Page 24 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

I can't think like this.

I take a deep, shuddering breath as despair grips my stomach. What Dino is or is not going to do is not any of my concern. My kids are safe. They’re here, and they’re out of the clutches of my dad. Without me here as the prize, he might think twice about coming to raid the somewhat well-fortified Rossi home.

He’s never cared about my kids, something that irks me to no end, but is absolutely par for the course with him. I’m well aware of the fact that out of the dozens of bastards he’s sired over the world, he seems to be somewhat obsessed with me.

Somehow, however, that obsession does not extend to my children.

Their safety is my priority. And right now? They’re safe, which takes that off the list of problems.

Much as I would like to spend time just thinking about Dino, I have to face the problems in front of me.

When you're Benicio Souza's daughter, you learn very quickly that you can't spend too much time perseverating on what might be or what could be.

For one, things change quickly. It might not even matter to spend all your time making plans for one thing, when something else entirely could pop up.

Which, of course, leads me to my next point, which is that being Benicio Souza's daughter means learning how to deal with complete and utter chaos.

I need to figure out how to get back to him. Before he hurts my mom, and before he comes after the Rossi clan.

Gently, I unhook myself from the IV, taking care to extract it from my vein. I’ve had training in how to do this, again, as a side effect of the father who brought me into this stupid life.

I’m in what looks like a regular guest room, except that it has a high-end hospital bed in it. The bed, and surrounding medical equipment, are clearly top of the line.

I shake my head. “Mafia families are just built differently,” I mutter.

There is, however, an attached bathroom and shower. While I have no doubts whatsoever that someone in the house has a key that will open this room, I lock both the bedroom and bathroom doors. I shower, fully prepared to put on my old clothes, when I notice a little free-standing drawer set in the bathroom. I open it and find it fully stocked with light, airy clothes, most of them somewhat close to my size.

I have a feeling I have Gia Rossi to thank for this one.

Showered, freshly clothed, and feeling better than I have in days, I creep out of the room. The house is pretty quiet; you can hear the distant murmur of voices, but nothing specific.

I want to find the kids, tell them goodbye, and then I can go.

I pad upstairs. I have no memories of the house whatsoever, being that I was passed out when I was last taken this way, and it’s a huge house.

Part of me just feels… bad. Like, looking around, these are glimpses of what I could be offering my children. A large house, a stable family, lots of cousins to grow up around…

Instead, I have given them a relatively stable childhood in Florida. I won’t say it was terrible for them, because it wasn’t.

But that little bit of guilt still punches into me at what I could be doing for them instead.

Eventually, I do hear the sound of voices. It sounds like they’re coming from the hallway to my left, so I softly follow. Eventually, the hall opens up into an open space, a combined kitchen and living room, that’s brightly lit. Windows, from ceiling to floor, let in an amount of light that’s impressive given that we’re in upstate New York, and the furniture is an easy, light color that’s homey despite being expensive looking.

This is where the voices are coming from.

And, I recognize two of them.

I step into the room, watching for just a minute.

There are three babies, playing together on a tasteful looking blanket in front of a couch. Two of them look to be about a year old, and they’re twins, a boy and a girl. A third, slightly younger baby babbles at them, and they all seem to be managing an interaction, common among familiar babies.

Then, there are three children. Three girls.

Two of whom are mine.

“Luna,” Maia says, always the bossy one. She puts her hands on her hips, looking at a dark-haired little girl. “It’s your turn to be the dragon.”

“I was the dragon last time,” Luna whines.

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