Page 133 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
My jaw tightens. "I'm handling it."
"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, you're letting a traitor live in your house. Sleep in your bed." He steps closer. "Starting to wonder where your loyalties lie."
The accusation hits like a slap. I move into his space, voice dropping low. "Watch yourself, Sal. I’ve shed more blood for this family than you have. Don't question my loyalty, especially after you nearly fucked up last night’s shipment."
"Why do you protect her? She's nothing but a liability."
"You don’t know shit.”
Salvatore's eyes narrow. "Don't tell me you've fallen for Ferraza's daughter." He jabs a finger at my chest. "La Corona needs you to take action. Make an example of her. Show everyone what happens to traitors."
"Like someone did with Ernie?" I counter, watching his face carefully.
Salvatore pales slightly. “You shut the fuck up about my brother. That has nothing to do with this.”
“Shows what you know, which is shit.”
"If you won't do what's necessary?—"
"You'll what?" I cut him off. "Go against Marco's orders? Because he's the one who approved this arrangement. Take it up with him if you've got a problem."
Salvatore's jaw works silently. We both know he won't challenge Marco.
"That's what I thought."
“You’re a pussy, Roman. You need to take initiative.”
"Enough." Marco's voice cuts through the room, causing Sal and me to take a step back.
Marco stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable. How long has he been there?
Salvatore demeanor shifts from confrontational to deferential in an instant. "Don Calabresi, I was just?—"
"I heard what you were 'just' doing." Marco steps into the room, closing the door behind him. "The Vitale shipment needs supervision. Handle it personally."
It's not a suggestion. Salvatore knows better than to argue. He nods stiffly, shooting me one last glare before leaving.
When the door clicks shut, Marco sighs. "You look like shit, Roman."
"Haven't slept."
"I can tell." He gestures to the chair I'd vacated. "Sit before you fall over."
I don't argue. My body feels like it's running on fumes.
Marco leans against the desk, studying me with the same penetrating gaze he's had since we were kids. "What's going on with you and Isabella?"
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to her. I was called down?—”
“I don’t mean the video. I mean you and her.” He crosses his arms. "If I’m not mistaken, you have feelings for her. I need to know if it's clouding your judgment."
I scrape my hand over my face, buying time.
How do I explain something I barely understand myself?
I decide not to try. “She’s not our enemy. She’s just a woman wanting answers to her mother’s murder. A murder her father and La Corona didn’t put any attention on.”
"You sound certain."
