Page 163 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

Fucking language. Editing my words is hard.

“Dino,” Marisol says softly. I release a breath as her hands drift over my shoulders, and I shudder into her touch. “Come hang out with us. You’ve been working all day.”

“It’s noon,” I grunt.

“And you woke up at four-fifteen this morning.”

I feel guilty about that, because when I woke up at four-fifteen, I woke Marisol up too.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

She leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “It was a really nice way to wake up,” she whispers.

Nico coughs something out in Greek, and I glare at him. “Don’t you have some fucking French wine to peddle to European teenagers?”

“The bar doesn’t open until…”

“Beat it,” I bark.

Nico rolls his eyes, but stands. He gives Marisol a kiss on the cheek before giving me a rude gesture.

I watch him go, my eyes narrow.

“Give him some credit, my love. He’s trying his best.”

“He isn’t doing shit,” I mutter. “He flirts with women who are barely legal.”

Marisol makes a sound and gently tugs my hand down, so we’re sitting on the lounge chair together. “A week ago I went down to bring him some dinner, and he was kicking out a group of men who were harassing a girl. He beat the hell out of them, without calling you for help. I think he’s doing his best,” she smiles.

That makes me feel a little better.

“Still doesn’t give him the excuse to bill me for a fuckin’ million dollars of French wine,” I grunt.

Marisol sighs and stretches out, facing the pool. I lean with her, pulling her against my chest.

“He’ll sell the wine. You know he will.”

I don’t respond to that.

In the six months since we’ve moved to Greece, I’ll admit that Nico has made some fairly decent progress on all of this shit. All of his investments in the bar so far have been approved,and he’s even to the point where he could, in theory, make an actual profit this year.

Considering that we had to renovate so much of this shithole to even get it to a place where we couldentertainsome fucking tourists, he better turn that shit around very, very quickly.

“You’re both doing great, my love,” she murmurs.

Yeah.

“I don’t feel like I am,” I say.

The girls shriek in the pool, and it startles Marisol’s mom awake. She yawns and waves at us, then heads down to sit next to the girls.

I nod at her. “Your mom seems happy.”

“She just likes the villa,” Marisol snorts.

I don’t think it’s the villa.

Greece is an adventure. Different than we thought it would be, but I don’t fucking hate it, that’s for sure.

---