative person I've ever met."

I keep quiet. He seems to need to get this off his chest.

"I'm probably to blame for how I handled things," he shrugs. "I was young and stupid when it came to wives or mistresses. I would have let her keep her lifestyle, compensated her generously, and shared the kids with her, but she… " he shakes his head. "She just up and left me. Without a word. For twenty years."

Silence fills the SUV. There is nothing for me to say, and he's in his own personal hell, reliving years of having no idea where his kids were, of not even knowing if they were still alive.

"I can't hurt the mother of my children. I couldn't do it then, and I can't do it now." He sounds defeated.

"Fuck," he sums it up.

A sentiment I can agree with. "Fuck."

The SUV comes to a stop. "You still want to go?" I ask Enzo.