“Why the fuck would I want your advice? I’m not falling for any of this.” He wiggles his fingers in Giovanni’s face and mine. “You can keep that shit to yourself.Love?” He gags loudly. “Could you imagine only having one pussy to sample for the rest of your life?” Despite Nico’s disgust, Elio only shrugs. “Don’t act like our father wouldn’t hang you from the rafters by your nuts if you stepped out on your missus, E. When you get shacked up, it’s the same pussy for eternity. Forever. For the rest of your life.”
“I know what eternity means, fuckface.”
While Matteo and Elio continue to bicker, Giovanni gets back to business. “I know you’re desperate and probably scared out of your fucking mind, but this isn’t the way to protect Lucia. However… Even if there are lines we can’t cross right now, it doesn’t mean we can’t smudge them a little.” He walks around the desk until he’s close enough to shut Matteo up with a stern punch to the stomach. “Go spend time with your girl. Hover around like all the billionaire losers do when they have a hot, barely legal nanny taking care of their children.” My laughter shifts to a groan when he adds, “Just keep it PG until we have enough in our arsenal to fight fire with fire.”
The fact that he’s willing to fight is all I need to drain the gasoline from the wreckage.
Giovanni never takes on a battle he can’t win.
With his arm curled around my shoulders, he guides me out of the study. “Pop in and see Papa on your way out. He isn’t happy you’ve been hogging all Camille’s time the past two weeks.”
“I’m not hogging her time. I’m merely saving my daughter from being irreparably scarred by the actions of a man who’s forgotten he’s in his sixties.” I shiver in a manner Matteo would be proud of. “I’m never eating in the formal dining room again.”
“He christened that table, too?” Matteo asks, his gags returning.
When Giovanni jerks up his chin, Matteo shadows my steps out of the study. “That’s it. I’m done. Time to move out.” His eyes gleam with mischief. “Your new place has a spare room, right?”
I shove my hand into his face, answering him without words.
Vanni laughs. It’s comforting to hear given the turmoil still choking the air. Then he reminds me that maturity doesn’t change our goals. “Can’t say I won’t be the same way at his age. If I die with my gray-haired head buried between Valentina’s thighs, I’ll leave this earth a very happy man.”
Before I can share matching sentiments, in true Matteo style, he licks my palm, then growls. “Actually, I could conform to monogamy for that scent.” I glare at him, and he winks, loving that he forced aresponse from me. “Have you washed your hands even once this week, D? I swear I can smell her?—”
He folds in two when I slam my fist into his gut. Then, as he stumbles back, I throw the door into his face.
My brothers’ eerily similar laughter barrels through the now closed door. It lasts barely five seconds before Giovanni reminds everyone why he heads the family. “The first thing we need to do is confirm that Edoardo’s claim of matrimony is legitimate. None of us is leaving this room until we’ve done that.”
I suck in a big breath, then leave before I hear anything that will force me to speak with my fists.
I find my father in the sunroom, reading a newspaper like the world isn’t threatening to collapse around us. I assume he’s alone until a giggle sounds from beneath the ruffling paper.
“Jesus Christ, Papa.” As my hand shoots up to cover my eyes, I spin away from him.
Concetta’s apologetic gaze is as strong as her daughter’s when she slips past me not even a minute later. The air lingering in her wake is both feminine and masculine. It reminds me that not so long ago, I would have given anything for my father to act as lively as he does now.
His body wilted almost to nothing in the year after our mother’s death. Concetta’s presence breathed life back into his lungs.
For that alone, I pretend I’m not about to be sick when I hear my father’s zipper closing.
I turn to face him, my lips involuntarily twitching when I see how red his cheeks are.
My father never gets embarrassed.
I guess there’s a first time for everything.
Once he’s semi-respectable, he looks up, and I stagger back. His lusty gaze gives him a youthful appearance. Decades of stress have been wiped off his face.
Although I’d give anything to keep it that way, he speaks before I can.
“I assume your brothers told you no.”
Nodding, I sink into the chair across from him. “They did.”
He folds the newspaper he used as coverage from the many staff we have, then sets it aside. “Good. Because they’re right.”
Even knowing his word is gospel, I still clench my jaw. “I don’t like playing games.”
If someone deceives us, they die.