Page 96 of Mafia Billionaire's Surprise Baby

God.

I fucking want her.

It kills me to want her like this and know that I’ll never be able to have her.

“I see why people wax poetic about these fucking cliffs,” she says, announcing her presence.

I don’t respond.

Gia trots over, leaning next to me on the rail. “Sorry,” she says plainly.

My eyes slide over to her.

She doesn’t look back at me. “I was a little rude earlier.”

“A little?”

“Don’t push it. I just…I’m not used to stuff like… that.”

“Like what, Gia?”

“Like you being… when you… I don’t want to get all the mushy stuff,” she blurts.

I turn so I’m facing her. “The mushy stuff?”

“Yeah. Like the cuddles and sweetness and…” she trails off.

There’s a note of longing in her voice that I mark.

“It’s a lot,” she whispers as the port comes fully into view.

I don’t respond.

* * *

The bribes happen easily. Money greases palms here in Ireland the same as it does anywhere else.

Before long, we’re bundled into a car that I rented, hurtling down a road that’s too small toward the best guess we have to where Marco would be.

After going over the footage for the six hundredth time, Gia and I identified a logo. For a bar, in a town outside of Dublin.

The Drunk Pony.

It’s ridiculous. It sounds like a parody, like something you’d see in a movie, but sure enough, the bar is there as we pull up to it. I park the car, tossing the keys to Gia, who smoothly puts them in her Chanel bag.

Our seamless movements tug at my heart.

Why can’t she see this? Why can’t she see how good we are together? It kills me that Gia keeps fighting me on this when it’s something that most people don’t see ever in their lifetimes.

Or maybe I’m wrong.

Maybe Gia has that type of response with everyone.

And I, as always, am no one special.

“What if he’s not here?” she whispers.

I shrug. “Then we’ll ask around. Surely one annoyingly smug Italian American has made some kind of impression on the locals.”

---