Page 155 of The Don’s Omega

I sigh. “I’ll try to listen more, how’s that?”

“I’ll take it.”

I scoot closer to him, resting my head on his chest. The bond between us hums, and I feel myself settling. We had a close call, but I’m safe in the arms of my alpha again. I really will try to listen more to Marcello. Not because I need him to control me. It’s more about acknowledging that I don’t have to handle everything alone. I have a partner to help me navigate life now.

That’s not something to fight. It’s not something to fear. It’s something to be grateful for. And I am so very grateful to have Marcello beside me.

****

It takes a while for things to feel normal again. For days, Marcello barely lets me out of his sight, and I’m not exactly eager to wander far from him either. The bruises fade, my throat heals, and eventually Salvatore stops occupying quite so much space in my thoughts. Life moves forward, whether I’m ready for it or not.

The weeks slide by as October slowly gives way to November. The leaves on the estate turn gold and rust before dropping from the trees, gathering in brittle drifts along the drive. The branches become bare, the days shorter, and the wind coming off the water takes on a sharper bite. My body changes just as quickly, sometimes so fast it feels unsettling.

By week sixteen the bump is impossible to hide, not that I’m trying. On my thin frame it looks like I’m smuggling a cantaloupe out of the market. By week twenty it’s more of a watermelon. I stop trying to wear my own clothes because nothing buttons and zippers have become my mortal enemy.

Occasionally I raid Marcello’s closet because his larger shirts are so comfortable. The first time Marcello comes home and sees me in his shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he stops in the doorway with heat in his eyes. Five seconds later we’re both naked and fucking like rabbits. From that point on I know if he catches me in one of his shirts, we’re going to have sex.

I’m not complaining.

By week twenty-one, it’s not just my body shape that’s changing though. The cravings intensify, but I don’t want anything that’s readily available to me. That would be too easy. And naturally I don’t crave healthy food. I want garbage foods. Fast food tacos, and cheese fries from my old employer Duffy’s.

I must talk about those cheese fries a lot more than I realize because one day Carlo walks in with a thermal bag full of them. He saunters into the sunroom where I’m hanging out with Fabio, and drops the bag in front of me onto the couch.

“Special delivery,” he says drolly.

“Is this what I think it is?” I squeak, opening the bag. Inside, still warm, packed in layers of foil and paper, are the cheese fries from Duffy’s. I inhale the salty, fried goodness and it makes my mouth water. I grab the plastic fork in the bag and begin to eat like a ravenous wolf.

Fabio laughs as he watches me. He’s sitting at the other end of the couch, a mystery novel open on his lap. Despite the cooler temperatures outside, it’s warm in the sunroom and he’s wearing shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt.

“Would you like some?” I offer, mouth full.

Fabio shakes his head. “No thanks. I worry I’d lose a finger if I get too close.”

Carlo laughs and he glances at Fabio, running his gaze over my brother’s bare legs. “How are you feeling, Fabio?”

“Pretty good.” Fabio’s smile is shy and he buries his nose in his book again.

Fabio’s not used to alphas giving him attention. But working out with weights is changing his body. He’s filling out in all the right places, and he even has a six-pack now. I’ve noticed Carlo comes to talk to me more than he ever did before Fabio came to live here. I’m not sure if I like that or not. I definitely don’t want Carlo trying to seduce my brother.

“Did you see I got Elio fries from Duffy’s?” Carlo puffs out his chest. “Wasn’t that nice of me?”

Fabio glances up. “Did Marcello make you do it?”

Carlo frowns. “Well, he asked me to, but I’d have done it if Elio asked too. Don’t you think I would?”

Fabio hesitates. “No, of course you would. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“I would hope not.” Carlo studies Fabio. “I’m a very nice guy.”

“I know you are.” Fabio grimaces, cheeks pink. “I mean, I don’t really know that because I don’t know you well, but you seem nice enough. For someone I don’t know.”

Carlo glances at me. “Elio, I’m a nice guy, right?”

My mouth is full of cheese fries, so all I can do is nod. I have no idea why Fabio is turning bright pink or why Carlo seems to care so much why Fabio thinks he’s a nice guy.

Thankfully, Carlo’s phone buzzes. “Oh, it’s the boss. Gotta run.”

He leaves the room and I glance at Fabio. He’s watching Carlo go with a funny expression. But then he goes back to reading as if Carlo was never in the room, and I decide not to worry about anything but my cheesy fries.