Page 28 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

Ah. That made sense. Giacomo didn’t seem like the type of man to easily bend or break. The fights must’ve been epic. “So not a happy childhood?”

“There was no happiness here, not for anyone.”

I thought about this. While my own father had been kind, I’d heard stories of other mafia homes. Violence often wasn’t contained to the streets. Sometimes it ended up inside the house, as well. “Was Don Gero abusive?”

“What do you consider abusive?”

I paused, the mug halfway to my mouth. A sick feeling bloomed in the pit of my stomach. “Did he hit his wife or children?”

“No.” My shoulders relaxed a bit until Sal said, “But there are other ways to hurt someone without using your fists.”

Yikes.

I had to ask it, even if I was terrified of the answer. “And his wife? How did she die?”

“She died when Giacomo was twelve. She was very sick for a number of years, too weak to even get out of bed. Eventually her body gave up on her.”

Giacomo’s childhood sounded awful. Raised by an abusive father, with no mother to intervene or show affection of any kind? Truly horrifying. Our mother had died when I was little, but we had Frankie. My older sister always made sure we were looked after and loved.

“Do not feel sorry for me.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Giacomo’s deep voice as he strode into the kitchen, a blue t-shirt pulled tight across his muscular chest. His short hair was wet, like he’d just stepped out of the shower, and he wore no shoes. He looked strong and fierce. And annoyed.

I focused on my tea and tried not to stare at his impressive arms. “I don’t feel sorry for you.”

“Good.” He went to the espresso machine. “My father? A stronzo. My brother? Another stronzo. And I barely remember my mother. I’m better off without all of them.”

I didn’t know what to say.

There was only silence as the soft whir of the machine filled the kitchen. When it finished brewing, Giacomo lifted the tiny cup in his large hand and downed the hot liquid in a few gulps. Then he put his cup in the sink and started for the door.

I gaped at his back, watching the trap muscles shift as he moved. “Wait, is that it?”

“Is what it?”

He bent over to slide on his boots and the perfect globes of his buttocks drew my attention. Wow, he was in good shape. Tearing my gaze away, I reached for my tea. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

“Emma, I have shit to do. If you need something, spit it out.”

I actually did have something I wanted. I wasn’t sure if he’d allow it, though. “I need a laptop. To finish my classes.”

“There’s one in the office somewhere. Sal can show you where it is.”

“And what if I want to go out?”

His forehead wrinkled. “Where would you go?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to be a prisoner here.”

“Then go.” He waved his hand toward the door. “There are cars in the garage. Take one and explore Palermo. Get drunk. Go to the clubs. Sal will send guards with you. Just don’t leave town.”

“I won’t. I mean, I wouldn’t even if I could. I don’t have any money or ID.”

Dark eyebrows shot up. “You brought nothing with you when you left Toronto?”

“I did, but Virga kept my bag.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he found his car keys. “I will get it for you.” The words held all kinds of menace, like he was relishing the encounter. I almost felt sorry for Virga.

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