Page 4 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don
My stomach tightens. Antonio’s mind has been progressively failing over the last eighteen months.
I’ve encouraged him to see a doctor, but the old goat refuses.
“Why do I want to be told I’m losing my marbles? Ignorance is bliss, Marco,” he’d said to me.
"How bad?" I ask.
"I covered. Said we were discussing the next meeting." Roman leans forward. "It's getting worse, Marco."
I rub my hands over my face. “I know.”
“Have you talked to Luca?” Roman asks about Antonio’s son who currently runs the family business in Italy.
“Several times.” For the life of me, I don’t know why he doesn’t come home.
He says he loves it where he is, but I get the feeling he's hiding or running from something here. “I owe Antonio, but there’s only so long I can cover for him.”
Roman nods. “And there’s Gabriella.”
My eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“It means she’s smart. She could run Antonio’s business if we weren’t stuck in archaic, sexist traditions.”
He’s not wrong.
"She's like a hawk with him lately," Roman continues. "Last week at the Thanksgiving event for needy families, she practically intercepted every conversation he tried to have with you. Stood between you two like some kind of human shield. She doesn’t do that with Dom or Leo,” he says of Don Dominic Vitale and Dom Leonardo Ferraza.
I shrug like it’s nothing. "I've noticed."
"What exactly does she think you're going to do? Garrote her father over pumpkin pie?"
The image would be amusing if it didn't feel personal. “I have no idea.” I might know if I’d asked.
But asking would suggest I care about her opinion, and I don’t.
Or at least I don’t want to.
I stand and put on my jacket, adjusting the cuffs. “It’s time for the others to arrive.”
We leave my home office and head the short distance to the meeting room.
I have an official business office downtown, but we all prefer to do La Corona business in our homes.
Like the Christmas party, each Don takes a turn hosting and this time, it’s me.
Moments later, Dominic enters with Leo, who starts gushing about his new grandson whom Roman and Isabella named after him.
“Angelica made a cookie for her Grandpa Leo,” Roman says, handing him a plastic baggie with a red and white blob.
“It’s Santa,” Leo says, thrilled to receive it even though he’s not really her grandfather. “Tell her I love it.”
Antonio arrives, and I hope to hell that he’ll remember everything and be able to articulate his thoughts perfectly today.
If not, I hope he doesn’t call me by my father’s name again.
I stop short when Gabriella enters the meeting room.
She's wearing a tailored charcoal suit that screams power and competence, her hair swept up in a sleek knot.
