Page 63 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

I try for a casual smile, though my pulse races. "Everything's fine. Just checking in."

She studies me in the darkness, and I see the same longing I feel reflected in her eyes. She pulls back her covers. “Stay with me?"

I should say no, should walk away and rebuild the boundaries I need to keep me sane. But those three words shatter what's left of my resolve. I move toward her bed, drawn by a force stronger than my willpower.

I slide beneath the sheets. She reaches for me, and I'm lost. I draw her closer, memorizing every detail about her. The silk of her hair between my fingers, the warmth of her skin against mine, the perfect way she fits in my arms.

Her lips find mine in the darkness, and I pour everything I can't say into the kiss. How much I want her. How much this means. How much it kills me knowing our time is running out.

“Max.” She sighs against my mouth, and my heart clenches. I've never wanted anyone the way I want her. Not just her body, though God knows I crave every inch of her. I want her smile over morning coffee, her laugh at the kids' antics, the quiet moments when she falls asleep against my shoulder.

Our bodies move together with an urgency born of knowing what's coming. Each touch, each kiss feels like both a gift and a goodbye. I try to slow down, to savor every second, but she matches my passion with her own. Her fingers trace patterns on my skin that burn straight to my soul.

“Gia.” I’m mad with wanting her. I need her like I need air, and it’s killing me that I can’t have her. I roll her under me, settling my body over hers, flesh to flesh. I grip her hands, palm to palm, lifting them over her head. I gaze down at her, and I could weep. The emotion is so beautiful, yet painful.

I sink into her, raw, real, pure. It nearly breaks me. I've had my share of women over the years, but this… this is different. This is making love in its purest form.

Her fingers grip mine, her legs wrap around me, and for the first time in my life, I really feel like I’m a part of something larger than me. Something that should terrify me in its all-consuming intensity, but it doesn’t. What’s terrifying is that I’ll be losing it. It’s like knowing I’ll be losing my soul.

I want this to last forever, to rock in and out of her, feeling her body wrapped around mine in this sensuous, awe-inspiring pleasure. But it doesn’t work like that. Our need builds and builds, and then we shatter, and along with it goes my heart.

After, she curls into my side, her breathing evening out as sleep claims her. I hold her close, fighting my own exhaustion. I don't want to waste these precious hours in sleep, not when I know how few of them remain.

But my eyes grow heavy to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against my chest. My last conscious thought is a desperate wish that morning won’t ever come.

20

GIA

Iwake to Max shifting beside me, his warmth starting to slip away in the predawn darkness. My heart aches, knowing these moments are numbered. The sheets rustle as he moves to leave.

"You don't have to go yet," I whisper, reaching for his hand. He stills, and I can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he's caught between staying and leaving.

His fingers thread through mine. "I need to check in at the office. There's work that can't wait."

The excuse sounds hollow. We both know what this is, the beginning of our goodbye. Still, I hold onto his hand, memorizing the feel of it in mine.

“Will you be back for Thanksgiving dinner?”

"The kids would never forgive me if I missed it,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

The mention of the kids, our kids, though he doesn't know it, sends a fresh wave of pain through my chest. I release his hand, letting him slip away. The mattress rises as he stands, and I hear the soft sounds of him gathering his clothes.

I keep my eyes closed, pretending to drift back to sleep. It's easier than watching him walk away. The door clicks shut behind him, and I'm left alone again.

I nestle deeper into the warm indent Max left behind, pulling his pillow close. His scent lingers, spicy cologne mixed with something uniquely him. The ache in my chest deepens, but I push it aside. I can't dwell on what can't be.

The first hints of dawn peek through the curtains, reminding me there's work to be done. Maria will be here soon to help with Thanksgiving preparations. The menu runs through my head—turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes.

I stretch and sit up, my mind shifting to the day ahead. The turkey needs to come out of the fridge to reach room temperature. Vegetables need chopping. The kids will want to help, making everything take twice as long but bringing twice the joy.

Focus on the holiday, I tell myself. The kids deserve a proper Thanksgiving, even if we're away from home. Even if it might be our last day in Max's house. Even if my heart is breaking.

I shower and dress, then pad down to the kitchen, my mind drifting to past Thanksgivings with Nic. For years, it was just the two of us after our father drove everyone else away. We'd order takeout and watch old movies, creating our own traditions when the regular ones felt too painful.

This year should have been different. Nic has his own family now. Bella brought light back into his life, and their triplets make him smile in ways I haven't seen since we were kids. I'd been looking forward to watching him play proud papa, to helping Bella wrangle three squirming babies while trying to eat turkey.

Instead, I'm here in Vegas, and they're back in New York. The distance feels heavier today. I pull out my phone, checking the time. Too early to call. Nic will be busy with the babies'morning routine. Bella's probably already knee-deep in cooking, determined to prove herself as the perfect Mafia wife and mother.

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