Page 14 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

“Ava, go inside,” he orders.

She digs her feet in, holding her ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you two about to tear into each other.”

“Ava, this is business,get inside.”

Her stance is solid, shoulders tense. She’s not moving unless Marcel carries her away. I’d tear him apart if he tried. There’s only one thing that finally draws my eyes off the girl.

Salvatore descends the steps.

His men approach with him, but they stay back, a respectful ring forming around us. Silence falls over the group. Even Marcel takes a half-step back, gives up the fight as Salvatore comes face to face with me. I break the tension with a low whistle before somebody chokes on it.

Salvatore has changed since I last saw him. He’s gotten bigger, all muscle. He’s styled like a boss now. An expensive haircut and a clean shave. He doesn’t look anything like the criminal thug he used to be when I knew him, when all little Salvatore was good for was kicking in doors.

He really tore me down and climbed right up over me. Switched our places like a goddamn magic trick.

His face is unreadable, his posture looming and commanding. I bet he practices that look in the mirror. So calm and composed, when deep down, he’s fuckingclueless. The question is right there in everybody’s eyes.

How am I here?

The truth bristles in the air like the heat of a shotgun, no one willing to own up to it.

“No hug, little brother?” I ask him.

“Not so little anymore, Nico.”

“I can see that. You’ve done a lot of…compensating while I’ve been gone. It’s cute. Really, this is all just so…cute.”

My eyes trail over the men arranged there, each of them bristling, on edge. Marcel looks half-tempted to shoot me dead on the spot. More honest than the rest of them. If only he had the balls to try.

“So what is it, Sal?” I press. “You gonna turn me away? Not going to welcome me back into my own home?”

The tension bristles in the air.

“I wouldn’t do that, Nico.”

Salvatore steps forward and extends his hand.

“Welcome home,” he says, without smiling.

I let the gesture hang for a long moment. Let the awkwardness really rub all over everybody, like salt in a wound. We finally shake. It’s a brief, tense gesture, the hatred seething in the tension of his grip.

But outwardly, he’s oh-so diplomatic. Like reading from a goddamn script. I know he doesn’t want me here. This has ruined his night, his day, his bright and sunny future. I am the clouds coming in for the storm.

“We should talk inside.”

“Sal…” Marcel mutters, eyeing me distrustfully.

“What’s the matter, Marcel?” I ask softly. “We’re all friends here. Come on. Let’s move this happy reunion indoors.” I clap him on the shoulder and step past him. Over my shoulder, I see him standing there, contemplating beating me into the dirt. I grin at him and head inside.

I’m flanked on either side. They almost make it look natural, but I’ve been in prison, and I know a guard detail when I see it. Even if it looks like any ordinary high-end office, they’re marching me to an interrogation room. This is not a friendly meeting, but only Marcel is willing to show outright disrespect.

His position as Sal’s lapdog has really gotten to his head.

I sit down on the wrong side of the desk. Salvatore takes his place behind it.

The men who escorted us in stay outside, posting up outside the doorway, at attention like good little soldiers. The meeting whittles down—just me, Sal, Marcel…

My gaze lingers on the doorway, waiting. Ava slips inside after us, and she doesn’t leave even when Marcel tries to shoo her away again. She holds her ground and posts up by the doorway. I wonder why she’s staying, our gazes meeting as we try to read each other.

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