Page 82 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

“Shut up.”

“So, do you want her with another man or…”

“Fuckno,” he growls. “But…it’s hard. Moving on.”

“I know it is.” God knows I haven’t been able to do it.

“We’ll see how it goes,” Elio says noncommittally.

“Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Elio looks at me, tilting his head curiously. “You’re in love with her.”

I swallow hard, staring at him. I don’t confirm or deny, but a slow grin creeps across his face. “Dante Bianchi. Finally in love. I can’t believe it.”

I groan. “Don’t make this a big deal. It’s over.”

“It’s never over when you’re in love.Reallyin love.”

I rub a hand across my face. “I don’t think I like it.”

“Being in love?”

I nod.

Elio laughs. “You’re telling me. It’s scary, right? Like jumping out of a fucking plane. But you know me, I’ve always loved adrenaline.”

“We are two very different people, Elio. Call Olivia. Tell her you’re in love with her.”

Elio blinks. “Who says I’m in love with her?”

“You did. Practically.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.” I stand up. “I’m going to eat something and then go to bed for approximately three days.”

“Good. The meet will be Friday. I’m going to throw a party after we catch the rat.”

I scoff. “A party? You know I hate parties.”

“Too bad. It’s a work party, you’re obligated.”

“As long as no tequila is involved.”

Elio grins. “Can’t make any promises.”

I sigh and exit the room as he laughs. I make my way to the kitchen, and I can’t help peeking out the window. Samantha’s on Reese’s shoulders as he walks her around the pool, screaming “Marco” with her eyes covered by her hands. She’s giggling. Glowing. Happy. My heart plummets into my stomach, and suddenly, I’m no longer hungry.

“You should really eat something,” Maria says softly behind me, and I jump, startled.

“Jesus, Maria, you scared the shit out of me.” My words come out in a gasp. She’d legitimately snuck up on me.

She laughs, and it lights up her whole face. She’s pretty. Her husband is a lucky man. “You can’t live off coffee and scotch, you know,” she scolds.

I smile sheepishly. “You noticed?”

“Mmhm.” She walks past me, rummages around in the fridge and pulls out a covered bowl and pops it in the microwave. “This is roast and potatoes from last night.”