Page 52 of Secret Mafia Daddy

“I would never,” he argues, and I scoff.

“You did,” I say harshly. “You left us for some twenty-one-year-old, remember?”

“Of course I remember, Angelo. It was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Yeah, well," I say, rubbing my hand across the back of my neck. “Where’s the ring?”

“In my study," he says, going up the stairs, and I follow him after a brief pause.

Is this really worth it? I hated it when he’d left us. Hated him. Still do.

I remember yelling and sobbing at the door the night he left, asking him why he didn’t love us anymore.

I shudder just thinking about it. I was only a kid, but it still hurt.

I stand in the doorway of his office as he goes to get the ring, handing it to me in a ring box.

I open it and it sparkles beautifully in the light.

“I have it cleaned once a year,” he says quietly.

I scoff. “What, am I supposed to give you a medal for that?”

“You could say thank you.”

“Thank you,” I spit out, not meaning it in the slightest. This is the absolute bare minimum that my father can do, after leaving us the way he did.

“Son,” he starts.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap.

“Angelo,” he starts again, and I look up at him with a frown. “I just want us to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You blackmailed an invitation out of me. That’s more than enough to show me you are still looking out for you and no one else,” I say firmly, and walk down the stairs and out of the house. He follows me out onto the porch.

“Angelo,” he calls.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your invitation,” I grunt.

He looks relieved, but I’m just trying to get him off my back. I don’t plan on saying word one to him at the wedding unless I absolutely have to.

I roll my shoulders, feeling tense and stiff, and I can’t help shutting the door a little hard when I close the car door.

The flight back does nothing to ease my mood. I’m still fuming when I arrive back at the penthouse.

Catarina is sitting there, sipping coffee. “You’re back early. I didn’t expect you for hours.”

“Just had to get one thing,” I say, and offer her the ring box. It isn’t much of a proposal, but the way our marriage has gone so far, it’s at least some kind of gesture.

She takes it and opens it, her mouth dropping open slightly. “It is beautiful, Angelo.”

“Try it on,” I order. “We can get it resized if we have to.”

She slips it on her finger and it’s a perfect fit. She must be a size six just like my mother. She moves her hand around so that the diamond catches the light.

My heart skips a beat. She looks so beautiful, even barefaced with her blonde curls damp. I cup her face, lean down, and kiss her softly, slowly, just slightly slipping my tongue into her mouth.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat, kissing me back, and when I pull away, her silver eyes look a little dazed.

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