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“Salvatore Moretti,” I muttered.
I could feel the realization slam into Alessio, and he physically stumbled back.
She nodded. “Salvo and your father were best friends before they became heads of the families.”
She shrugged. “We had fun, fooled around. Enjoyed ourselves. And nine months later, you were born.” She raised her head and stared at Alessio.
“But you had me already?” I asked because suddenly, I wasn’t sure if Moretti would have told me the same thing if I was the one by his side instead of Alessio.
My mother moved toward us, then cupped my cheek and Alessio’s, who shook her hand off and stepped back.
My mother let her hand hang in the air for a moment, then focused solely on me.
“I had you, Gabe, when I was barely nineteen. I was so young when I met your father. Had no experience.”
Her words were like a gut punch to me.
Had my father done the same thing as I? Had he seduced my mother like I seduced Sophie? Had he caught her, taken away her choices along with her freedom?
Was this history repeating itself?
Was I the one repeating my father’s mistakes?
As if my mother could sense where my mind was going, she continued, “Your father and I loved each other from the first time we met. But he wanted me to explore. He wanted me to not miss out. He wanted me to be truly happy.”
“So, Gabe is his son, but I’m not,” Alessio deadpanned. “That’s why he never even entertained the thought of making me the head of the family—even after Gabe bailed. That’s why he completely discarded me as an heir.”
My mother’s chin trembled. “It was an accident. We stopped fooling around afterward. And vowed to never talk about it. Your father loved you very much. He never treated you any different than Gabe and Cristo.”
“Only I was different.” Alessandro stared at her, his eyes cold.
Hurt.
He swallowed hard, then lowered his head. “I was a Moretti by blood. Not part of the Falcone family.”
The pain in his voice was like a knife to my chest.
“Alessio,” my mother begged, but Alessio turned away from her. “I need to get out of here.”
“Alessandro, wait,” I cut him off, and when he bumped into me, he raised his head.
“What?” There was wetness in his eyes and barely contained rage.
“I’m sorry.”
He scoffed, malice emanating from him in waves. “I need to get the fuck out of here before I do something I might or might not regret.” He threw a dirty look at Mamma.
Fuck.
I’d never seen him like that. Furious. Out of control. “How about a trip to Malta? There’s some irregularities in one of the casinos, and I need someone I can trust to look into it.”
Our gazes locked. He glared at me. “I don’t need your fucking pity.”
I nodded. “Either you go to Malta and take care of our business there, or you turn around, apologize, and I kick your ass until you take a time-out in the hospital. Your choice entirely.”
His self-deprecating chuckle was nothing short of heart-wrenching.
Then he nodded once.
