Page 58 of The Don's Secret Heir

“Excuse me,” someone says behind Beth, and I blink at him. He’s tall, handsome, wide across the shoulders. Clean cut. Totally Beth’s type. “I was wondering if the lady would like to dance.”

Beth just stares at him and when he doesn’t back down she points at herself. “Me? You want to dance with me?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, is that a problem?”

She flushes. Beth is always awkward around guys; she has absolutely no flirting skills.

I push her by the waist toward him and she bounces against his chest.

“Go on,” I hiss, and she smiles shyly as he takes her hand and leads her out onto the dance floor.

I chuckle, watching them, and then make my way over to Vincenzo. He’s standing by himself by the time I get to him, his face ruddy from alcohol, but he’s not reeling drunk.

He never is, no matter how much I see him drink.

Mobsters have a second liver, I’m pretty sure.

“Look at you, all grown up,” he teases as I walk up, putting an arm around me and dragging me into a quick hug. “How have you been holding up?”

Tears spring to my eyes as he hugs me. I haven’t spoken to many of Papa’s associates. Felicia kicked me out before I was able.

It makes me miss my father all the more.

“I’m... hanging in there.”

“And that boy of yours?”

I smile widely. “He’s doing great. Growing like a weed.”

“Takes after his grandpa.” He pauses. “No news, I guess?”

I solemnly shake my head, biting my lip.

“Ah.”

I know what he’s thinking. My father is dead. I know it, he knows it. Everyone knows it. All I need to know is who did it to him.

“Listen, Uncle Vincenzo, can I speak to you in your office?”

He raises his eyebrows but nods, leading me up the stairs and into a large office with a desk that spans nearly half of the room.

He sits behind it, pouring himself another glass of scotch.

“Want a drink?”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’ve had enough tonight, but thank you.”

He chuckles. “Are you a tequila girl, like your father?”

I grin. “Yeah, cut my teeth on it, so to speak.”

“Everyone always wants sons, but I would have given anything to have a daughter like you,” he muses. I put a hand to my chest, feeling touched.

“Thank you. Listen, I wanted to ask you about someone.”

“Yeah?”

“Dario Conte. You haven’t invited the Contes to any of your parties in decades. What’s changed?”