Page 141 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

I shook off the dark cloud. There was no use ruining this with tears. I’d spent months accepting the inevitable. “Soon you won’t be here and the connection to both of you will be lost.”

“You aren’t losing me yet, and we can talk about anything and everything before then. But it’s time for you to live your own life, not sit here with me.”

“Will you please stop trying to get rid of me?”

He squeezed my hand weakly. “I want to see you happy. Buscetta is a good man.”

“You barely met him.”

“We chatted briefly before he left for Palermo and I could see that he cares about you very much. And both D’Agostino and Ravazzani speak highly of him, and you know they don’t often hand out praise—especially with the Cosa Nostra.”

Papà and Giacomo had talked? “What did the two of you talk about?”

“You, mostly.”

My eyes grew wide. “Me? Like what, exactly?”

“That is private between your husband and your father. But know that we agree on the most important thing, which is your happiness.”

“He said that?”

“You seem surprised. From what I understand, he’s promised you the world to get you to come to Sicily.”

I couldn’t help but picture Giacomo’s pleading expression as he said,“I will give you everything you want and spend every day at your feet, worshiping the very ground you walk on.”

“He’s no bullshitter, your husband,” my father continued. “I like that. He says what he means.”

“Yes, that’s definitely true.” I let go of his hand and sat back in the chair. “I don’t see how we make sense together. A doctor and a mob boss. It would never work.”

“Sweetheart, haven’t you ever heard that opposites attract? No one thought a famous model and a mob boss would work out, but life isn’t always about what’s sensible. Sometimes we make our own logic. You just have to be willing to take a risk on it.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN

Giacomo

One week later

Itightened my hold on the steering wheel, wincing at the resulting jolt of pain in my freshly-scabbed knuckles. It was the only thing I could feel these days. Everything else was blessedly numb.

Over the past few weeks Zani and I had eliminated the remainder of Virga’s clan. A new il capo dei capi would be crowned soon, but it wouldn’t be anyone from Virga’s family. They were all dead.

I didn’t care who took over. As long as he stayed out of my way, we’d get along just fine.

“You fighting again tonight?” Zani was staring down at his phone, scrolling on one of the social media apps where girls posted half-naked pictures all the time.

“You have a problem with it?”

“Of course not. I love to watch my closest friend try to taunt someone into killing him in the ring.”

I scowled at his sarcasm. “That is not what I am doing.”

“Oh, so you’re hoping for another concussion? Fingers crossed, then. Maybe it will be the one to finally do permanent damage, no?”

I kept my attention on the road, ignoring him. Zani didn’t understand. Fighting was what I knew. It was in my blood, the marrow of my bones. My father made me this way, molded me into an empty shell capable of withstanding incredible pain and agony. An animal reacting on pure instinct with no need for thoughts or emotion. It was good to be that man again.

I didn’t want to feel or think. I craved pain—both giving and receiving—because when I was unconscious I couldn’t dream.

“Have you tried reaching out to her, because—”

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