Page 2 of Savage Book Boyfriend

“That’s right.” I confirmed. “Ro mentioned you had a case file on him. It mentioned Dante DeLuca?”

“Your brother? Yes, what about him?”

“What information did it list?”

“Nothing besides his address.” She yawned.

“Can you text that to Ro, please?” I asked her.

“Sure. Whatever is going on, I don't wanna know.” She hung up the phone quickly and moments later a text pinged Ro's phone. The address was local. I don't know why I was expecting another country.

“Is that where we're going?” Massimo asked.

“Yeah, I want to get a good look at this guy.” I sighed wondering what the fuck I was going to say to this guy. Congratulations, you're getting married, you bastard.

The ride was quiet. I knew one thing, I hoped Dante wasn’t going to give me a tough time with this arrangement. Like it or not, he was going to marry her.

My thoughts raced as we drove towards Dante’s address. Meeting a brother I never knew existed wasn’t on my agenda today, but it seemed like nothing ever went as planned in this family. I glanced at the paper with Dante’s name on it, a mix of anger and curiosity bubbling inside me. Whatever he was like, whatever kind of life he’d been living, he was about to be dragged into the DeLuca world—no ifs, ands, or buts. And whether he knew it or not, he was about to play a crucial role in a game far bigger than himself.

DANTE

The sterile smell of the clinic was a constant reminder that life had taken a turn I hadn’t expected. I sat in the small, uncomfortable examination room, my hands clenched together in my lap. The doctor’s words echoed in my mind, a relentless drumbeat that made it hard to focus on anything else. Multiple Sclerosis. The diagnosis felt like a cruel twist of fate, something I’d read about but never expected to face myself.

Dr. Harris was a tall, composed man with glasses that perched on the edge of his nose. He walked in, carrying a folder, his face serious but not unkind. I could tell he had delivered this kind of news many times before, but that didn’t make it any easier for me.

“Mr. DeLuca,” Dr. Harris began, taking a seat across from me. “We’ve reviewed your test results. The findings confirm that you have Multiple Sclerosis. I’m sorry to be the bearer of this news.”

I nodded, trying to absorb the weight of his words. “How serious is it?” I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil rolling inside me.

Dr. Harris took a deep breath. “MS affects everyone differently. It’s a progressive condition. While there are treatments that can help manage symptoms and slow progression, it’s a chronic illness that will require ongoing care. We’ll need to start a treatment plan and monitor your condition closely.”

I stared at the floor, my mind racing. The diagnosis felt like a sentence I hadn’t bargained for. I wasn’t even clear of thirty yet, with so much left to do—so many dreams and goals. The thought of my body betraying me, of facing a harsh future, was almost too much to bear.

“You mentioned treatment,” I said finally, forcing myself to focus on the positives. “What does that involve?”

“We’ll start with disease-modifying therapies,” Dr. Harris explained. “These can help reduce the frequency and severity of relapses. We’ll also discuss lifestyle changes and supportive therapies to help you manage symptoms.”

I nodded again, trying to absorb the information. “And what about the future?” I asked. “What can I expect?”

Dr. Harris’s expression softened. “It’s difficult to predict how things will progress. Some people live relatively normal lives with MS, while others experience more severe symptoms. It’s important to focus on managing your health and planning for the future.”

As Dr. Harris continued to explain the details of treatment and management, my thoughts drifted. I had always been the responsible one, the one who kept his distance from my paternal family’s darker side. I knew about my siblings—Beniamino, Massimo, Tammaro, and Martina. They were all part of the crime family I’d deliberately avoided. I’d seen enough of the chaos and corruption that came with our father’s legacy. I didn’t want to be part of that world. It was better to be on the outside, focusing on my career as a general surgeon and keeping my life clean and orderly.

But now, facing this new challenge, the idea of remaining isolated from my family felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. I’d spent years distancing myself from the DeLucas, avoiding any affiliation with our father’s criminal empire. My only concern had been maintaining my own integrity and avoiding any entanglements. Yet here I was, grappling with a condition that made me question everything, including why I’d never started my own family.

Dr. Harris’s voice brought me back to the present. “Are you okay, Mr. DeLuca? You seem a bit distant.”

I shook my head, trying to refocus. “I’m fine. Just processing everything.”

“Of course,” Dr. Harris said. “If you need to talk or have any questions about your diagnosis or treatment, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

As I left the clinic, the weight of the news settled heavily on my shoulders. I felt a profound sense of loneliness and a growing realization that I needed something I’d avoided for so long—family. My own legacy. I wanted to leave behind something meaningful, something pure, before it was too late. The idea of starting a family, of having someone to share my life with, was no longer just a distant thought. It was a necessity.

I pulled out my phone and stared at the contact list. I hadn’t spoken to my siblings in years, but now, with my health in question, maybe it was time to reconsider. I didn’t know how much time I had left, but I knew one thing—I couldn’t face it alone.

I drove to my grandmother’s house, my hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. I hadn’t shared my diagnosis with anyone yet, but I knew she deserved to know and it needed to come from me.She's always been there for me, like a solid rock in the middle of a hurricane that sometimes feels like our family life.

As I walked up the familiar path to her front door, I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I rang the bell and waited, trying to ignore the churning anxiety in my stomach. When the door opened and I saw her frail figure standing there, her eyes lit up with recognition and concern.

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