My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 524

Chapter 524

I looked at her, and she smiled proudly, so incredibly proud. The same smile she used to give me after every recital and after every tiny childhood performance where I forgot half the choreography and made the rest up.

Tears threatened unexpectedly. I swallowed them back. Tonight wasn’t for crying, tonight was for this… for Mom.

My phone buzzed in my bag and I dragged it out to see a string of messages from Raphael. My heart immediately swelled.

Raph: Something came up and I had to leave. I wasn’t happy about it.

Raph: I stayed for the entire performance, though. You were extraordinary tonight.

Raph: I’m so proud of you, Gianna. I’ve spent my life around people who excel at impossible things, Gianna, and I’ve never been prouder of anyone than I was watching you onto that stage.

Raph: We’ll talk when you get back.

Raph: Until then, stay close to Salvatore and stay with your security detail. I’m serious. I’ve already added more men in New York. Don’t go anywhere alone. Don’t take walks by yourself. Don’t decide you’re independent for five minutes and disappear. I don’t have the patience for that right now.

Raph: If you want to go somewhere, take security.

Raph: If you want coffee, take security.

Raph: If you want to cross the street, take security.

Raph: Are these instructions clear?

Raph: Enjoy New York. Focus on your mother.

Raph: And don’t you dare take off that necklace.

A smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it. I reread the messages. Then reread them again.

The corners of my eyes burned unexpectedly, not from sadness, just from the strange warmth that always seemed to appear whenever Raphael forgot to be careful with his words.

I traced my thumb across the screen.

I’m so proud of you, Gianna

The sentence settled somewhere deep inside my chest. Across the table, Jules was arguing with Salvatore about New York pizza.

Apparently this was now a matter of life and death, “I’m telling you it’s better.”

Salvatore looked deeply offended, “Better than what?”

“Chicago pizza.”

His face tightened immediately, “That is not pizza. It is a casserole calling itself pizza.”

Jules poured, “Papa, you haven’t even tried it.”

Salvatore waved his hand dismissively, “I am Italian. I do not need to try crimes to identify them.”

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“It’s famous.”

“So are several serial killers.”

“Salvatore!” Mom gasped.

He lifted both hands, “I am simply saying fame is not evidence of quality.”

Jules groaned dramatically, “It’s art.”

“No,” Salvatore replied. “Italian pizza is art. This is bread with delusions of grandeur.””

“It’s New York!”

“And?”

“It’s New York pizza!”

Salvatore leaned back in his chair, “My little wolf, I come from the country that invented pizza. You cannot improve perfection by making the slices larger.”

Jules poked her tongue out at him, “New York pizza is the love of my life.”

Salvatore closed his eyes briefly, the way people did when trying very hard not to commit a crime “One day,” he informed her, “I am taking you to Naples.”

Jules grinned, “And I’ll still like New York pizza better.”

Salvatore looked toward the ceiling, “Hazel,” he said, “Our daughter has been corrupted by this city.”

Claire was laughing so hard she nearly spilled her wine. Mom looked happier than I had seen her in weeks. Madeleine was trying and failing to mediate the argument.

For a moment, I simply sat there and watched them.

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