Page 48 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

That I’ll show up, and she will.

And I’ll fuck it up and lose her again.

“It’s a leap of faith, Dino. No one can predict the future. But I sure as hell know that you won’t get what you want sitting on your ass here,” Marco says.

He leaves the room.

I stare at the kitchen table. It’s dark, and I can hear Elio’s people moving softly around the house. Idly, I wonder if the girls are asleep.

I shouldn’t wake them up. Right?

I have no fucking clue how to be a dad. Clearly, my own role model thought I wasn’t even his kid, and put exactly zero effort into fucking helping me become someone.

Slowly, I put my elbows on the table and let my head sink into my hands.

Do I even call him dad anymore?

I snort. Even as a kid, I knew something was fucking off. Dad always fucking had it out for me. I couldn’t so much as walk by without him finding something wrong with me, and then he would send Marco to hammer down on whatever the fuck it was that he took an issue with that day.

Dad never thought I would amount to shit.

Mom…

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Mom did.

She was always on my side. Always in my fucking corner. Always making sure that Dad and Marco didn’t make me too miserable.

I miss her.

It’s been years since their death. When they died after Caterina’s engagement party, every part of me wanted to find Elio Rossi and beat him to death. It was obvious, after all, that he’d organized a hit on my parents, and somehow had fucked it up to kill his own in the process.

The years, and Caterina’s reassurance that it wasn’t Elio, haven’t really done much to dull that pain. Working with Elio has been… calculated. A necessary risk, something that I’ve been angry about for a long time.

I don’t fucking like Elio.

I don’t fucking like Marco all the time, if I’m being honest.

Sal and Gia have their own thing now. Caterina and Elio do too. Marco is… Marco.

And I’m alone.

Always.

My tongue tastes bitter again.

If I’m being honest, I want what they have. I want someone to fucking belong to. Someone to come home to at night. Someone that I don’t feel like a fucking outcast around.

Right now, I am an outcast. I’m a stranger to my own children, and Marisol, the love of my fucking life…

I look up.

Marco’s right.

I have to do something about this, about her. I have to fucking make a choice.

I might not be my father’s son. I might not be my siblings’ brother.

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