Page 59 of Mafia And Maid

Another pregnant silence fills the kitchen as I stare at him.

I should say something. Tell him something to erase the pained expression that’s creased his face.

“Do you want something special for dessert tonight?”

The smile that lights his face knocks the air from my lungs. Gone is the brooding man, and in his place is something otherworldly. Some dark angel, ethereal and hauntingly beautiful. I lick my lips.

“Do you know any good recipes for lemon drizzle cake?”

“I do, actually.”

“Really?”

I nod, unable to help the small smile that tugs on my lips. He leans closer to me over the counter. “Have you always been this good at baking?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not very good at it.”

“That’s not true. Do you enjoy baking?”

Do I? No one has ever asked me that. No one has ever considered my feelings or thoughts before. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and offer a sheepish shrug before moving back to preparing dinner. “I suppose. Well, yes.”

“Do you have a favorite dessert?”

“I like lemon sponge cupcakes. But I…” I swallow the words back. He doesn’t need to know the tumultuous relationship I have with food, the nausea that builds when I stare at a meal knowing that I’m adding to a problem, or the bile that burns my throat when I slip and indulge too much.

Telling him any of that would just ruin the surprisingly light atmosphere and companionable conversation here in the kitchen. “I like simple desserts,” I add.

“Cool. Is there anything else you like to do? Hobbies or something?”

“No. I don’t have anything like that.”

I watch the confusion on his face. How he draws his brows together before something dark flickers over his face. It’s gone in an instant.

“How about a favorite movie? Or books to read? You don’t have to spend all your time looking after the house, especially not on your day off.”

“Half-day,” I remind him with a smile. “Plus, I don’t mind.”

He hums, and the rumbling sound sends a wave of pleasure through my body.

As I busy about the kitchen, to my surprise, the conversation doesn’t stop. It’s not invasive. Instead, he’s talking about things he enjoys and making small talk.

For every question he asks me, I tentatively ask him one in return—like I can chip away at his hardened exterior little by little. I want to ask him more, pry deeper, but I don’t want to ruin the fragile tether between us with my naivety.

“It smells delicious.” He sighs as he stretches his long legs out.

And for once, I don’t dismiss the compliment. Instead, I watch him, my lips tugging into a shy smile in response as I clean up the counter.

This is different. He’s different. Softer with me than anyone else in this house.

And it terrifies me in the best way possible.

CHAPTER 14

CAMILLO

I’d completely forgotten about the dinner party that Marco planned for tonight.

Arriving home, the presence of the guests with my brothers alerted me to my lapse in memory, and I had to excuse myself, rush upstairs, shower, and throw on a suit for this meal with one of our underbosses, together with his wife and daughter.

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