Page 114 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

“Um, two weeks ago?”

“So we probably need to wait another week or so before you test. Frankie will know.”

At the mention of my older sister, I frowned. Frankie would be so disappointed in me. “We don’t need to tell her about this right away, do we?”

“What happened to you being tired of keeping secrets?”

“I mean secrets about other people. I’m fine keeping secrets aboutme.”

“Well, I’m not. And she needs to know. Actually, I’d be surprised if Enzo wasn’t texting Fausto as we speak.”

I craned my neck and saw Enzo typing feverishly on his mobile. “Shoot. I really hope he isn’t.”

“Relax.” Gia patted my arm. “If anyone understands being sent away to get knocked up, it’s Frankie. And look how that turned out.”

Giacomo and I weren’t Frankie and Fausto, though. Not even close.

Gia’s mobile buzzed. She lifted it up and checked the screen, then flipped the device around. FRANKIE.

“Oh, great.” Leaning on the table, I buried my face in my hands.

“Let’s get it over with,” Gia said and pressed the button to accept the call.

CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE

Giacomo

The narrow dirt road stretched out in front of the car. We’d been driving since dawn, twisting through the dry mountains beyond the city, because it occurred to me this morning where Viviana might go.

Palermo was my city, my people, and no one—not even a Buscetta—could hide from me there. She was smart enough to know that. We had people at the airport, the docks. No one had reported seeing a young couple fitting Viviana and Federico’s descriptions.

But the hills . . . the hills in Sicily were almost impossible to search. This was why my father went there to avoid going to prison and why he’d lasted so long out there.

My father’s farmhouse, a mouse hole buried amid kilometers of rock and vegetation, was about two hours from the city. Viv and I had talked about the place over the years, as I’d regaled her with stories about how ridiculous it was to see Don Gero living like a farmer. I told her about the trek there, how hard it was to find the farmhouse. Without a doubt I gave her enough clues to find it on her own, because why would I ever think she’d go there?

Not once had I thought it a possibility. Even if she hadn’t been under guard at Mirabella, her feelings about our father meant she normally avoided anything to do with him. Which, I supposed, made it the perfect place for her and Federico to hide from me.

I crushed the steering wheel in my grip. My sister hiding from me? It made me want to tear the entire country apart with my bare hands, then beat Federico to death.

“Where did you sleep last night?” Zani asked me out of nowhere.

I looked over to glare at him, but he was scrolling on his phone. “None of your business.”

“The boys said you didn’t go home and you were too drunk to drive. So where did you go?”

“If you’ve already talked to the boys, then you know where I went.”

“Yes, but I want to hear you admit it.”

I scowled. I didn’t need this aggravation today. I was hungover and pissed off. “I slept at Theresa’s.”

Dead silence.

“I only slept there,” I qualified. “I didn’t fuck her.”

More silence.

Gesù, I hated when Zani acted like this. I already regretted sleeping at Theresa’s house, but I hadn’t been thinking clearly. “Nothing happened. I passed out on her sofa. You can ask her.”

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