“You’re a good man, Alessandro. As long as you treat her right, I have no issue with you being with Serena. She’s a free agent.”
“It’s not going to happen.” I almost choke as the words leave my mouth. “At least not now. I can’t push her, and she needs more time. If she thinks I’m giving up though, she’s sorely mistaken. Serena is running scared, and she thinks I deserve better than her. Which is such fucking bullshit. She is traumatized after her experiences at the hands of her husband. They were married for nine years, and I’m pretty sure the abuse went on for as long. It’s not something she can get over in a few months. My experience pales in comparison to hers, and it still took me a good while to heal and come out the other side.”
Ben nods contemplatively while sipping his drink. “Sierra hasn’t disclosed any confidences, but from what I’ve been told, it started from the minute she married him. The trauma runs deep.”
“What would you do in my shoes?” I ask, needing his advice.
“Be there for her in whatever capacity you can. If she says it’s friends, then be her friend. Continue doing what you are doing. Sierra says you are helping more than you know.”
“I care about her. Elisa and Romeo too. They deserve happiness after all the shit that bastard put them through.”
“They do,” he readily agrees, sitting up straighter in the chair. “But it’s a lot of responsibility to take on. Are you ready for the additional effort required to be with a woman with two kids who have just lost their father? There are easier women to date for sure.”
“You make it sound like a chore. Like I should just give up because it’s too much work.”
“It’s just an observation. A lot of made men in your shoes wouldn’t be considering tying themselves to a woman who comes with two traumatized kids.”
“I’m not like other made men,” I snap, irritated by his words, even though I know he means nothing by then. He is just pointing out a truth. “As far as I’m concerned, they are the cherry on top. They’re great kids. Clearly, they take after their mother.”
A wicked grin spreads across Ben’s mouth, and I know he said that to feel out my intentions. I flip him the bird. “Asshole,” I mutter as he rises.
He takes my glass. “You’re going to need a drink for what I have to say next.”
I grip the armrests of the chair, bracing myself for what I suspect is coming. I eyeball the boss when he has reclaimed his seat and we are both nursing fresh drinks. “You have proof.”
Ben nods, crossing his ankles at the feet. He hands me a photo he must have retrieved from his desk when he was fixing our new drinks. “Phillip found that online.”
I stare at the photo of my mother. She’s so young and more beautiful than I ever remember her being. She is tucked under the arm of a handsome, tall guy, and they are looking at one another with stars in their eyes. There is no mistaking his identity. It’s Amadeo Salerno for sure. “So, it’s true. He is my father.”
Ben bobs his head as I clutch the photo in my hand. “The blood tests confirmed the biological link.”
When Saverio fled Vegas last year, he was severely injured, and Ben’s personal doctor attended to him. He took blood samples at the time, and while it was unethical of him to test my blood against Saverio’s, it’s a mild offense when you consider all the other shitmafiosoget up to.
“Fuck.” Resting my head back against the chair, I briefly close my eyes. Since I spotted that photo in Saverio’s creepy mansion, I have suspected this was the truth. Yet I was clinging to the slightest hope it wasn’t true, and I successfully blocked it from my mind, reckoning there was no point worrying over something until I knew it to be true.
“There’s something else.”
I blink my eyes open and stare at Ben.
“Your mother is dead.”
I test that out in my mind, but nope. I feel nothing. “She was dead to me a long time ago.” Ben nods in understanding. “Did she OD?” I ask because she was only seventeen when she had me, so she’s too young to have died from natural causes unless she got sick.
“Yes,” Ben confirms, and it’s just something else we have in common.
“When?”
“Fourteen months ago.” Ben takes a drink of his bourbon, watching me as I process these new revelations. “Amadeo’s middle name was Alessandro.”
I exhale heavily. “She lied to me.” I snort out a bitter laugh. “Not that it surprises me.”
“She was probably protecting you.”
“She wouldn’t know how,” I snap, remembering all the ways in which she didn’t protect me. “More likely she was running from my father. Or maybe she wanted to punish him by taking me away.”
“Phillip has worked out the timing. Amadeo was gunned down before you were born. He might not have even known she was pregnant. As you know, Monique didn’t grow up in Vegas, and we can find no record of any residence for her in the state of Nevada. It’s likely she met him on vacation.”
“She must have known him well enough to know his middle name,” I counter.
