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I think your masculinity and virility can rest easy, Dante. It’s your stupidity that’s rearing its ugly head
All I’d wanted my whole life was to be seen and loved all the way to my bones. And there he was, this big beast of a brutal man who was everything soft and kind for me, and he was teaching me something I’d never really known.
“Because I was an aristocrat, but I much preferred using my silver spoon to carve out my enemy’s eyes and shove them down their throat.”
“So, you aren’t my sister,” I said as I digested the news, my stomach growling then cramping around the weight of the truth. “I am. Of course, I am,” she snapped, stepping forward with anger tightening her pretty face. “Do not ever say that to me again.” “I’m not saying it because we have different fathers,” I said, watching each word cut into her flesh. “I’m saying it because you’ve been keeping so many secrets from me, I feel like I don’t even know you right now.”
“Andiamo, padre,”
“Just ignore me, that’s fine,” Yara called to us dryly. We laughed together, and even though we got to work, we did it holding hands through the bars.
We weren’t perfect, far from it, but that was why I thought we were meant to be. Our jagged edges met beautifully.
I felt like I was in the middle of a David Attenborough documentary.
“Her papa is an infamous mafia Don. I don’t think you have to worry about boys around her until she’s fully grown.” “It’s not the boys I’m worried about,” he muttered, moving the tray over my lap so he could sit beside me, curling an arm over my shoulder and taking the ends of my long hair between his fingers. “She’s enough trouble on her own.”