Page 30 of Ruthless Mafia Daddy

My hands shake as I pour another drink, the liquor barely taking the edge off my rage.

If Marco had done as he was told, I wouldn’t have had to call to check up on the status of Tommy’s body. But it seems my little brother isn’t as cold-hearted and ruthless as I am.

I can blame Lorenzo Rossi for that too.

I lose count of how many whiskeys I drink before my phone starts ringing.

“Alex, what have you got?”

“135 West 19th street.”

“Appreciate this.” I hang up and shoot a text to Kyle with the address as I’m heading toward the elevator.

I can’t stand to be in this penthouse any longer, not when I’m surrounded by images of what Lila and I did last night.

It was probably the best sex I’ve ever had, and yet, what did it cost me?

It has the potential to cost me everything.

Despite the amount of liquor I’ve drunk on an empty stomach, my hands are steady as I get behind the wheel of my lambo and start the hour-long drive up to my family’s main residence in Westchester.

I run through the conversation I had with Marco on the phone this morning over and over as I drive, trying to pinpoint every detail that Lila could have overheard.

Disposing of a body? Low priority.

Mentioning Lorenzo Rossi? Ding ding, we have a winner. Because where Lorenzo’s name appears in the press, my name appears, along with many other shadows that like to follow me around.

I wonder if Lila laughed when she found out that her guess of me being a mafia boss was true after all…

The gates to my family’s estate grow closer, and the sight of the perfectly manicured lawn and long gravel drive calms me just a little.

This place is where I feel the closest to my parents, where I have the most memories of them before they died. So, when I pull up outside the house, a little of the weight on my shoulders lifts.

It does so even more at the sight of my little sister sitting at the breakfast table, tucking into pancakes with one hand, a book in the other.

Marco is sitting beside her, nursing a cup of coffee, though knowing him, it’s laced with something else.

At the sound of my footsteps, she looks up at me over her book and grins.

“Andre!”

“Hey, baby sis.” I offer her a sincere smile.

At fifteen years old, Rosa is the spitting image of our mother, with her long, dark hair, tanned skin, and green eyes.

“Sit.” She gets to her feet. “I’ll get you some food.”

“Thanks, Rosa, but I’m not that hungry.” I take a seat opposite Marco, who offers me a small smile.

I ignore it, instead focusing on Rosa as she moves around the kitchen before coming to place a plate piled high with eggs and bacon in front of me.

“Which is exactly why you need to eat. Coffee is not an acceptable breakfast.”

“We’re Italian,” I joke. “Coffee is always acceptable. Besides, shouldn’t you be getting ready for school or something?”

“It’s Saturday, idiot.” She scoffs.

Right… I barely know what time it is, let alone what day or fucking year at that matter.

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