Page 65 of The Deal

Chapter 23

Alexander

I’m lying here with Chloe wrapped in my arms. We are a panting, sweaty mess after I dished out my punishment to her, for unknowingly teaching my son crude things. She took it like a champ, just like I knew she would.

My phone dings softly on the bedside table, followed by another chime a few seconds later. I don’t stir, making no move to get it. I’m perfectly content right here.

I ended up driving Giovanni back to his mother’s alone, hoping to talk to Sophia about extending his visits beyond the current two days a month. But I wasn’t exactly surprised to find her not there. Mimi told me she had left shortly after Nico picked up Giovanni this morning.

It was the perfect opportunity to ask questions. I needed to know what exactly was going on when my son wasn’t with me. I already had an inkling, but any ammunition I could gather may help me in the future.

As I presumed, I found out she was living her best life while our son spent ninety percent of his time with his live-in nanny.

I offered Mimi a bonus if she kept a detailed diary of Sophia’s daily activities. She was quite willing to help, andeven in my absence, she acknowledged that I was the more capable parent of the two.

Mimi knows I have my son’s best interests at heart.

“Aren’t you going to see who that is? It might be important,” Chloe mumbles into my chest. “What if it’s Giovanni’s mother.”

I blow out a long breath as I stretch my arm out to grab my phone. Maybe Mimi told Sophia about what I asked her to do. I highly doubt it, but I’m in no mood for her bullshit, nevertheless. I should’ve turned the fucking thing off.

I glance at the screen, and it’s from Antonio.

Antonio: I know you spent your day with your son, so I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I just saw this headline on the late-night news. I thought you might be interested.

I click on the link he added, and my heart drops into the pit of my stomach when the news anchor says, “A suspected Mafia boss was gunned down in an execution-style killing late this afternoon as he lunched at a popular Melbourne restaurant. Vincent Mortelli?—”

“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath as I pause the clip and move Chloe to the side so I can sit up.

“Is everything okay? Was that someone you knew?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God,” she gasps, bolting upright.

I lean down, grab my pants from the floor, and slide my legs into the holes. “The Mortellis and the Mancinis have been at odds for as long as I can remember.”

“So he’s not someone you actually liked?”

“I’m indifferent. I’d never met the man, but my father hated him with a passion … I’m sure the feeling was mutual.”

I zip up my fly, careful not to snag the delicate skin on my dick in the metal teeth since I’m not wearing any underwear. I stalk across the room and remove the painting off the wall, revealing the safe that lies behind it. It’s cliché, I know, but sometimes the most obvious place is the one people overlook.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice tight as I begin punching in the code.

“Calling my brother.”

“Oh.”

The surprise I hear in her voice has me glancing over my shoulder. “What did you think I was getting? A gun?”

She shrugs, a half smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “Maybe.”

“I don’t own a gun.”

“But—”

“It was fake.”

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