Maybe I shouldn't have kidnapped her from her father, and instead, waited patiently. But my possessive nature was impossible to control; plus, I couldn't have my woman running around in New York when important business awaited me back home. What if some other fucker wanted to steal her? No one could be trusted with her protection but me.
"Drop it, Damian," I said with a warning, because twin or no twin, I'd be damned if I’d discuss my woman with another man.
"Trust me, I wasn't about to ask you about your sex life." He winced. "She's a sister to me. I’m still reining in my desire to smash your face for touching her."
I rolled my eyes at this; apparently, everyone seemed to think they had some kind of right to my woman, when it fact, she belonged only to me.
Not to her father.
Not to Damian.
Sure as fuck not to herself. My life and hers were forever entwined, so everyone better fucking get used to that.
He held my eyes with his. His had a wistful expression. "I just wanted to know if everything was all right with you?" For the last three months, we had shared a few phone calls. I came to visit them once, but besides that, we didn't establish an amazing connection all of a sudden or bond over the experience. We just couldn't, even if we tried. I loved my brother and he loved me, but we simply couldn't ignore all the years we spent apart. Plus, we had a huge distance between us, the entire ocean.
Before I could answer him, Don joined our table and sat down opposite us with a serious expression. "Can I have a moment with you two?" Damian and I shared a look. Since when did the man ask anything? The entire night he was busy flirting with Mary, Sapphire's single friend, and he hadn't paid much attention to us. We nodded, and he cleared his throat. "I still hold a grudge against you,ragazzo." He let me know with steel in his eyes that was easy for me to understand. I kidnapped his child, and our mafia houses were currently at war. We agreed to a truce during the wedding, but all bets were off once it was over. "But there is one thing I wanted to give to you. Both of you." He placed the brown, rectangular envelope on the table and motioned for us to open it.
Since Damian made no move toward it, I picked it up, tore it open, and several photos slid all over the table. Pushing the envelope aside, I focused my attention on the vivid pictures that must have been taken at least thirty years ago, due to the quality of the photos and the wardrobe.
A young couple in their early twenties rode on a motorcycle in the middle of the empty street with deserts and canyons surrounding them. A guy wearing a black Queen T-shirt and blue jeans along with boots held the handlebars and gazed ahead, while the girl behind him wrapped her arms around his waist and laughed happily with her head tilted back. Her hair was blown away by the wind, and the band around her forehead kept it from getting in her eyes. Her clothes were yellow and orange. She wore lots of jewelry on her neck, ears, and hands.
The shot must have been taken from the car riding in front of them, because it captured the moment perfectly without them having to pose for it. There was something oddly familiar about the couple to me, but I couldn't name it. Damian appeared just as clueless. He just kept running his fingers over their faces as his brows furrowed.
The next picture was the same couple during their wedding day. They seemed older. Gone were the hippie attributes, replaced with a black tux for the man and a long, white chiffon dress with small pearls on it for the woman. Her hand rested protectively on the small bump, clearly indicating pregnancy. The couple radiated happiness, which even the old-ass picture couldn't hide it.
Another one was with them holding two babies in the hospital as the woman lay exhausted but happy on the bed. The man held his family protectively in the crook of his arm, creating a shield from the outside world.
The man looked so much like my brother and me. The resemblance was impossible to ignore.
Then it hit me, all at fucking once.
"Are those our parents?" Damian asked with a hoarse voice, as the flat of his palm landed on the last photograph.
"Yes," Don replied. "They used to be my friends. Mine and my wife’s, Sorcha." A ghost of a smile appeared on his face while remembering his wife. "Sorcha and Kristina liked to get into trouble, and we'd have to rescue them."
"Is that why you allowed me to keep Rosa and watched me carefully?" Damian asked, his eyes still glued to the picture in the hospital.
"Yes, it's hard to mistake those eyes. Plus, you do share some of his traits."
"Why now?" The question came from me. I couldn't wrap my head around this information. Why couldn't he share all this before? Don shrugged, took out his cigar, and lit it.
"Seemed like a good wedding present, and besides, it wouldn't have changed anything."
"So Dad was part of the mafia?"
"No, we were childhood friends. He was a lawyer and heir to an empire. He liked to protect the weak, though, so he was kind of a Robin Hood. Did similar stuff like you guys, and one of the reasons those men did what they did. I couldn't come help in time, even though I warned him not to mess with those men without backup." His hand fisted, but the pitch of his voice stayed even.
"That's neither here nor there, though. The point is, the life you lead can destroy things you love the most." His narrowed stare burned into mine. "And I don't want my little girl to be collateral damage." Then he shifted his gaze to Damian. "Or your sweet woman. So on your wedding day, I'll give you two pieces of advice. You forget about being Sociopath, and you"—he pointed his index finger at me—"learn to provide as much protection as you possibly can to my daughter." With those words, he left to join Mary on the dance floor while she blushed from his invitation, leaving us dumbstruck.
Silence fell over us for several seconds, with Damian breaking it with a low voice. "Do you want the pictures?" I nodded, because who wouldn't want them? Remembering our parents was one thing, but having proof that they were happy and wanted us? Yeah, no one could say no to that.
He split them evenly between us and then patted my shoulder. "I need to find Sapphire." He searched for her and finally spotted her near the bar, chatting with Luke. He darted toward her, leaving me sitting there alone with uncomfortable emotions I couldn’t name playing inside me.
Who would have thought our parents used to be that fun-loving couple who fought for justice? Or that they had an Italian Mafia Don for a friend.
A friend who was the father of the woman I desperately wanted to claim as mine.
If it weren’t for S, John, Richard, and the whole human trafficking, I would have had a chance with her. She'd always have been close. No one would ever have harmed her or me, and she'd probably have been my wife the minute she became legal.
