Page 121 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

The mention of my long-dead (and probably murdered) half-siblings makes his face go hard. He rises from the couch, coming closer to me.

I refuse to cower.

Benicio Souza and I stare at each other. My jaw sets in a hard line, and while I’m fearful of standing my ground in front of my maniac of a father, I instinctively know that giving in to him would be worse.

Benicio hates a coward.

Finally, he sighs. He turns, stepping back toward Paolo. I’m ready to leave as well, but my father’s voice echoes through the room.

“You and your mother almost made me think something… different.”

I freeze.

“I am not a kind man, Marisol. I do not think I ever have been. I have fought for everything, and I will continue to fight for it. The world is mine,” he says fiercely, aggressively, “and I will eliminate anything and everyone who stands in the way of what I want.”

That’s more like the Benicio Souza I know.

“But…” his voice lingers.

“For you and your mother? I thought maybe, for a minute, I was more than just the monster.”

With that, my father leaves the room.

I do turn to look at him, then. But it’s too late.

He’s gone.

My heart twists.

My father is a nightmare, one that I’ve been afraid of for a long time. I’ve never seen him as human; just a monster, like he said. I’ve certainly seen him be capable of monstrous things. I’ve seen him destroy everyone: family, friends, without so much as blinking as the blood splatters on his face.

But why hasn’t he ever come for you?

I used to think it was because of my mother.

But I’m here. Trapped, sure. A prisoner, definitely. I’m here against my will, and while I’m trying to protect my mother and my children by staying here…

It never really occurred to me that my father might genuinely have something other than cold-hearted calculation about us.

I frown as Andrei approaches me.

He looks me up and down. “You do inspire something in people, you know.”

“What?”

“I know what your father means. You make a man think of something other than the terrible ways of the world. I can see why he wishes to protect you,” he murmurs.

I know it’s meant to be a compliment, but I resist the urge to wince.

Is that the reason?

Am I so soft, so utterly helpless, that I inspire men to protect me like some kind of fairy tale princess?

The thought… disgusts me.

I am not soft.

My shoulders tense, and I look at Andrei. “I do not need to be protected.”

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