Page 18 of A Virgin for the Mafia Daddy

My heart flutters at his words. I know it's crazy, but somehow I feel the same way. Still, a small voice of doubt lingers in the back of my mind.

"How can you be so sure?" I ask. "We've only just met.”

Cain reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. His touch sends a thrilling jolt of pleasure through me.

"When you meet your soulmate, you just know. All your life you've been waiting for that one person who completes you, and then suddenly they appear as if by fate."

My brows lift playfully. “Mob boss and Casanova,” I tease him.

He glances over each shoulder before leaning in and whispering, “Be careful where you say that, Little Lamb.”

As I gaze into his eyes, the restaurant around us seems to melt away. An electric current flows between us, like our souls are connecting.

"I'm falling for you, Bianca," Cain whispers. "I don't know how or why, but you make me feel whole in a way I never dreamed possible for someone like me.”

His words awaken something deep within me, a realization that I feel the same way. How is it possible to fall in love so quickly? Yet I know in my heart that what we have is real.

Tears well up in my eyes. I squeeze his hand, never wanting to let go.

"I feel it too," I confess softly. "I've never believed in love at first sight, yet from the moment our eyes met, it was like you already knew me. Like you could see into my soul."

Cain's eyes light up at my words. "I love you so fucking much, Bianca. I might be your home… but you are my world now."

Tears of joy fill my eyes. The violin music swells around us, underscoring the magic of the moment. Here in this little Italian restaurant, halfway across the world from home, I've found the missing piece of my heart.

"I love you, Cain Romero."

Epilogue

Cain

Three years later…

“Please, please, God! At least tell me why you’re doing this!” Charles Montgomery the III shrieks like a fucking infant with the slightest bit of pain. Jesus Christ. One little toenail gone and he cries like a fucking child.

It took me a few years to track him down. That night, after I broke his fucking nose, he packed up his shit and took off on his boat.

I searched high and low for this mother fucker and instead, I took out the other pieces of shit Bianca’s mother had subjected her children to through the years. One by one, I watched as they begged for their fucking lives.

I didn’t murder them, of course.

I’m not in that line of business. Even though I could be. I just made them think I was going to murder them.

But this mother fucker? I might just kill him. It would be so easy to press the tip of my silencer to his temple and just pull the trigger…

“I have a trust fund! You can have it,” he pleads. “Every penny, it’s yours.”

“We both know there’s not much left in that trust fund,” I hiss. He’d pissed most of it away. And this time, his daddy didn’t step up to bail him out of his gambling debt.

That’s another reason I don’t need to kill him. If he doesn’t pay up half a million to some of the other clubs around here, they’d do the dirty work for me.

He’d divorced Bianca’s mom two and a half years ago, leaving her with nearly nothing thanks to a stupid prenup. And even though I didn’t want to help the bitch, Bianca begged me to take care of her. What my Little Lamb wants, she gets.

It’s modest, but I set her mother up with a two-bedroom condo downtown. Now maybe she won’t feel the need to marry the first piece of shit who asks her every time.

My phone buzzes and a text bubble from Bianca pops up.

Can you bring watermelon home?

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