Page 32 of Lured By the Cartel

He nodded once and disappeared into the hallway. Moments later, I heard his voice from his office, sharp and commanding, speaking rapid Italian into his phone. There was no uncertainty there, no hesitation. That was Marco in his element, doing what he did best. It was one of the reasons I felt safe. He was capable of keeping our safety no matter who threatened us.

Meanwhile, I looked down at our sons, finally drifting back to sleep. They wouldn't understand for many years the complexity of their father's life, the constant balance he had to maintain. But I knew that every decision he made, every life he took, every territory he defended—it was all for them. For us.

A few days later, the sound of Marco cursing in Italian echoed through our bedroom as he tried to change Matteo's diaper. I watched from the bed, nursing Alessandro, as my mate—the feared cartel boss—struggled with something as simple as baby wipes and powder. Who would've thought?

"Cazzo!" He swore as Matteo peed mid-change, soaking the fresh diaper and Marco's expensive shirt. "Why do they always do this to me?"

I tried not to laugh, but couldn't help it. It was one of the few times it was okay to laugh at him. "They do it to everyone, love. You're not special."

He shot me a glare that would have made his enemies tremble, but I just smiled. The twins had a way of humbling him that nothing else could. Just then, his phone rang—that specific ringtone that meant business. His jaw clenched as he finished securing the diaper, probably crooked again.

Despite my hopes, rival cartels only grew bolder in their attacks against him.

"Answer it," I said softly. "I'll fix his diaper."

Marco's hands were shaking slightly as he reached for his phone, and I knew it wasn't from anger – it was frustration. He'd been trying so hard to be present, to handle the babies himself, but between the constant cartel demands and his own inexperience, he was wearing thin. I had to support him as much as possible.

"What?" He barked into the phone, stepping away from the changing table. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "What do you mean they're refusing to pay? No, I don't care what their excuse is. They agreed to our terms."

I carefully laid Alessandro in his bassinet and moved to fix Matteo's diaper. Marco continued pacing, his voice getting progressively more heated. I was grateful not to be on the other end of that phone call.

"Listen to me very carefully," he growled and his words made me shiver. "Either they pay by midnight, or-"

Matteo chose that moment to start wailing, his cry piercing through the room. Alessandro, startled by his brother's distress, joined in.Oh God,I thought. I didn't need this. Marco's facecontorted in frustration as he tried to continue his conversation over the noise. I could tell he wished he was helping me.

"I said midnight!" He shouted into the phone before hanging up. He turned to us, running his hands through his hair. "Why are they always crying? What am I doing wrong?"

"You're not doing anything wrong," I assured him, picking up Matteo while trying to soothe Alessandro with my other hand. It wasn't really working, though. "They're babies. This is what they do."

I thought I would never get acclimated to being a father, but here I was and I was doing better at that than I thought I would.

"I can't think!" He exploded, making both babies cry harder. "I can't focus! How am I supposed to run my organization when I can't even get through one fucking phone call?"

"Marco," I warned, nodding at the babies. His outburst wasn't helping. It was only making things worse. I understood why he was angry, but he had to control himself.

He started pacing again, his phone buzzing with messages. "The Colombians are pushing into our territory again. The Russians are late with their payments. Two of our warehouses were hit last week. And I can't handle any of it because I can't even figure out how to change a fucking diaper!"

"You're being too hard on yourself," I said, managing to get both babies against my chest. Their cries were starting to soften. "Nobody expects you to be perfect at everything immediately. I know I don't."

"They do expect it!" He snapped, then immediately looked guilty when Matteo hiccupped in distress. "Everyone is watching, waiting for me to show weakness. And right now? I'm fucking weak. I'm ashamed of myself."

His phone rang again. Another business ringtone. Marco stared at it like it was a snake about to bite him.

"I need to take this," he said, already moving toward his office.

"Marco-"

"I know!" he cut me off, voice sharp with frustration. "I know I should stay and help. I know I should be able to handle my own children. But right now, I can't. I just... I can't."

The defeat in his voice broke my heart. This was Marco Rossi, the man who'd built an empire from nothing, who commanded respect with a single look, who could make hardened criminals tremble with fear. And here he was, undone by two tiny babies and a wet shirt. Again, who would have thought this was going to happen to him?

His phone kept ringing as he stood in the doorway, torn between two things he wanted to do at the same time, but couldn't because he was just one man.

"Go," I said softly. "Handle what you need to handle. We'll be here when you're done, and we'll be happy when you're back."

The look he gave me was full of gratitude and guilt. "I'm sorry," he muttered, already bringing the phone to his ear as he walked away. He realized that his outburst was unnecessary and wished he hadn't done it.

I heard him in his office, voice carrying through the walls as he switched between Italian and English, dealing with whatever crisis had erupted now. I wished that the walls were thicker or that his voice wasn't as loud as it was.

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