Page 114 of The Don’s Omega

He lifts his phone higher, adjusting the pillow behind his head. Then with a smirk, he runs his hand down his chest and abdomen, stopping to loosen the towel around his waist. “I especially thought about you in the shower.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep,” he says softly. “I also think about you when I wake up and when I go to bed every night.”

“Sounds like I’m on your mind a lot,” I murmur.

“You are,” he rumbles. “If I wasn’t coming home soon, I’d have to buy more lube.”

I laugh, cheeks warm. “Geez, Marcello.”

He peers closer at his screen. “Fuck, I love it when you blush, Elio. Makes me hard.”

“Seems like everything makes you hard.”

Does Sandro make you hard?

That unpleasant thought has jealousy jolting through me, overriding the pleasure I felt at flirting with him. I’m too confused and anxious that he’s been lying to me to enjoy the moment. My mind can’t help going where I don’t want it to go.

“I… I played tennis today with Giulia,” I blurt.

He blinks, obviously thrown by the sudden change of subject. “Did you?” It’s clear he’s confused about why I interrupted our sexy banter to tell him that, but he goes with it. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes. Giulia is always fun.” I hesitate. “Salvatore was there again too.”

“Was he?” His voice sharpens.

I nod. “He was.”

He looks tense suddenly, but I’m not sure why. “Seems like he’s always there when you’re there.”

I shrug. “I think he’s just always there.”

“That might be true,” he says. A short silence falls and he says quietly, “I really do miss you, tesoro.”

My heart squeezes because I want so much to believe he loves me and only me. “Do you?”

“So much it hurts,” he says, rolling onto his side. The way he looks at the screen, his eyes dark with emotion, it makes me feel guilty for doubting him.

“I miss you too,” I whisper. “I wish you were here with me.” And I mean it. I mean every word of it. It’s because I love him so much I’m easily influenced by my insecurities. Maybe instead of giving in to them, I should talk to Marcello about them. Otherwise the bad thoughts will fester. Didn’t I learn my lesson with the Beppe incident?

“I’ll be home soon,” he says huskily.

We stare at each other in silence for a few moments.

“Can… can I ask you something, Marcello?” I’m breathless as I gather my courage.

“Of course.” He frowns, picking up on my anxiety. “What’s wrong?”

“Well…” I lick my lips. “Someone at the club thought they saw you last night. Here in Sorrento Bay at Adriatico’s, having… having dinner with Sandro Lucchese.”

An angry scowl appears instantly, and he sits up on his elbow. “That’s a lie. Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter who. It… it’s not true, right?”

“Elio,” he rumbles. “Of course it’s not true. I’m in Philadelphia. Tell me who said that to you.”

I don’t want to get Salvatore in trouble. He already admitted he was probably mistaken, and I know how vindictive Marcello can be. “I’m not going to tell you who said it because they meant well. I’m… I’m just relieved to know it’s not true.”