Page 12 of His Mafia Lover

For a long moment, he's silent, the only sound the harsh rasp of our breathing. Then, slowly, he starts to gather his clothes, pulling them on with jerky, uncoordinated movements.

"You're a coward, Santino Ricci," he says softly, the words like a knife to the gut. "You're so afraid of being happy, of letting yourself have something real, that you'd rather push me away than fight for what we could be."

He walks to the door, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I hope you're satisfied with the choices you've made," he says, his voice thick with tears. "I hope your fucking empire keeps you warm at night, because you've just lost the one person who sees past all your bullshit to the man beneath."

And then he's gone, the slam of the door like a gunshot in the oppressive silence. I stare after him, my heart shattering in my chest, the pieces razor-sharp and cutting. I want to go after him, to fall to my knees and beg his forgiveness, his understanding. But I know I can't, know I don't deserve the absolution he'd offer.

Because he's right. I am a coward, too afraid of the light he brings to chase away my shadows. Too afraid of the hope he represents, the promise of a future I can never have.

So I let him go, let him walk out of my life and take the best parts of me with him. And as I pour myself another drink with shaking hands, as I listen to the sounds of the city that owns my soul, I tell myself it's better this way.

Even if it means living with a hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

CHAPTER 6

AARON

The days bleed together in a haze of paperwork and home visits, the ache in my chest a constant companion. I throw myself into work with a single-minded focus, desperate for anything to distract me from the memory of Santino's touch, his taste, the way he shattered me with pleasure and put me back together with whispered words of devotion.

But even the most challenging cases can't chase away the ghost of him, the phantom sensation of his hands on my skin, his breath hot against my ear as he took me apart piece by piece. I'm haunted by the things we said, the promises we made in the heat of passion, only to have them crumble in the cold light of day.

I know why he did it, why he pushed me away. I saw the fear in his eyes, the certainty that his world would chew me up and spit me out broken. But it doesn't make it hurt any less, doesn't ease the hollow feeling in my chest where my heart used to be.

I'm picking at a wilted salad in the break room, trying to summon the energy to face another long afternoon, when Gia saunters in, all designer labels and razor-sharp edges. "Well, don't you look like shit," she drawls, perching on the edge of the table. "Trouble in paradise?"

I flinch, looking away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Please. You and my brother have been eye-fucking each other for weeks. And now you're both walking around like someone died. So spill, Shepherd. What did that idiot do this time?"

For a moment, I consider lying, brushing her off with a vague excuse. But the understanding in her gaze, the genuine concern beneath the snark, loosens something in my chest. "He ended things," I say quietly, my voice cracking on the words. "Said it was too dangerous, that I deserved better than what he could give me."

Gia is silent for a long moment, her gaze assessing. Then she sighs, shaking her head. "That self-sacrificing bastard," she mutters, more to herself than to me. "Listen, Aaron. My brother...he's not good at this feelings shit. He's spent so long burying his heart, convincing himself he's not worthy of love, that he doesn't know how to let himself be happy."

I swallow hard, a lump rising in my throat. "I thought...I thought we had something real, Gia. Something worth fighting for."

"You do." She leans forward, her voice fierce. "Santino is crazy about you, Aaron. I've never seen him like this with anyone. But he's also scared shitless, because he knows that being with you means confronting all the demons he's been running from his whole life."

I meet her gaze, something like hope sparking in my chest. "What do I do, Gia? How do I convince him that we can make this work, that he doesn't have to face his demons alone?"

A slow smile spreads across her face, sly and conspiratorial. "You corner him at the gala tonight. Wear something devastating, remind him exactly what he's missing. And when you get him alone...well, I'll leave the rest up to your imagination."

I shake my head, a reluctant grin tugging at my lips. "You're kind of terrifying, you know that?"

She winks, sliding off the table with feline grace. "You have no idea, honey. Now go get your man. And Aaron?" She pauses at the door, her expression serious. "Don't give up on him. Underneath all that macho bullshit, my brother has a good heart. He just needs someone to remind him it's still beating."

The gala is in full swing by the time I arrive, the museum's grand atrium transformed into a glittering wonderland of champagne and diamonds. I smooth a hand down the front of my tux, trying to quell the butterflies rioting in my stomach. Gia worked her magic, and I have to admit, I look damn good. The fabric clings to my body like a second skin, highlighting the lean lines of my muscles, the trim cut of my waist. It's a far cry from my usual work attire of sensible button-downs and slacks, and I can feel the appreciative gazes following me as I make my way through the crowd.

But there's only one set of eyes I care about, one man I'm desperate to impress. I scan the room, my heart in my throat, searching for a glimpse of dark hair and darker eyes, the magnetic pull of Santino's presence.

And then, as if conjured by my thoughts, he's there. Standing by the bar, a vision in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, a glass of amber liquid dangling from his long fingers. He looks devastating, all sharp angles and coiled power, and the sight of him steals the breath from my lungs.

As if sensing my gaze, he turns, our eyes locking across the crowded room. For a moment, the world narrows to just us, the heat and hunger that crackles between us like a living thing. I watch his throat work as he swallows, watch the way his fingers tighten on his glass, and I know he feels it too. The inescapable pull, the need that claws at us both, desperate for an outlet.

I start towards him, my steps measured and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. He watches me approach, something wild and desperate flickering in the depths of his gaze. When I'm close enough to touch, close enough to feel the heat of him, I pause, my voice low and intent. "We need to talk."

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "I have nothing to say to you, Aaron. I made myself clear."

I step closer, crowding into his space, my voice a rough whisper. "I don't believe you. I think you have a lot to say, Santino. I think you're just too damn scared to say it."

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