Page 5 of His Mafia Lover

"Then tell me!" I cut him off, my own temper flaring to meet his. "Make me understand, Santino. Because from where I'm standing, all I see is a man too proud to admit he needs help, too stubborn to do what's best for his nephew."

We're practically nose to nose now, breathing hard, the air between us crackling with tension. I can see the war raging behind his eyes, the desperate need to lash out, to put me in my place warring with something rawer, more vulnerable.

"I...I can't," he says at last, the words wrenched from somewhere deep in his chest. "My world, the things I've done...you don't know what you're asking."

The anguish in his voice cuts me like a blade, even as my heart clenches with a fierce protectiveness. "Then help me understand," I plead, gentling my tone. "Matteo needs you, Santino. And I think...I think you need him too. Don't let your pride destroy the one good thing you have left."

For a single, suspended moment, I think I've gotten through to him. Something flickers in the depths of those onyx eyes, a hairline fracture in the impenetrable armor he wears like a second skin.

Then it's gone, shuttered away behind a mask of cold, unyielding control. He steps back, putting distance between us, and I feel the loss of his heat like a physical ache.

"I think you should go, Mr. Shepherd," he says tightly, his gaze fixed on a point just over my shoulder. "I have things well in hand here. Matteo is safe, he's cared for. That's all you need to concern yourself with."

I open my mouth to argue, to push back against the walls I can see him frantically reinforcing. But something in the rigid set of his jaw, the white-knuckled clench of his fists at his sides, stops me. Pushing him further now will only make him shut down completely, retreating behind that impenetrable facade.

And if that happens, I'll lose any chance I might have had of getting through to the man beneath the monster.

"Okay," I say softly, hating the defeat in my voice. "I'll go. But this isn't over, Santino. I'm not giving up on you, or on Matteo. Sooner or later, you're going to have to let someone in."

He doesn't respond, doesn't so much as twitch as I gather my coat and my bag. I cast one last look at Matteo, happily oblivious to the tension crackling in the air above his head, and I feel my resolve harden into something diamond-bright, unbreakable.

I will keep this child safe. I will find a way to give him the life he deserves, even if it means dragging Santino Ricci kicking and screaming into the light. No matter what it takes, no matter what the cost to myself.

I'm almost to the door when Santino's voice stops me, so soft I almost think I've imagined it. "Aaron."

My name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine, intimate in a way I'm not prepared for. I turn slowly, half-afraid of what I'll see in his eyes.

But he's not looking at me at all. His gaze is fixed on Matteo, something fierce and desperate etched into every line of his face. "I'm trying," he says hoarsely, the words scraped raw. "I swear to you, I'm trying."

And then I'm out the door, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest, my head spinning with confusion and yearning and a wild, desperate hope.

Santino Ricci is trying. For Matteo, for himself...maybe even for me.

It's not much. But it's a start.

As I climb into my car and pull away from the curb, I realize my hands are shaking on the wheel, my breath coming fast and shallow.

What the hell am I doing? Getting emotionally invested in a case is a cardinal sin in my line of work, a one-way ticket to burnout and heartbreak. And yet here I am, tying myself in knots over a man with more red flags than a communist parade.

A man who makes me feel more alive than I have in years, even as he scares me half to death.

I think of the way Santino looked at Matteo, the fierce, protective love that even he couldn't fully hide. The way his eyes burned into mine as we argued, heat and anger and something far more dangerous crackling between us like lightning looking for a place to ground.

I'm playing with fire, and I know it. Santino Ricci could destroy me a hundred different ways, could ruin everything I've worked so hard to build.

But god help me, I can't make myself walk away. Not when every instinct is screaming at me to run towards the flames, to let them consume me whole.

Heaven help us both.

CHAPTER 3

SANTINO

The stack of parenting books on my nightstand keeps growing, each new title a tangible reminder of how far out of my depth I truly am. "Positive Discipline." "How to Talk So Kids Will Listen." "The Whole-Brain Child." They mock me with their cheerful covers and promise of easy answers, as if raising a traumatized six-year-old is something you can learn from a goddamn manual.

But I keep reading, keep highlighting passages and dog-earing pages, because I'll be damned if I let my own ignorance be the thing that fails Matteo. He deserves better than a guardian who's flying blind, making it up as he goes along.

He deserves better than me, if I'm being honest. But I'm all he's got, so I'll just have to figure out how to be enough.

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