Page 115 of Mafia Mistress

“He will marry you, Frankie. Mark my words.”

“No, he won’t. He told me that it’s not unusual for mistresses to have babies in his world.”

Giulio pursed his lips and said something to Zia, who nodded several times as she answered. “What?” I asked.

“Zia agrees with me. He will marry you eventually.”

Had no one even considered what I wanted? “Maybe I don’t want to marry him. Maybe I want to take my child back to Toronto.”

“He will never allow that to happen, bella.”

Fausto had said as much, but maybe he’d change his mind. Once the diapers and late-night feedings started, he’d probably be glad to get rid of me and the baby. “I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t. You love us both.”

I drank my juice and tried not to react. Love Fausto? No way. I couldn’t. It would be awful, loving him when he didn’t love me in return. Eventually he’d take another mistress and that would kill me. I was the jealous type. No way would I be able to share him with anyone else.

You’re jealous because you love him.

Ugh.

Zia set an espresso in front of Giulio and I eyed it hungrily. Did they make decaf espresso? I would need to research that ASAP.

Actually, I knew nothing about being pregnant. I would have to research all of it ASAP. Weren’t there special vitamins and doctor’s appointments?

Oh, God. I put my head in my hands. How had I let this happen?

“How did he take the news, by the way?”

I looked up at Giulio. “He’s thrilled.”

Giulio grinned. “I knew it.” He exchanged words with Zia, then filled me in. “Zia is not surprised, either. She said he will right the wrongs of his past with you.”

Great. Just what I wanted.

I never got to see the little changes in her, the signs of my son growing in her body.

Hard to feel sorry for him when he was off fucking another woman during Lucia’s pregnancy.

My phone lit up and I saw Gia’s name on the screen. Why was my sister calling me from Toronto at—I glanced at the time and did the math—three thirty in the morning? “Scusci,” I said and swiped to accept the call as I stood up. “Gia? Why are you up so late?”

When I started to leave, Zia pressed my uneaten cornetto in my hand. “Per il bambino.”

I rolled my eyes but took the pastry. “Grazie,” I told her and then walked outside to the terrace. A stone table with an umbrella was already set up, casting shade in the morning heat.

“Are you there, Frankie?” Gia was speaking quietly.

“I’m here. What is going on? Why are you calling me so late?”

“Are you really Fausto Ravazzani’s goomah?”

Suddenly, I lost my appetite. I set the cornetto on the table. “How did you hear?”

“Papà is losing his mind. I heard him yelling about it with Uncle Reggie. He is pissed.” She paused. “It’s really true? You’re his mistress?”

There was no use lying about it now. And I hadn’t even told her the worst part. “Yes, and brace yourself, Gia. It gets worse.”

“Oh, my God. Spill it.”

---