Page 89 of The Don’s Omega

“Jesus, I really don’t understand you people.”

She laughs merrily. “I know. That’s what I just said, silly.”

I smile grudgingly because, despite our differences, I like Noemi. Of everyone in this house, she was the first to treat me like a person instead of a transaction. She was the first to hug me and show me real warmth. I especially needed that in the beginning of this strange journey.

“Did Marcello tell you he was going to Italy?” she asks, watching me closely.

“No.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t believe that. Why would he just leave without a word?”

“He doesn’t have to tell me his every move,” I murmur. “This isn’t a real marriage, remember?”

She sighs. “Don’t you miss him at all?”

“It’s only been four days,” I say flippantly. I don’t want her to know that I regret not going to his room after our dinner at Cabrera’s. I’m doing my very best to pretend I don’t crave his scent and touch every minute of every day.

“Four days is a long time to be away from your alpha.”

I avoid her gaze. “Not when the relationship is simply a contractual one.”

She sighs. “Elio, I know you miss Marcello. You don’t have to pretend otherwise. I also realize your relationship is complicated.”

“Yes, it is. But right now, all I’m focused on is Fabio’s surgery.”

Her face softens. “I’d be a basket case if anyone in my family had to have open-heart surgery. When is the surgery?”

My chest constricts with stress. “Twelve days.”

“Did Marcello say he’d be back in time to support you on that day?”

“No. Of course not.”

She frowns. “But, he cares about you. I can see he does.”

“No. It’s just business between us.” I’m trying to convince myself as well as her. The other night, when we talked about Adriano’s death, I felt close to Marcello. Then the next morning I was reminded of who he truly is by the way he treated that man called Beppe. I can’t fall in love with a man who abuses crippled old men.

She mutters something in Italian, as she watches me.

“I don’t speak Italian, Noemi.”

She smirks. “I know. That’s why I said it in Italian.”

“What did you say?”

“None of your business.” She grins.

I laugh. “Okay. Be like that.”

She flips her hair. “Don’t worry. I will be.”

My phone buzzes against the stone bench and when I look down I see Giulia Greco’s name on the lockscreen. Marcello and I played tennis against her and her husband Renato at the Sorrento Bay Country Club. I’m not sure why she’s calling me.

Noemi frowns. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“It’s Giulia Greco.”

“Okay.” She laughs. “So answer it.”