Page 57 of Texting My Mafia Boss

“There’s a way to do this in a mature manner,” she says. “You two can figure that out. What isnotmature is kissing in the open like this, where Sylvie or any member of staff could see you.” Livia glares at Ettore. “Does the poor girl know what danger she’s in if she gives herself to you?”

Ettore looks at her, confused. “Sylvie doesn’t?—”

“Thispoor girl,” Livia snaps, waving a hand at me.

“I’m not apoor girl,” I tell her. “And I know… enough.”

Livia shakes her head. “Sort it out. Both of you.” She marches out of the room with an exasperated sigh.

Ettore swallows and runs a hand through his hair. “She’s right. We need to be grown up about this. Or not do it at all.”

“What do you want to do?” I ask hesitantly.

“You know what I want,” he says huskily, making goosebumps rise all over my skin.

He walks away, leaving me there with my heart pounding hard and my body screaming at me to go after him. “Real mature, Ettore,” I mutter, turning back to the dishes.

I return home to collect a few things. Sylvie is expressing more interest in learning to knit, so I want to find one of my textbooks. As I’m searching my room, I look out the back window to find Gideon kneeling at the fence, a toolbox beside him. Is he fixing it instead of drunkenly complaining?

I go outside. “Hi, Gideon,” I murmur.

He stands, brushing his hands on his jeans. He looks sober for the first time I can remember. He’s different, his gaze flitting here and there, but none of his usual bravado. “Hello, Mara.”

“Thanks for this.” I nod to the fence. “You’ll have to let me buy you a coffee or something.”

“Maybe.” He frowns. “I want to say sorry for – well – for me, for how I’ve been. I’ve been very rude to you.”

Maybe this is my chance. “I’m not worried about the rudeness,” I tell him. “I’m more concerned with what you said about my parents.”

He sighs. “It’s time,” he mutters under his breath.

“Excuse me?” I ask, confused.

“How aboutyoucome by for a cup of coffee? Now?”

“Sure.” He chuckles when I clamber over the fence. “No time like the present, right?”

He leads me into the back of his house. It’s surprisingly neat. I expected an eyesore of beer bottles and empty takeout container. What I find instead is an orderly kitchen, a little outdated.

He brews the coffee as we both listen to the radio, then brings over two cups.

“I don’t know everything,” he says.

“Okay,” I reply, my heart pounding hard. Ready to learn whatever he has to say. “Whatdoyou know?”

“Your parents were good people, in their way. Flighty. Unstable. But good at their core. Your mother borrowed money to help one of her friends escape an abusive marriage. This was more expensive than you might think, because her husband was wealthy. Anyway, it worked. She got out. But then your father lost his job and they couldn’t keep up with the loan repayments.”

“We’re not talking about a bank here, are we?” I ask, blowing on my coffee, trying to stay calm. Trying to make it seem like this isn’t the most shocking news I’ve ever heard.

“You have to understand, I’mnotinvolved in this. I spoke with them during this time, but I wasn’t a part of it.”

“Nobody will ever know you told me anything,” I assure him.

He scratches at his face as if digging for the broken capillaries. “I feel terrible for how I’ve spoken to you, Mara. I’ve been awful. Alcohol is no excuse.”

“You can make it right here and now by telling me what you know,” I say.

He nods, taking a breath. “There’s a mafia family,” he says. “I think that’s what they call themselves. Organized crime. Once, the loan shark came by the neighborhood, ranting and raving at your parents. He said he was affiliated with this family. I remember it clearly.I’m with the Calvi Family. Know your place!That’s what he said. This was shortly before…”