Page 158 of Dirty Mafia King
“How’s my father handling his death?”
I sigh. “He hides his emotions well, but he loved the old man.”
“I know.” His handsome face sobers. “And you? Are you okay?”
“No.”
All the air goes out of him.
“I love your father,” I blurt.
Renzo shakes his head. “Jesus, Alessia. I was afraid this might happen.”
“You knew?”
“Not that you’d fall in love. But I had a feeling my father wouldn’t be able to resist you once he got to know you.” He frowns. “Hold up. You’re still engaged to Sandro?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re … um … involved with my old man.”
“Fucking him? Yes. All the time, actually …”
Renzo’s eyes become saucers.
I laugh. My admission shocks his fine sensibilities?
I change the subject. “You look good. Healthy. Rehab worked.”
“Not rehab—my fuckhead brother is what did it. Tied me to a bed and told me to sweat it out. Not even Sergeant Dickwad is that cruel.”
Is this what Sandro’s been up to in Italy—other than breaking hearts?
“So it worked?”
Renzo sighs. “Am I abusing? No. Am I an addict who is temporarily clean? Yes. Is there a possibility I’ll slip up? Every fucking day.”
“Then come home.”
His eyebrows rise. “To my brother’s designer digs in Soho? No thank you.”
I instantly sober. “No,” I murmur. “I meant Rhode Island.”
My heart sinks.
Renzo, seeing my distress, tugs me into a hug. “My father’s fucking possessive. No way is he letting you go. Capisci?”
“Capisci,” I softly reply.
“Will you give him a message?” He releases his hold.
“Of course.”
“Tell him to call off his men. I’ll handle my shit at my own pace and time.”
“He loves you, Renzo.”
“Tell him I love him, too.” He flashes a smile. “You, too.”
