Page 48 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

“Dante–”

“Not now, Samantha.”

She sighs but slowly nods, creeping to the door and peeking out before leaving. When the door shuts I feel like I can finally breathe again. But the alarms in my head don’t stop ringing.

I have to stop this.

13

SAMANTHA

Papa nearly discovering us spooks Dante something fierce. I don’t see him for days, and I can’t help feeling bitterly disappointed.

I’d thought things were ramping up, that soon we’d maybe be more than just physical.

He’d been so open and vulnerable with me, but maybe that was just the tequila talking.

Smitten.

I can’t stop thinking about it. How he touched my face, held me in his lap. My heart had bloomed like a blossom under the sun and now…

Now it’s like it’s all in darkness.

So I do what I do best—I push.

I touch his hand under the dinner table, his thigh. He always jerks away. I try to corner him in the hallway, but he justphysically moves me out of the way with his hands briefly on my waist.

My heart speeds up just from the simple touch. I’m starved for it. Starved forhim.

God, I’m absolutely crazy about him. And I hate myself for it.

Not because he’s Papa’s best friend. Not because he’s nearly twenty years my senior.

Because I’ve never felt this before. Not for any man.

Papa goes out more. I suspect he’s seeing the blonde that Dante mentioned, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

Mama’s been gone for years.

I can’t expect him to never move on. But I just… I still miss her so badly. I can’t imagine anyone ever taking her place.

I need Dante more than ever, and he’s just not there. Even when he is here, he’s standoffish, answering my questions with one word answers.

Three days after Dante’s hangover, I come down to find Dante sitting by himself at the dining room table for dinner. “Where’s Papa?” I ask hesitantly.

He grunts. “Out.”

I want to roll my eyes. Great. One word. “Thinking of going out myself.”

He hates it when I go out. Maybe it’ll spur some kind of reaction. His face doesn’t change. He doesn’t even look at me. “Ricardo will go with you.”

“Why Ricardo? You busy?”

He doesn’t respond.

I slowly sit down next to him, making my own plate, my shoulders stiff as anxiety rushes through me. “Dante…” I say finally, my shoulders slumping. “You don’t get to tell me you’re smitten and then act like I don’t exist.”

“I was drunk,” he responds in a bark, but he doesn’t look up from his lamb chops.