Page 164 of Mafia And Maid

But the other part knows that’s a load of bullshit…

“You’re beautiful, Rosa.”

“Everyone was staring because you’re stunning. Probably questioning why a knockout like you is with me. Not the other way around.”

“Fuck me, Rosa. How am I supposed to focus right now when you’re dressed like fucking perfection and looking sinful...?”

The words jumble together. The harsh jabs are vicious. But it’s the soft soothing balm ofhisvoice that wraps around me. A comforting armor, not without its holes, but it’s a shield that makes the other words fade away.

My gaze looks blindly at the woman who stands before me.

Weeks flash before my eyes in a matter of seconds. Weeks of Camillo’s arms wrapped around me as he whispers how breathtaking I am while his hands grip at my hips and body like he can’t get enough. Weeks of sincere compliments from Juliana and Cate about a new pair of jeans or shirt I bought. Weeks of feeling welcomed and embraced as I sat around the dining table with the whole Marchiano family. Weeks of my son and I being loved by people who were, until recently, strangers to us.

The ache in my chest throbs as I continue to stare. Wishing more than anything that I was in a room with dark walls and dark wood floors. With a bed that’s too big even for me. With the bright windows and the gym bag tossed in front of them. With the scent of sandalwood wrapping around me and welcoming me home.

That’s what it was.Home.

I cover my mouth before slumping down onto the bed.

Why can’t I just ignore what everyone else wants? Why do I always feel guilty for disappointing my family? And why can’t I just put myself first for once? It’s been ingrained in me my entire life that I need toput other people first—my parents, my sister, Grayden. But what about me? What about what I want—what I need?

Ethan’s tiny arms circle around my neck, and he clings to me. “I don’t like it here, Momma,” he whispers. And the only things I can see are Ethan’s fallen face and slumped shoulders.

And as I see this all, my heart breaks and shatters into a thousand pieces.

Fire rises in my chest as I watch the little boy who’s blossomed over the last few months shrink back into his shell. One I fought tooth and nail to coax him from, and one that Camillo and his family helped to bring him out of.

When I compare how Ethan is now to how he was amongst the Marchianos, I know which boy I want him to be. I want to see my son laugh. I want to watch him bloom and run around the house like a child should. I want him to be somewhere where he doesn’t have to tiptoe around or make himself small. He deserves to be loud and laugh whenever he wants. He deserves better than whatever scraps I was given as a child.

And I find myself comparing the cold demands and awkward silences of the Davis mansion with the loud laughter, warm conversations, and love of the Marchiano estate.

That’s the sort of childhood and upbringing I want for my son. That’s the sort of life I want for myself. I don’t know why I always find it so hard to stick up for myself and put myself first, but I know that I can’t let myself or Ethan suffer by staying here any longer. Ethan deserves better. He deserves so much more. And knowing that gives me the strength to do what I do next.

“I don’t really like it here either,” I admit softly through a sheen of tears. “We just had to be here to help Grandma and Aunt Reagan.” I can now see that as each day goes by, my mother and Reagan’s actions are sapping away his confidence—just like they’ve done to me my whole life.

I have to be strong for Ethan. But also, for Camillo… If I can’t be strong for myself, I have to be strong for the people inside my heart.

I pick up my phone and dial Camillo.

He answers after half a ring. “Rosa? Are you and Ethan okay?” His voice rushes out in concern.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you against my family, Camillo—”

“What are you talking about, Rosa? I should be the one apologizing—I’ve caused a scene at your family’s home twice now. And in front of Ethan of all people. I’m so sorry. I would have rung, but I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me…especially after you didn’t come back to me after the funeral.”

“My mother needed me to stay for longer and help out with some other things.”

“Are those things…finished now?”

“No.”

“Oh.” And I can tell his disappointment—and his want for me.

I’m fed up with doubting myself—and I decide to throw caution to the wind. “But I don’t care, Camillo. She can manage without me. I’m coming back today. Do you think, um, you could give me a ride?”

“I’ll be there.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Just tell me when and where, baby.”

“I’ll be ready to leave at 4 p.m.”

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