Page 50 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

“I agree, but we can’t shield them forever. They need to be prepared for the reality of our lives.”

She shifts closer, placing her hand on my chest. “What if we give them a normal childhood? Keep them away from the business until they’re older?”

I consider her words carefully. “It’s risky. If they’re not prepared...”

“We’ll prepare them,” Felicity interrupts. “Just not right away. Let them be kids first. We can introduce them to our world gradually, on our terms.”

I run my fingers through her hair, mulling over the idea. “It won’t be easy. We’ll have to be vigilant and always watching for threats.”

She nods. “I know, but isn’t it worth it to give our child a chance at a normal life, even if it’s just for a few years?”

Her words stir something in me. A longing for the childhood I never had and the innocence I lost too soon. “We’ll do it your way. We’ll guard them from this reality for as long as we can.”

She smiles but sounds tentative, as if afraid to believe me. “Really?”

I press my lips against hers, savoring the softness of her skin. “Really. We’ll give them the childhood I never had, but when the time comes, we’ll make sure they’re ready for this world.”

She rests her head on my chest. “We’ll face it as a family.”

I wrap my arms around her. “Always.”

We lie in silence for a moment before she speaks again, voice heavy with sleep. “Kiril?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I love you.”

The words warm me from the inside out. I’ll never hear them enough to satisfy me. “I love you too,” I whisper back, kissing the top of her head and inhaling her scent. It puts me at ease in a way I’ve never been able to achieve without her.

As her breathing evens out, signaling she’s drifted off to sleep, I think about the future we’ve just planned. It’s a delicate balance we’re trying to strike, protecting our child while preparing themfor the harsh realities of our world. I feel like there’s no easy way to do that without making a mistake here and there.

I think back to my own childhood, and the brutal lessons I learned at my father’s side. The first time I saw a man die, the first time I had to pull a trigger myself, and the death of my brother... I was barely a teenager, shoved into a world of violence and power struggles before I could truly understand the consequences.

I don’t want that for my child. I want them to know laughter, to feel safe, to experience the simple joys of childhood that were denied to me, but ignorance can be dangerous in our world. We’ll have to find a way to gradually introduce them to the truth of our lives, to teach them to be strong and cunning without crushing their spirit.

It’s a daunting task, but as I look down at Felicity sleeping peacefully in my arms, I’m sure we’ll find a way. I close my eyes, allowing myself to imagine a future where our child runs and plays without fear, where family dinners are filled with laughter instead of tense discussions about territory and power, and our child primarily feels loved, not the burden of expectations. It’s a beautiful vision I want to make a reality.

With that thought, I drift off to sleep, holding Felicity close while dreaming of a future filled with happiness and laughter.

22

Felicity

Isit at the kitchen island, idly stirring my coffee as I gaze out the window at the New York skyline. The penthouse is quiet this morning, a nice counterbalance to the chaos of the past few weeks. I’m lost in thought when Kiril’s deep voice breaks the silence.

“Felicity, we need to talk.”

I turn to face him, noting his serious expression. “What’s wrong?”

Kiril runs a hand through his hair, a rare sign of uncertainty from him. “It’s about your father. Santino’s health is deteriorating rapidly, and he’s requested another meeting with you.”

My stomach twists at the mention of Santino. Our last encounter was emotionally charged, and I’m still processing my feelings about him. I understand his actions, but it feels insulting thathe gave me money, as if that could heal the wounds his absence inflicted. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that again so soon.”

He moves closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I understand your hesitation, but this might be your last chance to speak with him. The doctors tell me he isn’t fighting as hard as he could, and perhaps you could give him a reason to keep pursuing recovery?”

I bite my lip, torn between my lingering anger and the nagging feeling that I might regret not seeing him. “What do you think I should do?”

He gives me a look full of sympathy. “I can’t make this decision for you, but I’ll support you either way.”

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