Page 115 of The Don’s Omega

“Elio, of course it’s not true,” he growls. “I haven’t seen Sandro since the night he came to my home to plead for his mother’s life.”

I wrinkle my brow. “Why would Sandro need to plead for his mother’s life?”

He watches me through the phone, seemingly weighing whether to be honest or not. At last he says, “Sandro’s mother, Valentina, was involved in the attack on you.”

I bug my eyes, staring at him in shock.

He lets out a harsh breath. “I didn’t want you to know because the less you know the better. But I can’t have you thinking I’m having an affair with Sandro just because you saw us together that night.”

“Okay,” I mumble, still in shock at what he’s telling me. Valentina had seemed like such a nice lady. She’d smiled and been sweet to me at the wedding. To hear she’d wanted me dead the whole time is beyond horrifying.

“I did spare her life out of respect for Sandro, but that was the last time I saw him, Elio. I need you to believe me.”

“Sandro’s mother really tried to have me killed?”

“Yes.” He grimaces. “She’s a foolish woman who took things too far because she loves her son. I spared her life, but I punished her family financially.”

“I see,” I mumble, still in shock.

“Elio,” Marcello’s voice has a frustrated note to it. “Won’t you ever trust me?”

I meet his gaze, feeling ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs. “You don’t have to be sorry. I just wish you believed how much I love you. I don’t want anyone but you. I swear on my life.”

Hanging my head, I admit, “I’ve never had anyone love me like that.”

“Well, you do now.” His gaze gentles. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I do you, mio. You must believe me. I’ll never betray you. Never.”

I’m ashamed I let those suspicious thoughts in. Difficult or not, I need to trust Marcello. As far as I know, he’s only been loyal to me. A lack of trust will destroy us. It’s not fair to doubt him when he’s only shown me love and loyalty so far. I don’t know who Salvatore saw the other night, but it wasn’t Marcello.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” I say.

He lets out a shaky breath. “You can trust me, Elio. I won’t let you down.”

“Come home to me soon, Marcello,” I whisper. “I need you with me.”

He rumbles, “Mi manchi più di ogni altra cosa, amore mio. Tornerò presto da te.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, desperate to know.

His smile is tender. “I said I miss you more than anything, my love. I’ll come back to you soon.”

My throat tightens. I only know a handful of Italian words, but I know enough to respond, “Anch’io, Marcello.” Which means me too.

His smile is pleased. “Are you learning Italian for me?”

Wincing, I murmur, “A little. Don’t get your hopes up too much.”

He sighs. “When it comes to you, mio, they can’t get any higher.”

Chapter Fifteen

Marcello

Elio suddenly hates coffee.

Three weeks ago, he drank it black and strong every morning without fail. He said as a bartender, he’d become addicted to the caffeine after years of closing shifts. Now the smell alone sends him lurching for the nearest sink.