Page 20 of His Mafia Lover

He bites his lip, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to understand. "Like when I broke Zia Gia's vase and had to apologize and help clean it up?"

A watery chuckle escapes me, amazement and pride welling in my chest. "Yeah, cucciolo. Just like that. I have to go apologize to some people I hurt, and do some things to make it better. But I promise you, I'm going to do everything in my power to come home to you as soon as I can. And until then, you've got Uncle Aaron and Zia Gia to take care of you, to love you even more than I do, if that's possible."

Matteo nods solemnly, throwing his arms around my neck in a fierce hug. "I love you, Uncle Santino," he whispers, his little voice wobbling. "I'll miss you every day. But it's okay, because I know you always keep your promises."

I close my eyes against the hot sting of tears, holding him tightly to me, memorizing the feel of his trusting weight in my arms. "I love you too, Matteo. More than all the stars in the sky. Be good for me, okay? Be brave and strong and so, so kind. Just like your dad was, just like your mom. They'd be so proud of you, cucciolo. Just like I am."

When the time comes, when the dark sedans pull up to the curb and the stern-faced agents step out, their hands resting on the butts of their holstered guns, it takes every ounce of strength I possess to let go of Matteo, to stand on trembling legs and face my fate with my head held high.

Aaron is there, his arm around Matteo's thin shoulders, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he meets my gaze. "We'll be here," he says, quiet and fierce. "Waiting for you, loving you. You're not alone in this, Santino. Not now, not ever."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak past the lump in my throat. I allow the agents to cuff my hands behind my back, to lead me down the walk towards the waiting car. But I keep my eyes on Aaron, on Matteo, drinking in the sight of them like a man dying of thirst.

They're my heart, my home. My reason for facing this uncertain future, for walking into the darkness with my head held high. They're the lights that will guide me through, the promises I'll cling to in the cold, lonely nights ahead.

As the car pulls away from the curb, I twist in my seat, watching Aaron and Matteo until they're nothing more than specks in the distance. Even then, I don't look away, their images seared onto the backs of my eyelids, tattooed onto my very soul.

"I'm coming back to you," I whisper, the words a vow, a prayer. "No matter how long it takes, no matter what I have to do. This isn't the end for us, my loves. It's only the beginning."

The holding cell is cold and gray, the bunk beneath me hard and unyielding. I lean my head back against the cinderblock wall, staring up at the water-stained ceiling as the reality of my situation sinks in like a lead weight in my stomach.

I'm alone here, cut off from everything and everyone I love. The next few years of my life will be defined by these three walls, by the clanging of metal doors and the barked orders of guards. By the heavy weight of regret, of atonement for the sins of my past.

But even in the midst of this bleakness, this desolation, there's a flicker of warmth in my chest. A tiny, stubborn ember of hope that refuses to be extinguished, no matter how dark the road ahead may seem.

Aaron. Matteo. The two halves of my heart, the anchors that tether me to the world beyond these bars. They're out there, waiting for me, loving me. Believing in the man I'm trying to become, the man I will be when I walk out of here a free man.

For them, I'll endure this trial. I'll face the demons of my past and the judgment of the law, I'll pay my debts and serve my time. I'll walk through the fire and come out the other side stronger, purer, worthy of the love they've given me so freely.

I close my eyes, picturing Aaron's face. The warm honey of his eyes, the crooked quirk of his smile. The way he looks at me like I'm something precious, something cherished, even with the blood and darkness of my history written on my skin.

"Wait for me, amore mio," I whisper into the stillness of the cell. "Hold on to my heart, to the promises we've made. I'm coming back to you, to the life we're going to build together. Just hold on a little longer."

The words are a lifeline, a talisman against the doubt and despair that nip at my heels. I repeat them like a mantra as the hours stretch into days, the days into weeks.

I love you. I'm coming back to you. Just hold on.

It's a long road ahead, a hard and lonely path to walk. But with Aaron's love to guide me, with Matteo's laughter ringing in my ears...

I know I can make it through. I know that this is only the beginning of our story, the first chapter in a love that will be spoken of in whispers and legend.

A love that will last forever, untouched by time or tide or the cold steel of prison bars.

A love worth fighting for, now and always.

CHAPTER 10

AARON

The day dawns bright and clear, the sun painting the sky in shades of pink and gold as it rises over the city skyline. I stand at the window of our bedroom, my arms wrapped around myself as I watch the light chase away the shadows, my heart pounding a staccato rhythm against my ribs.

Today is the day. The day I've been waiting for, dreaming of, for the past three long, lonely years. The day Santino comes home to us, to the family we've fought so hard to keep whole in his absence.

I close my eyes, memories washing over me in a bittersweet tide. The day he left, the way he held Matteo and I close, his face a mask of stoic resolve even as his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. The long months of separation, of brief, bittersweet visits in cold, impersonal rooms, his hands rough and urgent on my skin, his mouth desperate on mine.

The way he's changed, grown, in his time away. The new lines etched into his face, the shadows behind his eyes slowly giving way to a tentative, fragile hope. The way he's clung to us, to the love we've nurtured and tended like a delicate flame, the promise of a future worth fighting for.

A small hand slips into mine, jolting me from my reverie. I look down to see Matteo peering up at me, his dark eyes wide and solemn in his young face. At nine years old, he's the spitting image of his uncle, all tousled curls and sharp, elegant features.

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