Page 37 of Ivory Crown

For all three of us.

If that was what it took to keep her healthy…to keep our baby healthy…then fuck the Moretti empire.

It could all fucking burn.

Chapter Fifteen: Dante

My mom had invited us to dinner.

I really, really didn’t want to go...I didn’t want to leave Jade alone. But I had no good excuses, and I didn’t dare not to go when my Mom invited us to dinner because I didn’t want her to kill me–if she didn’t do it with a wooden spoon or through my father’s punishing hand (because he might not beat me up anymore but he definitely knew how to scare me)–she would do it with a guilt trip that could make the most seasoned pilot feel like an absolute rookie.

So after Jade reassured me that she was okay, and she seemed like she wanted to rest, I made my way back to my childhood home in Little Italy.

Marco was already there, though I wasn’t sure where, exactly.

“Hey, Mama,” I said as I gave her a hug. She was in the kitchen, next to a giant pot of marinara. “Sorry I was late. Work.”

“Work? You look terrible,” she said. “You need to work less, sleep more. Did you lose weight?”

She tutted under her breath, circling me like a hawk for a moment before returning to her marinara sauce. “Sit,” she commanded, pointing to the small wooden table that had witnessed countless family dinners over the years.

“I will soon,” I said. “I gotta go find Marco. I think he’s looking a little thin, too.”

“Now that you mention it…he’s upstairs,” she said. “Said he had to wash up. Ask your brother why he won’t sell his apartment if he’s just going to stay here, please.”

“Yes, Mama,” I replied obediently, certain I was going to ask Marco no such thing.

I climbed up the stairs, each step creaking under my weight just like when I was a boy sneaking out past curfew. At the top, I walked down to the end of the hall where our childhood room was. The door was slightly ajar. I knocked lightly on the door to alert him of my presence.

He was sitting on the bed, his hair wet, a towel next to him.

“I didn’t think you would be able to make it,” he said.

“I couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse,” I replied. “Plus, it’ll be nice to have leftovers for the week.”

He nodded, then grinned. “Between us, I could murder some sushi,” he said, then patted his stomach. “I’ve been trying to sneak in some healthier options, but I don’t think I can outrun Mom’s cooking.”

I smiled. Marco looked a bit worse for wear; dark shadows under his eyes, his knuckles scraped.

But he still had his signature smile on his face as he peered at me from his childhood bed.

“Have you ever thought about how lame it is, that with all the money Dad makes, you and I always had to share a bedroom?” he asked as I took a step inside.

“I hadn’t given it much thought,” I replied, studying the room that held a part of my past. “I guess it kept us close.”

“It didn’t,” Marco said, his smile widening into a grin. “Also, Dad would have definitely saved money on the water bill if you weren’t taking like five showers a day when we were fifteen, so I really do think individual bedrooms would have been a good investment for him.”

I snorted, scanning the room for a while before landing my gaze back on him. “I don’t think Dad ever worried about the water bill, Marco.”

“Not when it came to you,” he shot back.

“Yeah, because fifteen might have been rough, but a year later I got a girlfriend. What’s your excuse?”

“Hey, I had a girlfriend,” he said. “She was just…online. And Canadian.”

I shook my head. “That was a man,” I replied. “In his fifties. For sure.”

“Well, he had great tits so…”

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