Page 8 of His Mafia Lover

But I'm already turning away, my heart pounding and my hands shaking with the force of my restraint. "Goodbye, Aaron. I'll be in touch about Matteo's case."

And then I'm striding down the hall, putting as much distance between us as I can, even as every fiber of my being screams at me to go back, to pull him into my arms and never let go.

But I can't. I won't. For Matteo's sake, for my own...I have to be strong. I have to resist this pull, this magnetism that threatens to upend everything I've ever known.

Even if it kills me.

CHAPTER 4

AARON

The taste of him lingers on my lips, a phantom echo of heat and hunger that I can't seem to shake. I press my fingers to my mouth, chasing the memory of his kiss, even as shame and longing twine together in my gut like serpents.

I shouldn't have let it happen. Shouldn't have let him get so close, let myself get swept up in the magnetic pull of his presence. It was a mistake, a moment of weakness that could cost me everything I've worked so hard to build.

But god, what a mistake it was. The feel of his hands on me, the rasp of his stubble against my skin, the hot slide of his tongue against mine...it was electric, incendiary. Like touching a live wire and being consumed by the current, every nerve ending set alight with pleasure and pain.

I want him. Even now, with the cold light of day throwing every reason why this is a terrible idea into stark relief, I want him with a ferocity that terrifies me. I want to lose myself in the heat of his body, the strength of his arms, the intoxicating mix of danger and vulnerability that draws me to him like a moth to a flame.

But I can't. I won't. I have a job to do, a responsibility to Matteo that supersedes any personal desires or emotional entanglements. I need to focus on his case, on ensuring that he has the support and resources he needs to heal from the trauma he's endured.

Even if that means burying my own feelings, my own wants and needs, so deep that even I can't find them.

With a sigh, I push away from my desk, the paperwork blurring before my eyes. I need to get out of this office, need to clear my head and regain some semblance of perspective. And I know just the place to do it.

The orphanage is a bustling hive of activity when I arrive, children of all ages running and playing in the sunny courtyard. It's a far cry from the cold, institutional hellholes of the past, all sterile tile and echoing corridors. This place is warm, welcoming, a true home for the children who have nowhere else to go.

I spot a familiar face among the throng, a mop of unruly dark hair and bright, mischievous eyes. "Luca!" I call out, my heart lifting at the sight of him. "Come here, buddy. I've missed you."

He comes running, launching himself into my arms with a delighted shriek. I catch him easily, swinging him up onto my hip and burying my nose in his hair, breathing in the sweet, clean scent of him.

"Mr. Aaron!" he crows, his little arms winding around my neck. "You came to visit!"

"Of course I did," I murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I couldn't go too long without seeing my favorite guy, now could I?"

He giggles, squirming to be let down so he can drag me over to the sandbox, chattering a mile a minute about his day and the new friends he's made. I listen intently, marveling at his resilience, his ability to find joy and connection even in the face of unimaginable loss.

It's a gift, that kind of openness. A gift that so many of these children possess, despite the hardships they've faced. It's what draws me to this work, to the challenge and the privilege of helping them find their way in a world that has often been cruel and unfair.

Lost in thought, I don't notice the new arrival until a shadow falls across the sandbox, a familiar voice sending a shiver down my spine.

"Well, well. Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Shepherd."

My head snaps up, my heart stuttering in my chest. Santino stands before me, looking unfairly gorgeous in a crisp white button-down and dark jeans, his eyes glinting with something that might be amusement. Or desire.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "Mr. Ricci. What...what are you doing here?"

He shrugs, a fluid ripple of muscle beneath his shirt. "Matteo wanted to visit some of his old friends. Thought I'd tag along, see what all the fuss was about." His gaze rakes over me, lingering on the smudge of dirt on my cheek, the rolled-up sleeves of my button-down. "I have to say, I'm impressed. You're a natural with these kids."

I flush, caught off-guard by the compliment. "I...thank you. I've always enjoyed working with children. They have so much to teach us, if we're willing to listen."

Something softens in his expression, a flicker of vulnerability that makes my breath catch. "You're not wrong about that," he murmurs, his gaze drifting to where Matteo is playing with a group of older boys, their laughter ringing out across the courtyard. "Matteo...he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Even if I have no idea what the hell I'm doing most of the time."

I smile, something warm and tender unfurling in my chest. "You're doing just fine, Santino. Better than fine. Matteo is lucky to have you."

He meets my gaze, something raw and hungry in his eyes that sends heat licking through my veins. "Is he? Sometimes I wonder."

I take a step closer, drawn to him like a magnet to true north. "He is," I say softly, fiercely. "And so am I."

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