“You can stay for an hour, but Mr. Mazzone needs to sleep after that,” the nurse says, stepping aside for me. She thrusts out her hand. “I’m Ruthie, by the way.”
I shake her hand. “Sierra. Nice to meet you.”
“There are refreshments in the refrigerator if you like,” she says, “or help yourself to coffee.” She gestures toward a counter with a coffee station, a kettle, a small refrigerator, and a sink. “Press this button if you need me,” she adds, pointing at a large blue button affixed to the side of Angelo’s bed. “I’ll just be in my room next door.”
“I’m good, but thank you.” I take a seat as Ruthie slips out of the room.
“It’s no wonder that woman never married,” Angelo says, his chest wheezing. “She would nag any man into the grave.”
I smile even though I probably shouldn’t. “She’s just doing her job, and from the looks of it, you are making it difficult for her.”
“Everyone loves a challenge.” He winks, and I shake my head. He’s incorrigible.
“Something tells me you were a tyrant in your day,” I tease, folding my hands in my lap.
“I was,” he freely admits with no hint of shame. He eyeballs me with a steeliness I missed earlier. “I was a cold-blooded killer, but I needed to be. Things were different in my day.” I nod because I’m not sure how else to respond to that. “So much has changed. Some for the good. Some for the bad. But my Bennett has done good. I know he didn’t want this life, but he didn’t shirk his responsibilities, and he is making his mark in a way Mateo never could have.”
“Mateo?” I inquire because I don’t know who that is.
“My eldest son. My firstborn. He was my legitimate heir until he was gunned down by those bastard Bratva fourteen years ago.”
It can’t be a coincidence it’s around the time Ben disappeared from Chicago, but I don’t press Angelo on it. I’d prefer to hear that part of the story from Ben. It’s no wonder the Italians hate the Russians. It seems they have a lot to answer for, but it could be retaliation for equally heinous acts initiated by the Italians.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say.
He reaches out for my hand. “I lost my Mateo only six months after I lost my wife, Rosa. Those were dark times.”
His cold palm trembles against mine. “And Rosa was Natalia’s mother too?” He nods. I probably shouldn’t ask this, but he seems open and much easier to talk to than I imagined. “So you were married to Rosa when you conceived Ben with Jillian Carver?”
His lips tug up in a smile. “If you had asked me that question twenty years ago, I probably would’ve had you killed for your audacity.”
Okay. I take my previous sentiment back. I don’t know if he’s joking, but something tells me he’s not. A chill whistles up my spine.
He chuckles before breaking into a coughing fit. I move to press the button, but he shakes his head, pointing a bony finger at the jug of water by his bed. I pour him a glass, sticking one of the oversized straws in it before holding it to his lips and helping him to drink. When he is done, he pushes my hand away, and I set the glass back on the table.
“You should have seen your face.” He engages in another little chuckle before a more solemn expression plays on his face. “I loved my Rosa, but her role was to be my wife and to sire me an heir. I was away a lot on business, and a man has needs. I enjoyed several dalliances, and I kept permanent whores from time to time.” He shrugs like it’s no biggie. “All the bosses did.”
Wow. Like that makes it okay. I can’t even begin to process that or all the ways it is unfair and morally wrong. How can you claim to love your wife while constantly cheating on her? Rosa probably knew about it and had to ignore it. It was the way things were done then.
I make a mental note to add it to my list of questions for Ben.
He told me previously he would be faithful to me, and I need to ensure he knows it’s a nonnegotiable condition before we let our relationship progress any further. Infidelity is a deal-breaker for me. I won’t tolerate cheating. Heck, I won’t tolerate him even looking sideways at another woman. I’ve spent years lusting after Ben, and now I’ve got him, I intend to keep him. He is mine, as I am his, and I won’t entertain any more gold-diggers like Chantel LaCroix. Ugh, even thinking of that woman makes my blood boil.
I don’t know how those poor mafia women put up with it. If I was Rosa, I would have cut his dick off while he was sleeping.
“Do you have other children?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Not that I’m aware of, and I spent time looking. Natalia and Ben are my only surviving children.”
I’m connecting the dots in my head. “You went looking because you needed to find someone to run the business after Mateo was killed.”
“I knew about Ben from the start,” he says, surprising me. “His mother came to me when she was pregnant. I gave her some money and told her to go away, but I had someone watching over him from the shadows.”
Shock splays across my face. I know how Ben grew up, and I’m indignant on his behalf. I rip my hand back and scowl at the sick man on the bed.
“You think I’m an evil prick for ignoring my own flesh and blood.”
“That’s a polite way of putting it,” I hiss.
