Page 79 of Mob Queen

“The politician has virgin ears,” Frankie taunts.

Elena giggles and when we give her our attention, her cheeks redden, her eyes widen and she lowers her head. “Sorry,” Elena whispers.

“She has a sense of humor,” Frankie says. “Good to know.” Elena looks up from beneath her lashes at Frankie and allows a tiny smile to tug at her lips before she lowers her head again.

I’d love to know why she’s so meek, and exactly who she is.

Mya enters the dining room with two big platters of food. “Slow cooked pork shoulder with braised beans. And red pesto gnocchi.” She places them closest to Frankie and exits before returning with a massive glass bowl. “Insalata.”

The salad alone looks amazing, but that slow cooked pork...I could get used to this. Frankie helps herself first and then pushes the platters and bowl toward Elena. Her frightened gaze darts around the table as she waits. “Eat, Elena,” Frankie says.

“But.” Elena gulps and slumps her shoulders. “I’m last to get food.”

“In this household the women are served first,” Rome says.

Elena is clearly confused by the dynamics. “But, you’re the don, you take food first, then the men, all of them, then I get what’s left.”

Her statement is wrong on so many levels. It churns my stomach to know this is how she’s been raised. To be nothing more than wasted space. Who the hell are her parents? “In this household, the women are served first,” Frankie reiterates her brother’s words with finality.

Elena gulps and darts her eyes around the table once more before reaching for the pork. “Thank you.” She places a small amount of her plate and looks to Frankie for approval.

“For God’s sake,” Frankie grumbles. She pushes her chair back, heads over to where Elena is sitting and scoops a heaping amount of food on her plate, before adding some salad and gnocchi. By the time Frankie is done, Elena’s plate is full. “You need to eat.”

Elena’s enlarged eyes nearly pop out of her head. “Are you sure, Don DeLuca?”

“It’s Frankie, and yes, I’m sure.” Frankie sits once again and begins to eat while her brother and I help ourselves to the food.

“Thank you.” Elena reaches for her fork and begins to eat.

Mya enters the dining room and pours us each a wine, but Rome takes Elena’s glass. “No alcohol for Elena, Mya. Please bring her a soda or a water.”

“Of course, sir. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” She smiles to Elena who responds in kind.

Frankie’s brother is quite protective of Elena. I wonder why? The baby obviously isn’t his, so why would he be sheltering her?

“Your father is north of our border. How did you get here?” Frankie asks.

Elena sinks into her seat. She really doesn’t want to talk about it. “I hitchhiked.”

“You did what?” Rome asks. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Especially because of who you are, not to mention.” He pointedly looks at her stomach.

“I had to get out of there. If not, I’m not sure what would’ve happened.”

I stop eating, feeling sick to my core. “Why?” I stupidly ask.

Elena glances around the table before lowering her fork and placing both her hands in her lap. “He had a doctor’s appointment set for me.”

“Who did?” Rome asks.

She looks at Rome, her eyes full of tears. “My father,” she says through a choke. “He told me that because I wasn’t pure he’d...”

Bile rises to the back of my throat.

“What?” Frankie asks. “He’d what?” Frankie’s jaw is tight, her nostrils are flaring as she’s staring at Elena.

She protectively places her hand over her bump. “He said he’d fix this, then I’d be stitched up so I could be pure for my husband.”

“You’re married?” I ask, completely confused.

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