Page 118 of Mafia Mistress

“Thank you.”

“What are you going to do?”

“We could get rid of the soldier. Maybe Giulio is only attracted to this particular man.”

My cousin winced. “Rav, you know that isn’t how it works.”

Did I? Dio cane, I didn't know anything at the moment. I felt numb. “Do you think he loves this man?” Marco pressed his lips together, hesitating, and I had my answer. “Cazzo Madre di Dio!”

“This is not a fling. They are serious. Hey, at least he’s not sleeping around.”

“Sí, sí. Thank God for that.”

“I meant that he isn’t taking risks. The more people who know, the more dangerous it is for him.”

I picked up my phone and texted my son.

My office. Immediately.

“What are you going to do?” Marco asked again.

“I need to talk to him. Tell him to give up this man. After he has married and given me grandchildren, then he can continue his secret affairs.”

“Is that really what you want for him?”

“What is my other choice?” I hissed. “Kill him? I cannot do that either.”

Marco held up his palms. “No one is suggesting that. But you’re having another child. If it’s a boy, then Giulio could move away. Live a life outside the ’ndrina—”

“No,” I snapped. “I am not disowning my son and forcing him to live in exile. He will give up this man and get married.”

Marco clearly didn’t approve but he kept silent. Which was wise, considering I had already decided how this would be handled. I would not be talked out of it.

Giulio was home, so I wasn’t surprised when a knock sounded seconds later. I told him to come in and then my son strode into the room. I still remembered holding him as a baby, his chubby fingers wrapped around mine as he learned to walk. I had been the one to break the news to him about his mother, had consoled him and dried his tears. I gave him his first gun and taught him how to shoot it. I was there to induct him into the ’Ndrangheta. Everything I had done for the last eighteen years had been for him.

He would do this one thing for me.

“Sit down,” I barked and pointed at the empty seat next to Marco.

My cousin started to stand, but I told him to stay. He was often the voice of reason when my temper got the better of me.

I folded my hands and tried to remain calm. “I will ask you this once and only once. And I expect the truth, Giulio.”

A flash of fear went through my son’s gaze, but he tried to smile through it. “Of course, Papà. I would never lie to you.”

“Are you gay?”

He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to be breathing, as he stared at me. After a few very long seconds, he swallowed. “You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t already know the answer.”

“Still, I want to hear you say it. To my face.”

His chin lifted, the Ravazzani pride and courage surfacing. “Yes, I am gay.”

I pounded a fist onto the desk again and closed my eyes. I had known it, but hearing him admit it twisted the knife in my chest a little more. “How long?” I rasped. “How long have you known?”

“Since always. There’s never been a time when I didn’t know.”

Unbelievable. He’d hidden this from me his entire life. It felt like a betrayal of the worst kind, as if everything I’d known had been flipped upside down. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

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