Page 121 of Be With Me
Nerves crawled over my skin.Don’t look this way.
But as if she'd heard my thoughts, a familiar pair of gray eyes found me.
Not Romolo's.
His mother's.
A flicker of recognition crossed her face before her gaze slid to my father. She touched Gino’s arm, her lips moving in a whisper only he could hear.
He followed her line of sight, his steps slowing. His sons noticed, and their heads turned in unison.
That’s when Romolo saw me.
His expression turned to stone.
Gino Ferraro adjusted his suit jacket and began to make his way toward us. Only Romolo followed.
Oh God.
I sank deeper into my seat, gripping my napkin with trembling fingers.
My father had never spoken directly to Gino Ferraro. He’d dismissed the man's attempts to meet with disdain.
Now, he couldn’t avoid them—not unless he wanted to bolt from the restaurant like a coward.
“Carlos Morales,” Gino said smoothly, his voice easily carrying through the hushed dining room. “It’s about time we finally met, don’t you think?”
My father didn’t rise to meet him—an unspoken slight. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and tossed his napkin onto the table with casual defiance.
“I was hoping it would be in a courtroom with your hands shackled behind your back.”
A burning heat spread over the back of my neck as I stared at the tablecloth. That seemed unnecessarily aggressive. Was Dad trying to provoke him?
Gino’s chuckle was dismissive. “You have quite the imagination. As far as I know, they don’t put shackles on innocent men. Especially when those men make the kinds of generous contributions that I’ve made to the city you claim to love so much.”
“Generous contributions?” Dad cocked a brow. “You mean the filth you flood our streets with? The families you destroy? We’d be better off without your generosity.”
Gino’s stance shifted, his expression darkening. “Your conspiracy theories about my family are getting creative, but that’s all they are—theories.”
I risked a glance at Romolo. His jaw was tight, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was looking at everyone but me.
The same couldn’t be said for Vita Ferraro. She stood with her sons where Gino and Romolo had left them, her sharp gaze trained on my face.
My stomach tightened with unease. What was she searching for?
I forced my expression into a blank mask. I wouldn’t give her anything to analyze, to pick apart.
Meanwhile, Gino and my father continued their verbal sparring.
“You have no shame,” Dad said. “Your arrogance will be your downfall, Ferraro.”
Shut up,I willed my father.Stop before you make this worse.
Instead, he leaned forward, his expression turning harsher. “And if you think your sons will be spared in the investigations I’ll launch with the DA the second I’m elected, you’re wrong. Every last one of you will pay.”
The last of Gino’s smirk vanished. The threat to his sons had struck a nerve.
“It’s too bad your wife isn’t here, Morales. I would have loved to meet her. But it seems your family is plagued by tragedy—first your brother, then your wife’s unfortunate condition.” His gaze slid my way. “Let’s hope the unlucky streak doesn’t extend to your daughter.”
