Page 4 of His Mafia Lover

Logan's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "Baggage like..." He makes a vague gesture that could mean anything from 'unpaid parking tickets' to 'bodies in the basement.'

I snort. "More like the 'known associate of the Cosa Nostra' variety. Santino Ricci's got a reputation that would make Al Capone sit up and take notes."

Logan lets out a low whistle. "Damn. And this guy wants to take on raising a kid? Sounds like a recipe for disaster."

I make a noncommittal noise, ambivalence twisting in my gut. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But when I saw him with Matteo...Logan, there's more to him than just the rap sheet. He loves that boy, even if he's got no clue how to show it in a healthy way."

Logan's quiet for a long moment, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm in my seat. "Aaron," he says at last, his tone gentler than I'm used to hearing from him. "I know you've got a big heart, and you want to see the best in people. But some guys...some guys are just bad news, no matter how much you want to fix them."

The words send a strange little pang through my chest, though I'm not entirely sure why. "I'm not trying to fix anyone," I mutter, dropping my gaze to the scatter of papers on my desk. "I'm just trying to do my job."

Logan sighs, shaking his head. "Look, all I'm saying is be careful, okay? Don't go catching feelings for a mobster just because he's got a cute kid and a tragic past. You're too smart for that."

I sputter, heat rushing to my cheeks. "I'm not - it's not like that!" I protest, hating the defensive edge that creeps into my voice. "Santino Ricci is a client, nothing more. I'm just trying to get a read on him so I can make the best recommendation for Matteo's placement."

Logan holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, but there's a knowing glint in his eye that tells me he's not buying my denial. "Whatever you say, Shep. Just remember, I'm here if you need to talk. And I've always got room on my couch if you need a place to crash after pissing off the mob."

I flip him off, but I can't help the wry smile that tugs at my lips. "Duly noted. Now get out of here and let me angst in peace, will you?"

Logan sketches a mocking salute and levers himself out of the chair. "Sir, yes sir. I'll leave you to your brooding and your bad decisions."

He ducks out of the office before I can find something to throw at him, his laughter trailing behind him down the hall. I slump back in my seat, all the anxious energy bleeding out of me in a rush.

Logan's not wrong, loathe as I am to admit it. Santino Ricci is dangerous, in more ways than one. The smart thing to do would be to keep my head down, do my job, and wash my hands of the whole situation as soon as humanly possible.

But when have I ever done the smart thing when a kid's well-being is on the line?

I groan, scrubbing my hands over my face. Tomorrow I'll go back to the Ricci mansion, get some more face time with Santino and Matteo. Try to figure out if there's a path forward that doesn't end in disaster for everyone involved.

And if my pulse kicks up a notch at the thought of seeing Santino again, of matching wits with that razor-sharp mind, of proving to him and to myself that I'm not just some naive do-gooder in over his head...

Well. No one needs to know that but me.

The Ricci mansion is just as imposing the second time around, all sleek lines and cold elegance against the steel gray of the Chicago sky. I take a deep breath before ringing the bell, bracing myself for another round of verbal sparring with the immovable object that is Santino Ricci.

To my surprise, it's not Santino who answers the door, but a smiling older woman in a neat maid's uniform. She welcomes me in and leads me to a cozy living room, where Matteo is sprawled on the plush carpet with an elaborate train set, his cheeks flushed with happiness as he makes 'choo choo' noises.

My heart melts a little at the sight of him, a world away from the shell-shocked child I met just yesterday. Kids are so resilient, bouncing back from tragedy with an ease that never fails to amaze me.

"Ah, Mr. Shepherd. Prompt as ever, I see."

The smooth, faintly accented voice sends a shiver down my spine, even as I steel myself against the unwelcome thrill of it. I turn to see Santino Ricci lounging in the doorway, dressed more casually than yesterday in a black cashmere sweater and well-worn jeans that only serve to highlight the lean, predatory lines of his body.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry as I meet that piercing gaze. "Mr. Ricci. I told you I'd be back to check on Matteo's adjustment. I keep my word."

Santino inclines his head, something like approval flashing in his eyes. He pushes off the doorframe with fluid grace and crosses the room to kneel on the carpet beside Matteo, murmuring something in Italian that makes the boy giggle and lean into his uncle's side.

I watch the easy affection between them, the way Santino's face softens as he ruffles Matteo's hair. There's a tenderness there, beneath the hard edges and the arrogant facade. A tenderness I suspect he doesn't let many people see.

"He seems to be settling in well," I observe, fighting to keep my tone neutral. "Routines are important at his age, a sense of safety and stability. It's good that you're making time to just be with him, away from...whatever it is you do."

Santino's gaze sharpens, his head cocked like a bird of prey sighting a mouse in the underbrush. "And what is it you think I do, Mr. Shepherd?" he asks silkily, danger and challenge woven through every word. "Since you seem to have formed some very definite opinions on the matter."

I meet his stare head-on, refusing to be cowed. "I think you're a man with a lot of secrets, Mr. Ricci. Secrets that have no place in a child's life. If you want Matteo to thrive, you're going to have to make some changes. Big ones."

Santino's on his feet in a heartbeat, looming into my personal space with a speed that leaves me breathless. This close, I can feel the heat of him, the coiled strength barely leashed beneath his skin. It's electrifying and terrifying in equal measure.

"You overstep, Mr. Shepherd," he grits out, his eyes blazing black fire. "You come into my home, passing judgment on things you don't understand. You have no idea what I would do for that boy, what I've already done-"

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