Chapter Nineteen #2
“Good, because I’d hate to think Cristiano’s death was for nothing. My family stood up then and I’m standing up now to warn you. As your friend.” He clears his throat, his eyes red-rimmed. “The hard truth is that Elio needs to be controlled or he could end up causing you trouble.”
I hold his gaze as the fire pops and a log splits, sending a shower of sparks against the screen. When I finally speak, I choose my words carefully. “I appreciate you coming to me with your concerns, Salvatore. I appreciate the sacrifices your family has made for mine.”
He nods. “I hope that’s true. As I said, I’m very fond of Elio, and I think he’s good for you. But he’s young and he’s naive about the world he now lives in. That’s not safe for either of you.”
“I agree.” Even though he sounds and looks sincere, I can’t shake the feeling his motives aren’t as pure as he’d like me to believe. But for now, I just want to reassure him that I have things under control. That’s the safest course. “It’s good you shared your feelings with me.”
“I’m relieved. This world we live in is cruel and unforgiving. I think we both know that only too well. Even when you play the game as carefully as possible, there are great losses. Through no fault of our own, you tragically lost Adriano and I lost my son Cristiano.”
“Yes.” I meet his glittering gaze and there’s enormous pain and grief there. But there’s also a quiet warning. Why? What does that look mean? I pray Elio wasn’t foolish enough to tell Salvatore how our marriage came about.
Salvatore stands, buttoning his jacket. “I appreciate you listening to me, Marcello. Hopefully you won’t tell Elio I was here. I’d hate to lose his friendship, and frankly, it’s good for him to trust me. I can keep an eye on him for you.”
“I won’t say a word.”
He leaves and I sit at my desk feeling confused and concerned.
If Elio is still in contact with Pete, I don’t know what to make of that.
That part worries me more than the fact he told Salvatore about the Lucchese debacle.
I can fix the Lucchese thing by coming up with a reason for taking the ports, but if he’s in love with Pete, I’m gutted.
That’s not something I can pay or bully my way out of.
Maybe Salvatore is wrong and it wasn’t Pete or any alpha who texted Elio.
It’s possible Salvatore misread the situation.
I want to believe that. I want to trust Elio.
But in my world trusting blindly can get you killed.
While I already have Dante watching Elio, I might need to bump the level of scrutiny up a notch.
I pick up my phone and call Dante.
He answers on the second ring. “Yes, sir.”
I grip my cell, heart pounding. “I want to know who Elio is talking to every second of every day. Not just going forward though. I want to know who he’s been talking to as well.”
A pause. “I can pull the past carrier logs through our contact at the phone company. It’ll take a day or so.”
“Do it,” I growl.
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up and go in search of Elio. I need to see him. Talk to him. Reassure myself that his feelings for me are real. I can’t accept what Salvatore said at face value. I need to look into my omega’s eyes. Only then will I truly know how he feels about me.
****
I find Elio in our room. It’s nearly ten at night and the house is quiet. Fabio went to bed an hour ago and Mama and my sisters have also retired.
Elio is on the bed, propped against the headboard, reading something on his tablet. He’s in a soft gray T-shirt that stretches across the bump and loose sweatpants, his hair still damp from a shower. The lamp on the nightstand throws warm amber light across him.
He looks up when I open the door and his face morphs into a warm smile. “I wondered when you’d come to bed.”
“I’m here now.” I close the door behind me.
I’m not ready to talk to him about what Salvatore told me.
I’ll have to eventually, but I’ll need to approach him carefully.
At the moment, I’m uncharacteristically flustered and feeling insecure.
That’s not the right headspace to talk to him about anything serious.
What I need right now is reassurance that he loves me. I want to feel the bond between us.
He frowns and sets the tablet aside, patting the bed beside him. “Is everything okay? You look tense.”
“It was a long day.”
“Come here.” He shifts, making room on the bed.
I cross the room and sit beside him. His hand finds my thigh, and the heat of his palm through the fabric of my trousers makes me instantly hard.
I don’t want to think. I don’t want to be Marcello Foschini, the mob boss, right now.
I want to be the alpha he loves. I need to know he still craves me like I do him.
He smiles at me, and I put my hand on the back of his neck.
I stare into his eyes as I pull him toward me and kiss him.
It’s not a gentle kiss. Not the easy, affectionate kisses we trade before bed.
I kiss him like I’m trying to find answers.
Confirmation that he still loves me. That I don’t have to be afraid of losing him.
He responds immediately but I feel the surprise in him. A slight stiffness before he gives in, his lips parting, his hand coming up to my jaw. “Marcello,” he murmurs against my mouth. “What’s—”
“Don’t talk.” I pull his shirt over his head and tug his sweats off.
The bump is visible now, a smooth round curve, firm when my hand passes over it.
My child is in there. My blood and Elio’s mingle in that unborn baby.
Whatever else is happening, that fact is indisputable.
But this isn’t about the baby. This is about us. Elio and me.