Page 116 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

This motherfucker is about to learn every lesson I’ve learned…

The hard way.

Standing in front of Benicio, my hands at some form of parade rest behind my back, I truly can’t believe that this fucker is related to Marisol.

I don’t see it.

Marisol is… soft. Sunshine. She’s the sweetness that I’ve never experienced, and she’s all things good.

Benicio Souza is hard.

Life has really chewed him the fuck up and spit him out, because he looks every inch of his age as he surveys me as well.

Yeah.

He looks nothing like my Marisol.

If her mom had a different father for Marisol, she’s hid that well, because for whatever reason Benicio seems to accept Marisol as his child without question.

Ironic, that he could do that and my own fucking dad couldn’t.

He opens his mouth and some fucking language that I don’t know spills out.

I don’t respond, choosing instead to just glare at him.

Benicio’s eyes narrow. “It’s Greek.”

My jaw stays clenched the fuck shut.

“You’d think that if you were a Drakos, you’d know how to speak Greek.”

Interesting.

He seemed pretty fluent when he vomited out the Greek phrase just now. I’m not an expert, and I sure as fuck don’t speak Greek, but I wonder if this is a way that they might be connected.

Marisol also seems to have a gift with languages too.

For a fleeting second, I think about my own kids. I don’t know them. Not in the fucking slightest. Genetically, they’re obviously mine, as they do look like me.

But beyond that…

Would anyone say that it’s clear that they’re mine?

More than that, what are they like?

Are they good with languages? Are they… like me?

Or are they soft and sweet like Marisol?

My fucking knuckles crack as I think of my girls.My girls.

I might not have been much of a fuckin’ father, but I can protect them the best I know how.

If they’ve been hurt, ever, if this man has ever tried to fucking do anything to them…

No matter what, they’re this man’s grandchildren.

Fucking hell.

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