Page 56 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

Silence. I wait a beat. Then another. “Samantha?”

Nothing. I try the doorknob. It’s locked. I curse under my breath.

I lean my forehead against the door, breathing out slow through my nostrils to try and calm myself. “Samantha. Please.”

There’s a shift behind the door and her voice gets louder. “Leave me alone.”

“I just want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Just open the door, Samantha.”

“I told you not to tell me what to do.”

I draw in a sharp breath, irritation rushing through me. “You’re being a child.”

“That’s what you’re always calling me, anyway. I’m too young for you, remember?”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what’s it about, Dante?” Her voice raises even louder. She’s angry. And she has every right to be. I handled this badly, and I know it.

“I want to apologize.”

There’s another shifting sound behind the door and slowly, she opens it. She peeks at me with flashing brown eyes, not fully opening it.

“Won’t you let me in?”

“No.”

I want to scream. Instead, I run a hand through my hair again, mussed from me doing it so many times last night. “I’m sorry,” I say finally. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“Yes, you did,” she says flatly, and goes to shut the door again.

I wedge my foot in it, and it fucking hurts because I’m barefoot. But it keeps the door open. She glares at me, stepping back as I walk into her room, and crosses her arms over her chest.

“You should eat something,” I say softly. She looks pale, face puffy. Still beautiful.

She doesn’t answer.

“I know your head has to hurt,” I hedge, my voice low and calm. “Let me bring you some coffee and something to eat.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sure you are,” I say slowly. “But you’ll feel better if you put something on all that liquor in your stomach.”

She doesn’t soften, her arms still crossed, eyes still on mine and angry. I sigh heavily. “Do you think this is easy for me?”

“It’s easy enough for you to ignore me, isn’t it? You didn’t seem torn up about it.”

“It wasn’t easy. None of this is fucking easy, Samantha.”

“Just go home,” she says flatly. “I’ll get my phone out of your car and you can go. I’ll have Papa send someone else to be my bodyguard.”

I blink as hurt pierces the shell around my heart. “Wh-what?” The stutter surprises me. I haven’t stuttered since I was in foster care.

“Just get out,” she says again, but her voice is thick. “Maybe the next bodyguard will be hotter. He might actually want me.”