Page 87 of Sins of the Son

“What?”

He handed his phone to me. I looked at the screen and let out a frustrated sigh.

Enzo chuckled. “Looks like you will have two stubborn females to deal with when you get to Rome, not one.”

My car tracker had just pinged at my Aunt Gabriella’s townhouse in Rome.

Enzo lifted his espresso cup to his lips. “Hope your accounts at all the designer stores are up to date because you know our dear auntie is going to be hitting them up with a vengeance, with Milana in tow.”

At least I knew she was safe and with family.

Getting my appetite back, I sunk my teeth into a buttery brioche roll.

Renata came sweeping into the room wearing a glaring turquoise robe trimmed with feathers, a matching turban on her head. She leaned over and kissed Enzo on the cheek, leaving a neon pink smear of lipstick.

Enzo reached for a cloth napkin and wiped his face.

My gaze moved to her pregnant belly, or rather, her lack of one.

Renata’s sharp eyes narrowed. She placed her hands over her stomach. “I know! I’m just one of those lucky women that doesn’t show much. It’s quite common among elite models and fitness instructors.” Her gaze skittered to Enzo and back to me. “I can show you lots and lots of photos on Instagram, if you want?”

I raised my palm up and shook my head as I studied my brother’s reaction to the ridiculous bullshit spewing from this bitch’s mouth. Now was not the time to ask how her doctor’s appointment, to confirm if she really was, in fact, pregnant, had gone.

A staff member brought over a silver tray with a porcelain pot of tea and a fresh plate of brioche, placing it at Renata’s elbow.

She snapped, “Take this away. I’ve told you before, I can’t abide herbal tea. Bring me a double espresso.”

Enzo’s gaze hardened. “And I’ve told you before that caffeine is not safe for the baby.”

“I’m the mother. It’s my body. Don’t tell me what is and is not safe for my child.” She then turned to the staff member and yelled, “Go! Get me my coffee, you stupid cow.”

The poor girl jumped, then looked helplessly to Enzo for further instructions.

He nodded. “Go ahead, Marie. Bring Signora Cavalieri what she requests.”

As if she hadn’t just berated a subordinate, insulted her husband, and endangered her unborn child, Renata turned to me and smiled. “So I hear you and Milana Carbone are getting very cozy lately.”

Focusing my attention on spreading jam on a piece of brioche, I answered, “You have heard correctly.”

She smoothed her manicured hand over the tablecloth. The obscenely large diamond wedding ring she'd insisted Enzo purchase for her glimmered in the morning light. “Well, having fun with one of the village girls is all well and good, but you really should start thinking about finding a suitable wife and settling down, Cesare.”

I tightened my grip on the butter knife I was holding, thinking she should be grateful it was dull-bladed. Refusing to take her bait, I smiled, the mirth not reaching my gaze. “As a matter of fact, I have. Milana and I are to be married as soon as I can arrange it.”

Her eyes widened. She looked at Enzo. “You’re going to let this happen?”

Enzo barely looked up from his daily edition of the Corriere della Sera which he had picked up to read the moment she entered. He folded the newspaper in half and laid it on the table to the side of his plate. “And why, dear wife, do you think it should be of any concern of ours who my brother marries?”

She huffed as she pulled her head back, giving her a momentary and rather unflattering double chin. “Am I the only one who cares about the Cavalieri name? You do know her family has an unsavory, trashy reputation?”

I drew in an angry breath through clenched teeth before responding. “I’d be very careful what you say about my bride, Renata.”

The table fell into an awkward silence as poor Marie brought Renata her espresso.

Renata added a pack of artificial sugar, another harmful thing for the baby, before clanking her spoon loudly against the porcelain edge of the small cup.

The silence was broken by a ping on Enzo’s phone. After checking it, he looked at me. “Sebastian said he will clear his afternoon schedule for you, and he has his best man on Romolo Castiglione.”

Renata’s spoon clattered onto her espresso saucer. “I’m sorry, did you say Romolo Castiglione?”

---