Page 44 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

Maybe we can go public.

Maybe things aren’t as doomed as I think.

Maybe I can love him out loud instead of denying it even to myself.

12

DANTE

I wake slowly, my head pounding before I even open my eyes. I can feel the sunlight on my face, and I curse this room for not having blackout curtains like the ones in my bedroom at home.

Fucking tequila.

This is all Elio’s fault.

I open my eyes and blink them a few times, trying to get my thoughts together.

I don’t remember how I got home, but bits and pieces are coming back to me. The leggy blonde that Elio went home with. Being in a car. Samantha.

I sit straight up and groan, my head aching. There’s a reason I don’t drink other than socially. I tend to run my mouth when I’m drunk, and I can’t remember what I said to Samantha. I remember her in my arms, cuddled up against my chest, and I swallow hard.

Fuck.

What did I say?

My heart pounds and I get up, walking to the bathroom and drinking water from the faucet like a dog, dehydrated.

I’m still in the rumpled clothes I wore last night and I feel gross, so I undress and take a quick shower, trying not to think too much. Scenes from last night are still coming back to me in waves.

“I’m fucking smitten by you, tesoro.”

I groan out loud as I get out of the shower and dress in a pair of sweats, not bothering with a shirt. I don’t plan on leaving my room, since Elio will most likely be asleep all day or with that blonde.

A knock sounds on my door and I frown. Elio must be home. Maybe he wants to tell me about the blonde.

Please God, don’t let it be work. I feel half-dead.

“Come in,” I call, slicking my damp hair back from my face. The door opens and Samantha walks in with a tray of food. I freeze, my shoulders stiffening.

“Thought you might be hungry,” she murmurs. “It’s nearly noon, you know.”

“You didn’t have to bring me that,” I mumble, looking away.

“You need something on your stomach to soak up all the tequila.”

I almost gag. “Please don’t say that word.”

She laughs. “Alright, mister. Sit down and eat.”

I slowly sit down on the edge of the bed and she places the tray over my lap. It’s simple, a sandwich piled high with meat, cheese, and tomatoes and a handful of potato chips. “Did you make this yourself?”

She nods, grinning. “I can’t boil water but I can make a sandwich.”

I snort, looking up at her with a smile. “Thank you.”

She just stands there, tilting her head slightly as if waiting. I pick up the sandwich and take a bite, chewing before answering. “It’s good.”

She grins wider. “Good.” Her brown eyes are bright, her smile full of sunshine.