Page 87 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be awkward at all,” I said sarcastically. “How are you? How are the kids?”

“I’m exhausted, and the kids are living their best lives and being spoiled by their father. Basically, the usual.”

Fausto did spoil Rafe and Noemi, which I knew was the source of many arguments in the Ravazzani household. “And the baby?”

“Marcello is fine,” she said about their youngest son. “He’s so chill. The exact opposite of Rafe in every way.”

Gia and I had both gone to Siderno for the birth. Frankie had handled it like a pro. My sister was born to be a mother.

“But enough about my boring life,” my sister said. “I want to hear about all the lives you’re saving in Peru.”

“It’s research, nothing exciting. I spend most of my time in a lab.” Lies, lies and more lies. I hated not telling the truth.

“Well, I’m very proud of you. I know it’s exactly what you want to be doing.”

God, that made the lying a thousand times worse. Tears sprung to my eyes, emotion overwhelming me. On top of the guilt weighing down my soul, my period started yesterday. Yes, my hormones were all over the place, but there was now a ticking clock counting down to a pregnancy I didn’t want. I had to find a way out of this.

“Thank you,” I forced out. “I hope Papà is doing okay in Toronto without me.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she said tightly, the same borderline-angry tone she used whenever the topic of our father was broached. “You need to live your own life, Em.”

“I know, but he’s getting older and he has a lot on his plate.”

“He’s a grown man. He’ll survive.”

No, actually. He wouldn’t. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I wished Papà had let me tell Frankie and Gia about his condition. At least then I wouldn’t have to carry this grief alone. “Do you think he talks to Fausto about business?”

Frankie snorted. “I have no idea. Fausto knows Roberto Mancini is a subject best avoided in this house.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. God forbid anything happens to Papà, I don’t want to be forced out onto the street by whoever takes over.”

“That will never happen, Em. We’ll protect you. Jesus, where is this coming from? Are you in some kind of trouble that I don’t know about?”

“Stop worrying. Everything’s fine. Maybe because you’ve just had a second boy, it made me wonder about who will take over for Papà. Because we’re not sons.”

“It can all go to Reggie or Dante, for all I care. I want nothing to do with Roberto or his business.”

She never called our father Papà anymore. Only Robert, or Roberto when she was feeling Italian. She was still resentful over how he handled everything surrounding our mother’s death, then breaking his promise about letting her attend university. They had a complicated relationship that was completely different from the one he and I shared. “What about one of your sons?”

I could almost hear her frowning as the question lingered. “I don’t want my boys moving to Toronto. I want them living here, with me. I’ll be worried enough when they’re out working for—” Biting off whatever she’d been about to say, she exhaled shakily and gave a strained chuckle. “I’m still breastfeeding and my hormones are all over the place. Fuck, just the thought of my babies moving away . . . I can’t handle it.”

Great, now I’d made her cry. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, it’s okay. You wouldn’t be Emma if you weren’t being inquisitive.”

My phone buzzed with an incoming call. Papà’s oncologist. “Oh, Frankie, I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll check in soon, okay?”

“Of course! Ti amo, mia bella sorellina.”

“Love you, too. Hug the family for me. Ciao!”

I hung up and answered the incoming call. “Dr. Morrissey. Hello.”

“Miss Mancini, hi. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

Because he thought I was still in Toronto. “No, not at all. What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with your father, and as his medical proxy I thought you also had a right to know what’s going on.”

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