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“Ben and I agreed it would be best for your sister to do this if he ever came back to town, tried to contact you girls again.”
“You talked to Ben about that too?”
“He brought it up.” My heart flutters a bit, knowing Lola has that. A man so worried about her mental well-being that he told my mafia husband that he wanted her father locked up if he tried to contact her again. “You disagree?” he asks, and I know what he means.
Do I disagree that Turner should be put away?
Nope.
He can see that on my face, of course.
“That’s what I thought. So, we’ll make it so he can’t bother you two anymore, and that’s it.” I sigh. “Now, let’s talk about something else,” he says.
I look to the ceiling and shake my head.
“We have dinner plans tonight. We don’t have time—”
“Wanna tell me what I found in the bathroom garbage?” he asks, his lips to my neck, and my body freezes.
I don’t respond.
His lips move to my ear.
“Was it yours, fiorella?”
I don’t respond.
I’m panicked.
I’m panicked because I don’t know how he’ll respond. Will he be happy? Will he be angry? Will he—
But as always, he knows.
Dante always knows.
“Because if it was, I need you to cancel those reservations at Trattoria, Lilah. I need to celebrate with my wife. Alone.”
My heart fills with his words, and my head turns gently in his direction.
“Would you be happy?” He tries to lift his head, but I can’t handle that, can’t see his face right now.
I’m so irrationally afraid of what I’ll see there.
As always, he knows.
He knows my fears and my joys.
“I would do absolutely anything on this earth to give you everything you want, Delilah. I’d kill men. I’d steal the world. I’d buy you every pair of red-bottom shoes on the planet. You being in this universe, sleeping in my bed every damn night makes me the happiest man on this planet.” My heart pumps, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes.
“But nothing—and I mean nothing, Delilah—would make me happier than you making me a father.”
I start to cry silent tears with that.
“It was mine, Dante,” I whisper.
He breathes something that sounds like tears of his own, and that’s confirmed when wet warmth hits my collarbone.
“I’ll allow these tears. Happy tears.”
