Page 49 of Savage Vow (Mafia Marriages 3)

And killing her seemed ruthless.

Knowing that she had a kid, I’m glad I didn’t follow Alessandro’s orders. I could never have forgiven myself for murdering a mother.

The men we slaughter are scumbags, thieves, and snitches.

I don’t take pleasure in making men suffer or interrogating them.

It’s my job.

And sure, I may be good at it, but it doesn’t mean I’m passionate about destroying someone’s life and putting a bullet in their head.

* * *

“Do you have a minute?” Giovan asks.

I’m perched at my desk in the office. “Yeah, come in.” While an interrogator, I also do a bit of reconnaissance and helping nab dirty thieves, which gives me a desk and my own private office. It’s small but sufficient.

Giovan shuts the office door behind him.

I’m not sure who he’s worried about overhearing whatever he wants to say. Karina and Ashton are already gone for the day. Francesco dropped Ashton off at school and then shuttled Karina to work downtown.

“I wanted to have a word with you,” Giovan says.

“Sure, have at it.” I gesture for him to sit across from me on the black leather sofa against the wall.

“I don’t know how to put this delicately, but did you see Ashton?”

“Yes, I made breakfast for the kid. He insisted he wanted French Toast this morning, and then after I tossed out the pancake batter that I had made, he took two bites of his French Toast and insisted that he was full!”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Kids give me a headache.

Well, one kid anyway.

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but the kid looks exactly like you did at his age.” He scrambles a photo out of his palm that he’d been hiding and stands, putting it on my desk for me to stare at.

“The resemblance is uncanny,” I remark.

How could I not notice?

Giovan folds his arms across his chest. “I knew you didn’t offer to marry her out of the goodness of your heart. The kid is yours, isn’t it? How long have you known?”

“What?” He has to be crazy. “He’s not mine.”

“You’ve never had sex with Karina?” Giovan asks.

The old photograph stares back at me. My mouth is dry. Sweat beads on my forehead. “Well, there was one time, but it was years ago.”

“Five years ago?” Giovan asks.

“About six,” I say.

“Well, given that it takes nine months to gestate.”

“She isn’t an alien.” I snort at his remark and glance up at my younger brother. “Besides, if it were my kid, Karina would have told me.”

Giovan raises an eyebrow.

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