Page 122 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

His eyes cloud with confusion. “Marisol…”

“I have carried and given birth to not one, but two children. I have navigated the swamp that is my father’s influence. I am the product of both my father and my mother, and they are both fearsome people. You look at me like I’m some kind of… doll,” I spit.

Andrei is visibly confused now, but I’m on a roll.

“I’m not fragile. I’m not broken. I’ve survived in ways that you couldn’t think of, because they don’t involve violence or harm. I chose to be here, Andrei, to protect people I love. I don’t need you… infantilizing me,” I finish.

I don’t let him say anything.

Turning on my heel, I march toward the pool.

Andrei, as always, follows.

When we get there however, I pause at the door.

The pool is… flooded.

There’s no other way to explain it.

The beautiful marble floor around it is covered in an inch of grimy, smelly water. I can hear the sound of a pump running somewhere, but clearly, it’s not working. The pool itself is a dark brown, stained with mud that’s slowly seeping in from somewhere near the bathroom.

The rain.

“Let me take you out of here, Marisol,” Andrei says gently. “We can get someone to fix it, but it’s not safe right now.”

He’s not wrong. Flood waters contain more than just mud.

But something about the scene makes my heart beat with apprehension.

I turn to look at Andrei. “Has my father ever had a flood risk assessment done on this house?”

“No, miss. We’re halfway up a mountain. There’s no reason. Any water runs downhill, and the river might flood, but I doubt wewould be in any danger here.”

Noting that I’ve been downgraded from “Marisol” to “miss,” I nod. “I see. Well. In that case… I guess my room will do.”

Another time to be locked in my room. With nothing to do.

That’s just great.

I sigh.

I’ll put on some athleisure clothes and pretend that I’m going somewhere. Then, I’ll stare at the wall and contemplate why every man in my life considers me to be incapable.

I’m so tired of it.

But there’s nothing I can do about it.

Yet.

24

DINO

The incessant rainis beginning to grate on my nerves.

I reported my findings (which were total fucking bullshit) to Benicio. He seemed unwilling to accept that Luca, who looks very obviously Italian, was a member of the Irish mob, but he didn’t disagree. I had the impression that he was distracted by something, because he seemed to be less than attentive when I told him who Luca was.

Still, I’m not dead.

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