Page 7 of His Mafia Lover

He beams at the praise, then wriggles to be let down, already reaching for Shepherd. "Will you do a puzzle with me, Mr. Aaron? Please?"

Shepherd looks startled, but he recovers quickly, dropping to a crouch so he's at Matteo's eye level. "I'd love to, Matteo. Why don't you show me which one you want to do?"

As I watch them together, heads bent over the scattered puzzle pieces, I feel something ease in my chest, a knot of tension I didn't even realize I was carrying. Seeing Matteo so at ease with Shepherd, so trusting...it feels right, in a way I'm not ready to examine too closely.

Giulia catches my eye, a knowing look on her weathered face. "He's good with him," she says softly, nodding towards Shepherd. "Patient. Kind. The little one needs that, after everything he's been through."

I nod, not trusting my voice. She's right, of course. Matteo needs all the love and support he can get, from wherever he can get it. Even if that means letting Shepherd into our lives, into the carefully constructed walls I've spent a lifetime building.

The thought is terrifying. But also strangely exhilarating, like standing on the edge of a cliff and finally letting yourself imagine what it might be like to fly.

Lost in my own thoughts, I don't realize how much time has passed until Shepherd straightens up, brushing off his hands on his slacks. "I should get going," he says, something almost regretful in his tone. "I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me back at the office."

Matteo's face falls, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. "Do you have to? We were having fun!"

Shepherd ruffles his hair, a fond smile tugging at his mouth. "I know, buddy. But I'll come back soon, okay? In the meantime, you keep being the awesome kid you are. Deal?"

Matteo considers this, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then he nods, sticking out a small hand for Shepherd to shake. "Deal."

Shepherd laughs, the sound warm and rich, and something in my chest clenches at the easy affection between them. He really is good with Matteo, better than I could have hoped for. The realization is both galling and oddly comforting, a dichotomy I'm still struggling to wrap my head around.

I walk him to the door, acutely aware of the heat of his body beside mine, the clean scent of his cologne. It's been a long time since I've let myself be affected by someone this way, let myself want something beyond the next power play, the next conquest.

It's dangerous, this pull he has on me. But I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, it might be worth the risk.

At the door, Shepherd hesitates, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Santino..."

The use of my first name sends a bolt of heat straight to my core, intimate in a way I'm not prepared for. I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue.

But he just shakes his head, a wry twist to his mouth. "Never mind. I'll see you soon, okay? Keep up the good work with Matteo."

He turns to go, and I'm seized by a sudden, desperate need to keep him here, to hold onto this fragile connection for just a little longer. Without thinking, I reach out and catch his wrist, my fingers circling the delicate bones like shackles.

He stills, his eyes flying up to meet mine. I can feel his pulse pounding beneath my fingertips, the rush of his blood, the heat of his skin. It's intoxicating, this power I have over him, even as I'm acutely aware of the power he holds over me.

"Aaron," I say, my voice low and rough. "I...thank you. For everything you're doing for Matteo. For giving me a chance to prove myself." The words feel strange on my tongue, rusty with disuse. I'm not used to showing gratitude, to admitting that I need anyone or anything.

But with him, with this man who's seen me at my worst and still looks at me like I'm something worth saving...it feels right. Necessary, even.

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where my hand still encircles his wrist. "I'm just doing my job, Santino. You're the one who's putting in the work, who's fighting for your nephew."

I take a step closer, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. "Am I?" I murmur, my breath ghosting over his cheek. "Fighting for him? Or for something else entirely?"

His breath catches, his eyes flickering up to meet mine. There's heat there, and hunger, and a yearning so intense it steals the breath from my lungs. "Santino..."

And then I'm kissing him, my mouth slanting over his with a desperation that borders on violence. He makes a soft, surprised noise against my lips, but then he's kissing me back, his free hand fisting in the front of my shirt, hauling me closer.

I pour everything I am into that kiss, all the fear and longing and desperate, aching need. He meets me stroke for stroke, his lips parting on a gasp as I lick into his mouth, tasting him, claiming him. It's electric, incendiary, a conflagration that threatens to consume us both.

I want to devour him, to strip him bare and lay him out on my bed, to take him apart piece by piece until he's begging for mercy, for release. I want to lose myself in the heat of his body, the clasp of his thighs around my hips, the broken sounds he makes as I drive into him again and again.

I want...god, I want everything. And that's what finally breaks me out of the spell, what has me tearing my mouth away from his with a ragged gasp.

I can't do this. I can't let myself have this, have him. It's too dangerous, too risky. Not just for me, but for Matteo. If I let myself get attached, let myself care for someone the way I'm beginning to care for Aaron...it could destroy everything I've worked so hard to build. Everything I am.

"I'm sorry," I rasp, stumbling back a step, then two. "I shouldn't have done that. It was a mistake."

He looks dazed, his lips kiss-swollen and his eyes glazed with desire. "Santino, wait..."

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