Page 8 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

I whistle the prearranged signal, and the door cracks open to reveal a young, skinny man with a nervous look on his face.

“You made it,” he whispers to me.

I chuckle. “As if there was any doubt that I would get this far,” I retort.

The young man slips out from behind the large door with his hand out. “Pay up and I will walk away.”

I meet his gaze for a moment, my black eyes boring into him. He starts to shift back and forth nervously on his feet. “Did you just give me an order, boy?” I ask, my voice pitched dangerously low.

He swallows audibly. “No,” he says.

“No, sir,” I shoot back.

“No, sir,” he replies, his voice cracking on the word ‘sir’.

I utter another little laugh, then reach into my jacket pocket. I bring out a roll of money, carefully secured with a rubber band. “For your trouble,” I say, offering it to the young man.

His fingers are clammy as he takes it from my hand. “Now, get out of here,” I say, already moving past him toward the sounds of voices and music.

I’m not worried about him turning on me. I paid him more than he probably makes in a year working for Marco’s shitty gang.

There’s no one in the entryway as I walk along the tiled floor, being careful not to make too much noise. I pass by a fountain and then draw to a halt, my senses on high alert.

I wait a moment for my eyes to adjust to the slightly darker interior space that I’m standing in, not sure what caught my attention. I realize that I hear footsteps coming my way.

I quietly step backward against the wall, knowing that the large doors will block me from sight while still allowing me to see the person who is headed my way.

My lips curl into a smile as I see the man of the hour, Marco Rodriguez, walking toward me. What good luck. He’s loosening his bowtie and rubbing the back of his neck.

He looks fit and trim, and more mature than the last time I saw him, seven years ago, in his little beach house with my fiancée.

I feel a jolt of liquid rage pour through my body, making my skin feel hot and tight over my bones.

My anger is like a living thing, hard to control at times.

It’s both a gift and a curse, one of the blessings of my genetic makeup.

Over the years of my childhood, I watched my father dominate powerful men by the sheer force of his ire, which was terrible and shocking to behold.

As I grew older, I found that I was capable of the same potent fury, which inspired fear, respect, and success in our world. But it also required careful management, something that had taken me years to perfect.

If only I had been able to control my emotions with such ease seven years ago. So many things would have been different.

Clamping down on my anger at the sight of the man who hid Kate from me for so many years, I step out of the shadows.

I see that he’s startled and this makes me grin at him. He has grown lax, confident in his own prowess here in Mexico.

Maybe he feels bolstered by the tawdry promises of the arrogant Baldini boys. The reason for his lack of attention is unimportant, however. All that matters is what happens next.

“Elio?” Marco says to me. His voice sounds hoarse, and as I step closer, I realize that he’s inebriated. My grin broadens.

“Hello, Marco,” I say to him, my deep voice soft, but thick with threat. “Nice wedding.”

“You weren’t invited,” Marco replies, squaring his shoulders. To his credit, he seems to be recovering rapidly from the shock of seeing me here.

“A little bird told me that someone special is on the guest list today,” I say to my enemy, my gaze fixed on him so that I don’t miss any move he might make for a weapon.

Surely he’s not become so lax as to attend his own wedding unarmed.

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