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“It’s not my place,” she murmurs.
“So there is something…”
She doesn’t reply, and I don’t try to force her. She’s been through too much for me to press her about anything. After a few minutes of holding each other, she whispers, “I don’t want to stir any trouble in your family. I know how much is at stake with your Family.”
“My family, ortheFamily?”
“Both,” she says quietly.
“Explain,” I tell her.
She speaks in a whisper, telling me about the song in the study—my dad tearing up, Mom seeming shocked, and asking if he had heard the singing.
“But if she’s been speaking to him…”
“Why would that be a shock?” I finish, nodding. “You were right to tell me this.”
“Do you think your mom…”
“Do I think she’s pretending my dad is speaking to her?”
Scarlet has her face pressed against me. When she nods, I feel it instead of seeing it. My chest is warm from where her tears have pushed through my shirt. “I can imagine other mafia queens doing that. They take advantage of their husband’s condition to get their own power, but not Mom. They were too in love, together long before Dad was the don, and she’s never cared about the business. I don’t understand it.”
“Maybe somebody else is behind it,” Scarlet says.
I sit up, my heart suddenly beating quicker, harder, with more urgency. “Go on.”
She looks up at me, beautiful even with her cheeks puffy and red from crying and messy hair from where I was rubbing it. If anything, she looks more beautiful like this. It makes her look more genuine. Real.
“What if somebody is threatening her? Or blackmailing her?”
I shake my head. “She would come to us,” I say. “I know she would. She knows that Luca and I would never let that stand.”
“Maybe it’s something she can’t talk to you about?” Scarlet says. “Remember, I don’t know what I’m talking about. I could’ve misread that whole situation. Maybe it’s just because he shed a tear.”
“Hmm, maybe,” I mutter.
“What now?” Scarlet asks.
“We find your mom. Save her. Reunite you with her.”
“But I mean…now. Right now. What should we do?”
“Whatever you want,” I say. “You’ve been through a lot. If you want to be alone, that’s okay. If you want me to stay here, that’s okay, too.”
“What if I want to forget?” she murmurs, sliding her hand down my chest.
I catch her wrist, the savage awaking in me. “You’ve been through a lot,” I say. “You don’t have to rush into anything.”
She shifts against me, tempting me with her body. Her heat radiates into me with an urgency that has me almost howling. Her head’s not in the right place. I’ve got to remember that. She’s not thinking clearly, but when she shivers against me as if her lust is bursting out of her, I almost lose it.
“Don’t you want to forget, too?” she whispers.
There’s a kind of desperation in her voice. She’s hungry to let everything go. If we disappear into steaminess, she doesn’t have to think. I get that. “If I let myself go,” I growl, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop. I’ll take you hard. I’ll claim your perfect body.”
“Perfect?” she says doubtfully.
With a groan, I slide my hand down to her hip. I squeeze hard, feeling her curviness, her sexy-as-fuck wide hips, made for giving me a family. Made for grabbing and owning, holding as I drill her hard.
