Page 9 of His Mafia Lover

His breath catches, his eyes widening fractionally. "Aaron..."

"Dad! Dad, come look at this!"

The moment shatters, broken by Matteo's excited shout. Santino blinks, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Coming, cucciolo," he calls back, shooting me a rueful grin. "Duty calls."

I nod, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment in my chest. "Go on. I'll be here."

He hesitates, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then he reaches out, his fingertips grazing my cheek in a fleeting caress that feels like a brand. "I know you will," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "You always are."

And then he's gone, striding across the courtyard to where Matteo is waiting, a king among his subjects. I watch him go, my skin tingling where he touched me, my heart racing like I've just run a marathon.

God, I'm in trouble. Deep, unending trouble of the heart and soul. And the worst part is, I'm not sure I want to be saved.

The rest of the visit passes in a blur, stolen glances and fleeting touches, the air between us crackling with a tension that threatens to ignite at any moment. By the time we're ready to leave, I'm wound tighter than a piano wire, my nerves scraped raw with wanting.

"Thanks for letting us tag along," Santino says as we walk to the parking lot, Matteo skipping ahead of us, his little hand clutching a fistful of wildflowers he picked for Giulia. "It means a lot to him, being able to see his friends."

"Of course," I murmur, hyper-aware of his proximity, the heat of his body beside mine. "You're both welcome here anytime."

He nods, something thoughtful in his expression. "I might just take you up on that. It's good for him, being around other kids. Around people who understand what he's going through."

I glance at him, surprised and touched by his insight. "You're right. Support systems are crucial for children who have experienced trauma. Having people who can relate to their experiences, who can offer empathy and understanding...it can make all the difference in their healing process."

He hums, a low, considering sound that sends a shiver down my spine. "And what about you, Aaron? Who's in your support system? Who do you turn to when the weight of the world gets too heavy to bear alone?"

The question catches me off-guard, my steps faltering. "I...I don't know," I admit, my voice rough. "I've always been pretty self-sufficient. It's hard for me to ask for help, to lean on others."

He nods, something like understanding flickering in his gaze. "I get that. Believe me, I do. But sometimes...sometimes it's okay to need someone. To want someone in your corner, fighting for you as hard as you fight for everyone else."

I swallow hard, my heart beating a staccato rhythm against my ribs. "Santino..."

"Just think about it," he says softly, his fingertips grazing the inside of my wrist, a fleeting touch that feels like a promise. "I'm here, Aaron. Whenever you're ready."

And then he's leading Matteo to the car, buckling him into his booster seat with a tenderness that takes my breath away. I watch them drive away, something sweet and aching unfurling in my chest, a longing for something I'm not sure I'm brave enough to name.

But I want to be. God, do I want to be.

The next few weeks pass in a haze of stolen moments and heated glances, the tension between Santino and I building to a fever pitch. We dance around each other like magnets, drawn together even as we try to maintain a professional distance, to keep our focus on Matteo and his well-being.

But it's getting harder with every passing day, every brush of hands and lingering look. I find myself making excuses to visit the mansion, to spend time with Matteo and Giulia...and Santino. Always Santino, with his dark eyes and wicked smile, his hands that I long to feel on my skin, his mouth that I dream about in the dark hours of the night.

It all comes to a head one evening, when I stop by to drop off some paperwork and find myself alone with Santino in his study. The air between us is thick with tension, with unspoken desires and barely-leashed hunger.

"Aaron," he murmurs, my name a rough caress on his tongue. "You shouldn't be here."

I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. "I know. But I can't...I can't stay away, Santino. Not anymore."

He closes his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "This is a bad idea. I'm no good for you, Aaron. My world...it's no place for someone like you."

I step closer, my hand coming up to cup his cheek, my thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. "Let me decide that for myself," I whisper, my breath mingling with his. "I know who you are, Santino. I see you, all of you. And I'm not running."

He makes a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat, his hands coming up to frame my face, his forehead resting against mine. "Aaron..."

And then he's kissing me, his mouth slanting over mine with a hunger that steals the breath from my lungs. I gasp, my hands fisting in his shirt, hauling him closer as I open to him, my tongue tangling with his in a hot, slick slide that sends heat racing through my veins.

He walks me backwards until my back hits the wall, his body a hard, hot line against mine. I can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against my hip, the thick ridge of him sending sparks of want skittering down my spine.

"Fuck, Aaron," he pants against my mouth, his hands sliding under my shirt, mapping the planes of my back, my ribs. "Want you so fucking much. Want to taste every inch of you, want to feel you come apart beneath me."

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