Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“You’re telling me. After my mom found out about your son, she told me at least someone did something productive on my wedding night. Maybe I can make it up to her by getting my wife pregnant on your wedding night,” Andy scoffs. His smile turns sad. Pregnancy is more complicated than that for him and Bianca, which is why they haven’t had children yet. Maybe this will be the motivating factor for them.
Emma stirs on the bed, but she doesn’t wake up. Fuck, she’s pretty. The word feels wrong to assign to her. It’s too weak to describe her. Gorgeous. Ravishing. Stunning. She possesses the type of beauty that drives men to spend their nights writing sonnets. The beauty that drives men insane.
I had never had a long attention span for women. My few attempts at relationships had been cursory. I’m sure my cousins had thought my obsession with the redhead would pass at the same speed. My father, he understood. It’s why he placed the conditions on me.
The life of a mafia wife isn’t an easy one, and it will be even more difficult for someone who hasn’t been raised with the expectation of what it will look like. It’s dangerous, meaning she will need constant protection. She won’t be able to have a casual brunch or go shopping without a guard following her. Having friends outside the life will be difficult and having friends inside the life is dangerous. There’s a reason family is everything. They understand, and they are less likely than others to stab you in the back.
Most of the time, I appreciate my father’s advice. This time I wish I could go back in time and tie her to me the day we met.
“Go,” I tell Andy. “Find your wife and pick a fight with her so that you can knock her up.” Andy laughs, but we have all grown accustomed to the yelling followed by moaning. I had asked Andy about it, if it’s a kink of theirs, and he had told me she behaves much better when she’s been well-fucked.
Once Andy is out of my sight, I slip into the room and close the door behind me. Matteo looks up from his toys, but if he feels something is odd, he doesn’t vocalize it. Occasionally, he brings something over to show me. He shows me a stuffed dinosaur, which is a stegosaurus. It isn’t his favorite kind of dinosaur. Apparently, that’s a euoplocephalus, but he has never found a stuffed animal. He brings over his Lego creations, though I wouldn’t know what they are if he didn’t specifically tell me.
It’s a couple of hours before Emma even so much as stirs in her bed, her head popping up and her hand swiping away the hair that had fallen in her face. She blinks her eyes and I can tell when the world comes into focus.
I’m going to spend every day of the rest of my life watching her face as she wakes up. I don’t care if I have to have someone set up a camera on her while I’m out of town. There’s too much I’ve missed.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting as she takes me in, but the sudden sullen look of despair is a hit to the ego. Her shoulders sag as she makes quick work of pulling her messy hair into an even messier bun.
“I… I don’t want to have this discussion in front of Matteo,” she sighs, her shoulders slumping forward. “He’s smart. He’s so smart. I would rather we have these discussions while he is with my dad or while he’s asleep.”
I look at Matteo playing in the corner. He appears to not be paying attention to us, but I can tell he’s listening. She’s right about Matteo being smart. A sense of pride swells in my chest.
I can force it. I can make her have the discussions with me so we can get it over with. But I know Emma isn’t going to be happy and Matteo is so perspective. He could tell his grandpa had been upset. Surely he’ll be more aware of his mother’s emotions. I haven’t had time to build up a relationship with him. I don’t want to start with him hating me.
“Matteo, what is your favorite food?” I ask him.
“Pizza,” he says without hesitation. A smile spreads across my face. He has been listening in the entire time.
“Well, you don’t know pizza until you have had a real Italian pizza. Do you like to cook?” I ask him again. He has abandoned his toys and makes his way over to the bed. Emma pulls him into her lap.
“Yeah,” he says. “I like to help mommy in the kitchen.”
“How about we give Mommy a break from cooking, and you can help me make a pizza for her?”