Page 32 of Legacy of Deception

“She’s pregnant,” Elio shouted, pointing in my direction, as if no one would have been the wiser to deduce he was still talking about me.

Shock trickled down my spine like water from a shower faucet. Arching my back, I moved away from Marco’s arm, trying to cool the rage within.

Who did Elio think he was?

And how had he found out?

There was almost no way Marco had confided in him.

Cecilia turned to me, her expression softening. “Is that true?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as sincerity crept into it.

I widened my eyes as my heart thudded.

Was it true?

Of course it was true.

“I—”

“You don’t have to answer that. They’re worse than the FBI hunting down a don,” Marco said, adamant about it as he shook his head.

Rocco whistled, and my head practically snapped off my neck as I whipped it in his direction. “You work fast, brother,” he said, his voice oddly proud, as he leaned back in his chair, his muscles straining behind his leather jacket.

I pursed my lips and stared at him, hoping it gained me some clarity on his thought process and how he would have seen this as something to smile about. Did no one in this room comprehend the situation we were in? Why on earth would we have wanted to have a baby together? Yes, a baby was a blessing, but it wasn’t ideal in this scenario.

“It’s not his spawn. Is it, my son?” Santo asked.

“Asking questions you already have answers to is a waste of time,” Marco said casually, like he suddenly thought the whole topic was droll. I wasn’t sure I could have exhibited the same even-keeled temperament if I were him. Not that I knew how he went from pissed to calm in seconds flat. As for myself, I wasn’t sure I was exhibiting anything close to it even though I had yet to speak. Inside, my stomach was a fiery pit ready to explode. It felt only right I kept the flames that could’ve engulfed the house locked up by keeping my mouth shut.

Cecilia pushed her chair back, never once making eye contact with me or anyone else at the table again. “Excuse me. I think I’ll check on my grandchildren. Maria, would you care to join me?” she asked, her back already to all of us.

“Of course. We should check on the kids,” Maria replied, laying a hand on Dom’s arm as if to tell him it was time for both of them to leave, not just her.

I followed them with my gaze as they disappeared from the dining room. It intrigued me how while Dom was part of the family, he had managed to escape them. The balance he had on the tightrope was remarkable and practically a thing of pure entertainment to watch.

It was also something I would never experience in the same fortunate way Maria was able to.

No one who had a relationship with a Deluca man would.

For many reasons, but the main one being that no one was Dominic Deluca. Simply put, it didn’t take a genius to notice the man was one of a kind.

“Does someone care to pass the eggplant?” Dario asked right before he downed the rest of his drink, holding a hand out as he assumed someone would do that for him.

I may have, but it was on the other side of the table, and no offense to Dario, but there were more pressing matters at hand than his desire to fill his stomach.

Santo looked directly at Marco, but it was the way he managed to blend the look like he was out for blood with being unfazed that had a jolt spark through my body. “How long did you think you could keep this from us?”

“You know what I find ironic?” He dragged his arm away from my chair and shot his forefinger and thumb out, pointing them at his father like they were lethal. “I don’t recall being filled in on the details of the arrangement before being forced to marry someone. Do you, Brooklyn?” He didn’t give me time to answer, though, leading me to believe his was purely a rhetorical question. “So, why in the hell would I come to you about anything happening between us?”

Vito cleared his throat, picking up his fork and spearing an olive through the prongs. “What is happening between you?” If he had meant for the inquiry to be flippant, he needed lessons.

“Depends on who’s asking,” Marco drawled, resting his arms on the table, his chest heaving with the large inhale he took before exhaling. “As far as you’re concerned, Brooklyn and I are supposed to be getting married, planning a wedding, and sharing a house. All of which we’re doing. Capisce?”5

“Robert is to never find out about this child,” Santo interrupted, giving me chills as his eyes narrowed.

By no stretch of the imagination were my chills to be misconstrued as fear of him. He didn’t scare me. Perhaps it was naïve of me to say, but I wasn’t afraid to be on the opposing side of the man. The chills I felt were more from the fact that he had private information few others knew. I was also curious as to how Elio had found out I was pregnant. “Robert? How do you know—”

Santo raised a hand. “This is not a discussion. My word is final. He’s not to find out.”