Chapter 13 #2
Elio’s mouth twisted up in distaste. Clearly, he didn’t seem willing to oblige his sister-in-law. Especially considering he shook his head and spat, “This is not business, Cecilia. Your husband knows exactly what I’m talking about.”
Well, wasn’t that nice. Perhaps he would have cared to share with the class, or in this case, the table. Judging by the looks on most everyone’s face, few people were knowledgeable on what he was getting at.
Frankly, I would have preferred to keep my gaze lowered, homing in on my plate and the food I hadn’t yet touched.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from darting my eyes in Santo’s vicinity.
His eyes showed nothing more than darkness, something I was sure they shared with his blackened ticker.
Santo waved Elio off. “I will handle matters the way I see fit,” he guaranteed, his expression stoic.
Elio shot a look around the room faster than a bullet flew out of a gun once it was fired before paying his attention to Santo again.
“You will not blow me off.” He pushed his chair back from the table, following suit with the way Dario had handled things a few moments ago.
“We are talking about irrevocable damage to a legacy we built. A legacy we are continuing to build.”
Marco applauded for no reason at all. Although, with the way his jaw tensed, something told me the movement was oozing with more sarcasm than an open wound oozed pus. “Are you done now?” he questioned.
“Deluca Industries will feel catastrophic ripples from this.”
Apparently not. Apparently, Elio had more on his mind.
“Dad, what is he alluding to?” Vito asked, obviously intrigued since his precious legacy was being threatened. Interestingly, though, everyone else remained quiet.
Siena, for one, had completely checked out, perusing something on her phone.
I suppose I couldn’t have blamed her because it had nothing to do with her. Deluca Industries had always been a family legacy, but it was different for Capri and Siena. It was more so a burden that fell solely on their brothers.
If either one of them had ever expressed a remote interest in the company, that probably would have been one thing, but Capri had nothing but disdain for these specific family affairs.
I wasn’t sure exactly where Siena fell on the spectrum of loathing it, but she had never inserted herself to make her opinion known.
“I’m not alluding to anything, my nephew. I’m outright saying it. This girl is going to be our downfall,” Elio said with a mouth full of venom he was ready to shoot right at me if he wasn’t heard.
The more he talked, the less sense he made.
Did he forget his brother was the one who had arranged this farce?
It didn’t seem plausible I could be their downfall when I was actually helping Santo.
He wanted those centers, and he wasn’t getting them without my father getting what he wanted. One hand washed the other.
The pressure to address Elio tightened around me like a corset.
I blinked, looking from Elio to Santo and finally Marco, who didn’t notice I turned to him.
He couldn’t have with the way his fingers coiled tightly into a fist that grazed my arm lightly.
His glare was icy, which was in direct contrast to the fiery rage that practically rolled over his body.
Marco continued to watch Elio, who didn’t seem to be in a rush to elaborate on his baseless accusation.
It had to be nothing more than that, or he would have followed his statement up with reasoning.
Unless he thought he was too good for that and none of us needed it just because he made his opinion known.
If that were the case, he would have been wrong.
As if Marco had been contemplating it and finally decided Elio wasn’t worth his restraint, he gritted his teeth. “Say that again to my face,” he demanded, his voice boisterous and tone gravelly.
Cecilia cleared her throat and stood up, her hand gesturing in the direction of her brother-in-law. “Elio.” Then her hand gestured toward her husband. “Santo. Is this necessary?”
“She’s pregnant,” Elio shouted, pointing in my direction, as if no one would have been the wiser to deduce he was still talking about me.
Shock trickled down my spine like water from a shower faucet. Arching my back, I moved away from Marco’s arm, trying to cool the rage within.
Who did Elio think he was?
And how had he found out?
There was almost no way Marco had confided in him.
Cecilia turned to me, her expression softening. “Is that true?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as sincerity crept into it.
I widened my eyes as my heart thudded.
Was it true?
Of course it was true.
“I—”
“You don’t have to answer that. They’re worse than the FBI hunting down a don,” Marco said, adamant about it as he shook his head.
Rocco whistled, and my head practically snapped off my neck as I whipped it in his direction. “You work fast, brother,” he said, his voice oddly proud, as he leaned back in his chair, his muscles straining behind his leather jacket.
I pursed my lips and stared at him, hoping it gained me some clarity on his thought process and how he would have seen this as something to smile about.
Did no one in this room comprehend the situation we were in?
Why on earth would we have wanted to have a baby together?
Yes, a baby was a blessing, but it wasn’t ideal in this scenario.
“It’s not his spawn. Is it, my son?” Santo asked.
“Asking questions you already have answers to is a waste of time,” Marco said casually, like he suddenly thought the whole topic was droll.
I wasn’t sure I could have exhibited the same even-keeled temperament if I were him.
Not that I knew how he went from pissed to calm in seconds flat.
As for myself, I wasn’t sure I was exhibiting anything close to it even though I had yet to speak.
Inside, my stomach was a fiery pit ready to explode.
It felt only right I kept the flames that could’ve engulfed the house locked up by keeping my mouth shut.
Cecilia pushed her chair back, never once making eye contact with me or anyone else at the table again. “Excuse me. I think I’ll check on my grandchildren. Maria, would you care to join me?” she asked, her back already to all of us.
“Of course. We should check on the kids,” Maria replied, laying a hand on Dom’s arm as if to tell him it was time for both of them to leave, not just her.
I followed them with my gaze as they disappeared from the dining room. It intrigued me how while Dom was part of the family, he had managed to escape them. The balance he had on the tightrope was remarkable and practically a thing of pure entertainment to watch.
It was also something I would never experience in the same fortunate way Maria was able to.
No one who had a relationship with a Deluca man would.
For many reasons, but the main one being that no one was Dominic Deluca. Simply put, it didn’t take a genius to notice the man was one of a kind.
“Does someone care to pass the eggplant?” Dario asked right before he downed the rest of his drink, holding a hand out as he assumed someone would do that for him.
I may have, but it was on the other side of the table, and no offense to Dario, but there were more pressing matters at hand than his desire to fill his stomach.
Santo looked directly at Marco, but it was the way he managed to blend the look like he was out for blood with being unfazed that had a jolt spark through my body. “How long did you think you could keep this from us?”
“You know what I find ironic?” He dragged his arm away from my chair and shot his forefinger and thumb out, pointing them at his father like they were lethal.
“I don’t recall being filled in on the details of the arrangement before being forced to marry someone.
Do you, Brooklyn?” He didn’t give me time to answer, though, leading me to believe his was purely a rhetorical question.
“So, why in the hell would I come to you about anything happening between us?”
Vito cleared his throat, picking up his fork and spearing an olive through the prongs. “What is happening between you?” If he had meant for the inquiry to be flippant, he needed lessons.
“Depends on who’s asking,” Marco drawled, resting his arms on the table, his chest heaving with the large inhale he took before exhaling. “As far as you’re concerned, Brooklyn and I are supposed to be getting married, planning a wedding, and sharing a house. All of which we’re doing. Capisce?”5
“Robert is to never find out about this child,” Santo interrupted, giving me chills as his eyes narrowed.
By no stretch of the imagination were my chills to be misconstrued as fear of him.
He didn’t scare me. Perhaps it was na?ve of me to say, but I wasn’t afraid to be on the opposing side of the man.
The chills I felt were more from the fact that he had private information few others knew.
I was also curious as to how Elio had found out I was pregnant. “Robert? How do you know—”
Santo raised a hand. “This is not a discussion. My word is final. He’s not to find out.”
My lips twitched, and I so badly wanted to say a million improper things, flinging them at him like he was nothing more than a dartboard.
Instead, I read his body language and opted to let him believe he was in control, offering him a faint smirk.
“Too bad he already knows.” Amusement laced my words like drugs in someone’s food.
I would have felt bad about it, but I didn’t.
“You told him?”
“His mind-reading skills have been a little rusty lately.”
“You’re definitely your father’s daughter.”
Marco got up, leaning his hands on the table as he looked like he was about to lunge for Santo. “I think that’s enough,” he yelled, his eyes fixed on Santo.
This was merely inevitable. Santo had no idea the woman he was sparring with. He had no idea the woman he had selected to become his newest daughter-in-law.