Page 133 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

“Which means he’ll be quick about it.” She dumped a bunch of sealed gauze bandages on the ground next to us. “Your father called once to have a rash looked at and I swear the doctor was here in fifteen minutes flat.”

I suppose being a mob boss meant you had the best of care whenever you needed it.

“Let’s pack the wound to stop the bleeding,” Gloria said. “Though I’m worried about how much blood he’s lost.”

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“No hospitals,” my father’s weak voice said from the bed. “Not unless he’s about to die.”

“Allora, allow me to help.” A large figure knelt next to me. “Tell me what to do.”

It was Giacomo.

Gloria didn’t miss a beat. “Put on gloves and start unwrapping these bandages.”

“Who the hell are you?” my father asked as he struggled to sit up.

“I am Emma’s husband, Giacomo Buscetta.”

“Husband!” I could hear the hurt and disappointment in my father’s voice. “Is this true, Emma?”

My insides curdled with dread, but I lifted my hands so that Gloria could pack the wound with the gauze Giacomo was unwrapping. “I’m sorry, Papà,” was all I could manage.

“Signore, I will give you all the details once the young D’Agostino is stable. But Emma and I were married in Palermo several weeks ago and you should know that I’m keeping her.”

It wasn’t romantic per se, but the declaration was such a blunt, to-the-point Giacomo thing to say. If I wasn’t so focused on Massimo, I might’ve swoon.

“I can’t feel his pulse,” Gloria said, pressing on Massimo’s throat with her fingertips. “We should rush him to the hospital.”

In a flash Giacomo lifted the unconscious Massimo like he weighed nothing at all, then strode from the room. As we hurried after him, Gloria elbowed me. “You married that hunk of man meat? Nicely done, Emma.”

“Emma!” my father called behind me. “I expect you to return with an explanation.”

“I will, Papà. I swear!”

And I hoped he would forgive me.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE

Giacomo

Ihated hospitals. Thank god Emma was here and knew what to do.

The young D’Agostino was rushed to a treatment room, which left Emma and I alone in the waiting area. Zani stayed back at Mancini’s to deal with clean-up, and Gloria returned to look after Roberto.

Emma and I sat side-by-side in uncomfortable chairs, while a sporting event I didn’t understand played on the television. It was on ice with brooms and looked fucking freezing. “Why is your country so cold?” I asked my wife.

She bit her lip in the most adorable way. “You’re Sicilian. The surface of the sun would seem cold to you.”

“You’re probably right.” I was dying to touch her, but I wasn’t sure if I could. So I moved my leg closer, until my thigh met her knee. She didn’t move away and I considered this a small victory. Quietly, I said, “I am very happy to see you.”

Her gaze flicked up to mine briefly. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

It gutted me that she believed this. I didn’t want to have this conversation in a hospital, surrounded by other people, but Emma deserved the truth. And I knew I wouldn’t get her to leave until D’Agostino had been stabilized.

I leaned closer and put my mouth near her ear. “I have never, not once stopped wanting you, amore.”

She gave a small shiver, then eased away from me. “Then why did you order me to go?”

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