Page 120 of Mafia Mistress

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Francesca

I was just comingout of my old room when Giulio hurried along the hall, his head down. “Hey, G,” I called as I shut the door. “Did you want to—?”

He glanced up and I saw tears streaming down his face. “Not now, Frankie.”

When he tried to dodge around me to go into his room, I put my hand out to stop the door from closing. I slipped inside as he flopped on the bed, face first. “What’s wrong?”

“You’ll just take his side. You’re practically his wife.”

He had a fight with Fausto, obviously. “Except I’m not and never will be. So, what happened?”

Giulio whispered, “He found out, Frankie.”

I knew instantly what he was talking about. I dropped onto the mattress. “Oh, shit. How?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always been so careful.”

“What did he say?”

“That I have to break up with Paolo. If I don’t, he said he would have Paolo killed.”

What the fuck?I sucked in a breath, my hands reaching out to steady me on the bed. “Was he serious?”

“My father does not joke, not about murder. He was very serious.”

And this man was the father of my child?

Great choice, Frankie.

“Does he think breaking up with Paolo will turn you straight?”

Giulio gave a harsh humorless laugh. “If so, he will be very disappointed. He wants me to marry and have babies. When I take over as capo, he said he doesn’t care if I fuck men. But until then I cannot risk all he’s built.”

My skin turned hot as I considered this. Instead of doing the brave thing and supporting Giulio, he was forcing his son to live a lie so the family could save face. What a coward.

What an asshole.

I looked at Giulio, who’d never asked to be gay. He just was—and why couldn’t Fausto understand that? His son had struggled with this secret for so long because he knew the repercussions, and his father had proved him right.

Who cared if Giulio was gay? It was none of anyone’s business.

Fausto was being a shitty father and a shitty human being.

My heart raced as I stood. “I will go talk to him.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Giulio said. “He will see it as interfering.”

I didn’t care. If this was Fausto’s parenting style, then I needed to know it sooner rather than later. Because no way would I raise a child with a man who chose the mafia over his own flesh and blood.

I hugged Giulio and walked out. No doubt Fausto was in his office, probably gloating over ruining Giulio’s life. I marched down there, my ears buzzing with indignation. He would listen to me. Once he calmed down, he would see reason and reconsider.

I didn’t bother knocking. Instead, I threw open the door and stepped in. Marco and Fausto were in the middle of a conversation, but I didn’t care. This was too important. “A word, Fausto.”

My man leaned back in his chair. “Francesca, this is not a good time. Did you notice the door was closed?”

Was he patronizing me? “I will speak with you now. Alone.”

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