He wipes his hand across his mouth. “I’m a messy bastard,” he admits, hopping up onto a stool as I retrieve more bacon and eggs from the fridge. “Ask Massimo. We tried living together a few times and almost came to blows on a daily basis.”
“Massimo is a neat freak.”
“He is. How’s that working out for you?” Fiero claws a hand through his blond hair while fighting a yawn.
“I’m a neat freak too, so it’s working out pretty well.”
“Good.” The humor fades from his face. “I’m actually glad we got this chance to talk alone.”
I place a few more slices of bacon in the skillet and lower the heat. Turning around, I level him with a serious look. “Ask what you need to ask.” I grip the counter behind me as I eyeball Massimo’s best friend, holding my head up high.
“I need to know if you’re playing him. If it’s all fake. He has real feelings for you, and if you hurt him, I will hunt you down and make you pay.”
Massimo is lucky to have Fiero in his corner, and I respect the hell out of him for challenging me like this. “I am not playing him, and I have genuine feelings for him too.” He narrows his eyes on me, and I feel naked under his intrusive stare. “I had an agenda from the start, but that has changed. Massimo is changing me, and I want to change.”
“Does he know this?”
“He knows some of it, and I’ll be filling him in on the rest when we get back to New York.”
He continues drilling me with that piercing stare of his, and I’m itching to move, to remove myself from the glare of his inspection, but I have never shied away from a challenge, and I won’t start now. Keeping my cool, I stare back at him, reminding myself he is loyal to Massimo and doing this because he cares. “I see so much pain in your eyes,” he says in a softer tone a few minutes later, finally releasing me from his intense inspection. “Guilt, shame, and fear too,” he adds, like he somehow has a hotline to my innermost thoughts.
It freaks me out more than a little.
“Takes one to know one,” I fire back.
“Yes, it does.” He props his elbows on the marble counter of the island unit and heaves out a tired sigh. “I have battled those emotions my entire life.”
“Massimo confided a little about your fathers growing up, and I have met yours. He’s a complete pig.”
“I’m not sure the word exists to adequately describe Roberto Maltese.” He cocks his head to the side. “What was your father like?”
Pain stabs me in the chest, like every time I remember my daddy. “He was my everything until he failed to protect me and died before I could pay him back for abandoning me.”
Compassion splays across his face, and I’m guessing he believes I’m talking about Paulo Conti. “It seems the three of us have that in common,” he says after a few silent beats.
I nod as I turn around and flip the slow-cooking bacon over.
“Did he tell you about my brother?”
I glance over my shoulder. “How your father appointed him as his heir apparent in your stead?”
His jaw tenses. “I was rebellious growing up, but that didn’t mean I was unambitious or disinterested in the future mapped out for me. I wanted to enjoy myself before responsibility meant I couldn’t. My father never took the time to understand me. He didn’t even discuss it with me before he announced Zumo was his desired heir. My brother was the dutiful son to my rebel heart. He was so fucking smart and so good.” He wets his lips as a pained expression crosses his face. “He died in the warehouse bombing.” His eyes lift to mine. “Rightfully, that should have been me. Every day I carry the guilt of his death with me.”
I turn around to face him. “Why? You didn’t make the decision to instate Zumo as heir, and the bombing wasn’t your fault. If anyone should feel guilt, it’s your father. And the blame for what happened in that warehouse squarely lies with Stefano DeLuca and those who helped him that day.”
“Massimo has told me the same. Countless times. It doesn’t make the guilt or the shame go away. If I’d been less rebellious, my father wouldn’t have removed me as heir and Zumo would still be alive.”
“You can’t know that for sure. Blaming yourself for events out of your control is futile, but I understand it more than most.” I chew on the corner of my lip. “I carry a lot of baggage with me too.” He nods in shared understanding. Angling my head to one side, I examine him more closely. Fiero is vastly different from the image that has been portrayed of him, same as Massimo. I think I’m beginning to figure him out. “You hide your pain behind humor and your playboy reputation,” I surmise, seeing this complicated man in a new light.
“And you hide yours behind false smiles and power suits.”
“But the rage constantly burns. The pain is always simmering beneath the surface.”
“Yes. It never goes away,” he agrees.
“Well, this is depressing as fuck,” Massimo says, sauntering into the kitchen in a pair of low-hanging sweats, his statement confirming he heard at least the tail end of our conversation. He slaps Fiero on the back before pulling him into a hug.
I refocus on breakfast, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them with a fork. Heat crawls up my back as my husband comes up behind me, his big hands landing on my hips. “Good morning,mia amata.” His fingers creep up along the outer edge of my thigh, and I slap them away.
