Page 6 of His Mafia Lover

I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the rasp of stubble against my palm. I've been burning the candle at both ends, trying to balance my responsibilities to the family with my new role as a caretaker. It's a juggling act I'm ill-equipped for, but I'm nothing if not a quick study.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my self-flagellation. "Boss?" It's Marco, my consigliere and oldest friend. "That social worker is here again. Want me to send him away?"

I'm tempted, so tempted, to tell Marco to get rid of Shepherd, to make it clear that his meddling is no longer welcome in my home. But the memory of our last conversation stops me, the raw desperation in his voice as he pleaded with me to let him in, to accept the lifeline he was throwing.

I'm not sure I'm ready for that, to bare my soul to a virtual stranger. But I also know I can't keep going it alone, not if I want to be the guardian Matteo needs.

"No," I say at last, my voice rougher than I'd like. "Send him up. I'll deal with him."

Marco hesitates, clearly torn between his loyalty to me and his concern for my well-being. "You sure, boss? You don't owe this guy anything. If he's overstepping..."

"He's just doing his job, Marco." The words taste bitter on my tongue, but I force them out anyway. "If I want to keep custody of Matteo, I need to play nice with the powers that be. Even if that means letting Shepherd poke around a little."

Marco still looks skeptical, but he knows better than to question me when my mind's made up. "Whatever you say, boss. I'll send him up."

He slips out of the room, leaving me to compose myself before the impending confrontation. I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders beneath the weight of my responsibilities. Then I cross to the window, staring out at the gray expanse of Lake Michigan without really seeing it.

I'm still standing there when I hear the soft click of the door opening behind me, the whisper-soft tread of expensive shoes on hardwood. I don't turn, don't acknowledge his presence, even as every nerve in my body goes taut with awareness.

"Mr. Ricci." His voice is soft, almost hesitant, a far cry from the self-assured social worker who's been haunting my waking thoughts. "Thank you for seeing me."

I let the silence stretch between us, a fragile, trembling thing. Then I turn, slowly, taking my time to let my gaze rake over him from head to toe.

He looks tired, shadows smudged beneath those whiskey-bright eyes, his usually neat hair tousled as if he's been running his fingers through it. But there's a determination in the set of his jaw, a steely resolve that tells me he's not here to back down.

Good. I always did enjoy a challenge.

"Mr. Shepherd," I say at last, letting a hint of irony color my tone. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to read me the riot act again?"

He winces, a flush staining the sharp line of his cheekbones. "I deserved that," he mutters, more to himself than to me. Then, louder: "I came to apologize, actually. For the way I spoke to you last time. It was...unprofessional of me, to say the least."

I raise a brow, genuinely taken aback. "An apology? From the unflappable Aaron Shepherd? Will wonders never cease."

His flush deepens, but he meets my gaze head-on, unwavering. "I'm not too proud to admit when I've overstepped," he says evenly. "And I have, with you. I let my emotions get the better of me, let my personal feelings cloud my judgment. It won't happen again."

I'm not sure how to respond to that, to the raw honesty in his voice. I'm used to people trying to manipulate me, to flatter and deceive in the hopes of getting what they want. But Shepherd...he's unlike anyone I've ever met, in my world or out of it.

It's unsettling. And intriguing, if I'm being honest with myself.

"Personal feelings?" I drawl, seizing on the opening. "Why, Mr. Shepherd, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were developing a bit of a crush."

His eyes flash, a spark of heat that sends a thrill down my spine. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Ricci. My only interest is in making sure Matteo is safe and well-cared for. Speaking of which, how is he adjusting? I'd like to speak with him, if you don't mind."

The abrupt change of subject throws me, but I roll with it, gesturing for him to follow me out of the room. "He's doing as well as can be expected, given the circumstances. We've settled into a bit of a routine - breakfast together, then some educational activities with the nanny. Playtime in the afternoons, quiet time before bed. I'm trying to keep things as stable and predictable as possible."

Shepherd looks pleasantly surprised, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That's...actually really good, Mr. Ricci. Structure and consistency are so important for children, especially those who have experienced trauma. I'm glad to hear you're prioritizing that."

The note of approval in his voice shouldn't matter to me, shouldn't send a warm glow of satisfaction unfurling in my chest. But damn me, it does.

We find Matteo in the playroom, happily assembling a giant floor puzzle with his nanny, a sweet-faced older woman named Giulia. He looks up as we enter, his face lighting up with a sunny smile that never fails to melt my heart.

"Uncle Santino! Mr. Aaron!" He scrambles to his feet, launching himself at me with the boundless enthusiasm of the very young. I catch him easily, swinging him up into my arms and burying my nose in his soft, baby-fine hair.

"Hey there, cucciolo," I murmur, the old endearment falling from my lips without thought. "You having a good day?"

He nods eagerly, his little arms winding around my neck. "Uh-huh! Giulia's been helping me with my numbers, and we had grilled cheese for lunch, and now we're doing puzzles!"

I smile, pressing a kiss to his temple. "That sounds amazing, kiddo. I'm so proud of you for being such a good boy."

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