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“Why aren’t you atmyhome, Topolina?” Vincent inquires, his eyebrows turning inward, almost as though he’s scrutinizing her.
Italian isn’t a language I’m too familiar with other than knowing common words like hello and thank you, so I’ll have to look upTopolinalater—or ask Drago.
CC starts to cringe, but recovers with a shy smile, looking at her father.
“School is closer from D’s house than Malibu, so...” She trails off like she isn’t certain that was what she should have said.
“It makes sense for CC to stay here, at my house,” Drago finishes for her, backing her up.
“Your papà has been back for a week and this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on you. It would be nice if you were around more.” He picks up his wine, tipping the goblet to his lips, his eyes never swaying from hers.
“Of course, Dad.” She forces a smile. She isn’t talented at masking her features. “I’ll come home tomorrow.”
“That’s not going to work, sis.” Drago gives her a pointed look. “You’re supposed to watch the boy between Mona leaving to pick up Natalie from school and when Bri can come get him.”
This is the first I’ve heard of that.
I narrow my eyes. Even though Drago isn’t giving his motives away, I quickly realize he’s creating an out for his sister. Eyeing his father from under my lashes, I wonder if he realizes that.
CC nods to her brother before exiting the formal dining room as quiet as a mouse.
“Right.” He nods his head, his face expressionless. “The grandson I suddenly have that I only found out about today.”
Like I believe that. Drago thinks his father was the mastermind behind that ordeal, but I have to wonder why.
I understand needing something to hold over him, but forcing a child into the mess? I still remember thinking how far-fetched the whole thing sounded to my own ears.
“We’ve barely spoken in the last two years, I didn’t see the relevance of the information,” Drago explains.
“Everything to do with my family is relevant. You should have called. You should have kept me up on the events that were unfolding here.”
Drago grunts, appearing bored of the topic at hand.
“A man never walks away from what he’s responsible for,” his father adds.
“Seeing how I was deceived in his... creation, I don’t see how I should be responsible for him.”
“He’s an Acerbi.” His father’s eyes turn hard, making a shiver run through me. “Creation means nothing, but it is your responsibility to make him understand what it means to be one of us.” His posture relaxes. “Just like I did with you.”
“Well,” Drago drags out, his eyes flicking up to meet his dad’s, “maybe I’m not cut out for the whole parenting thing. If my girlfriend didn’t like the boy so much he wouldn’t even be here.”
My gasp is audible, making everyone’s eyes fall on me. I force a tight smile, looking down at my plate as I stab my fork into the last bit of pasta and shovel it into my mouth.
Roaming my eyes up, connecting them with Drago, I see a hint of approval.
I knew when the words left his mouth, he didn’t mean them, but thinking fast, I allowed myself to react naturally in hopes that’s exactly what he was going for. Seems I was right on the mark.
“Detective, you’ve barely touched your wine.” I glance over to Vincent, watching as he arches an eyebrow. “Is it not to your liking? The vintage hasn’t debuted yet,” he informs me.
Glancing down at the still full glass of red wine, I reach for it, wrapping my fingers around the stem and lift.
“I do, actually, or normally would anyway.” I shake my head, continuing, “I’m familiar with the winery. Their wines are known for being bold, full-bodied, and phenomenal. On any other day, I usually can’t say no, but tonight this one just isn’t agreeing with my pallet. Maybe it’s just been a long week adjusting to being back at work, amongst other responsibilities.”
It’s not like a sip, or even a whole glass would hurt the baby, and I’m still in the early stage. The only reason I even accepted a glass is because Drago doesn’t want anyone to know about the baby. And right at this moment, neither do I.
I place the glass back on the table nonchalantly.
“Such a shame for a glass to go to waste then. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Andrews?”
