“Then why did you leave Dante? You were to wed him, and you ran away. Same as you always do, Nicole. You don’t know what you want. You’re practically a child,” Papa says and stares down at me. He pats the top of my head like one would with a little kid.
It makes my stomach flip.
I force his arm away.
He’s belittling me, demeaning, and I hate it.
I hate him.
The anger roils through me, clouding my mind. What did he say about marrying Dante? “What do you mean I was to wed him?”
I’m glad to be seated at the edge of the pristine white windowsill. The view of the garden below is mildly calming as I tear my gaze away from Papa. I need space, but he doesn’t give me any. Being in his presence is smothering.
That was how I felt with Dante, except different.
I can’t explain it.
Dante may have kept me locked in his tower, but he genuinely appeared to care about me. But then again, he had abducted me and forced me to live with him.
My fingers tangle through my hair.
I swear I need professional help, but who could I talk to? I mean, my father and the father of my child are both mafia don’s. Our lives and everything we witness are sworn to secrecy.
Therapy isn’t an exemption.
“This conversation is done,” Papa says.
Good.
I’m tired of dealing with him too.
Does that mean that I won?
“You have an hour to get ready before Romano arrives.”
I’ll just have to make him not want me. How hard can that be? Worst case, I tell Romano I’m pregnant. That ought to scare him off.