Page 14 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

“I can do both.”

Nic’s jaw tightens. “You need to teach the kids?—”

“I can do both,” I repeat more firmly.

We glare at each other in a stalemate. “Fine. But if it gets to be too much, take the time off from work, Gia. I mean it.”

Feeling victorious over the great Don Nardone, I sit back. “Thank you.”

The dip in the plane signals our approach to Las Vegas. I get the kids situated as we prepare for landing. The plane touches down with a gentle bump, and my stomach lurches, though whether from the landing or knowing who waits for us, I’m not sure.

"Look, Mama! The desert!" Daniella presses her face against the window while Dario bounces in his seat, both of them vibrating with excitement that makes me wish I could share their innocence.

Through the window, I spot the line of black SUVs waiting on the tarmac. Max's security detail stands at attention, their darksuits and sunglasses a reminder of why we're here. This isn't a vacation.

Nic and his army of men exit the plane first, conferring with Max and his army of men.

"Can we go see Uncle Max now?" Dario tugs at my sleeve.

"As soon as they give us the okay, baby." I smooth his dark hair, so like his father's, though no one but me knows that truth.

“Mrs. Cantore, you and the kids can exit now,” the flight attendant informs us.

I blow out a breath as I make sure the kids have their backpacks and we move to the exit. I decide to go first. I know danger lurks, and I want to be in front of my children should anything happen.

The Nevada heat hits like a wall, but it's the sight of Max striding toward us that steals my breath. I’d told myself I was over my youthful crush. That his attitude last year had effectively broken the spell he’d had on me. Now, I’m not so sure. He's as handsome as ever in his fitted, tailored suit, the desert wind ruffling his hair. Lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes, new ones I don't remember from Christmas, and his hairline seems to have a bit more gray, giving him a distinguished appearance. I can’t stop the way emotion wells in my chest at the sight of him.

Max reaches the bottom of the stairs and holds his hand up to me, his eyes meeting mine. "Welcome to Las Vegas, Mrs. Cantore." His voice is neutral, professional.

The formal address stings, even though I should expect it by now. "Thank you for having us." Automatically, I take the hand he’s offered to help me down the last step. Immediately, I regret it. His palm radiates warmth through my skin, and memories crash over me like waves. His hands tender, gentle on my body, in my hair, tracing paths that still burn in my dreams.

"Thank you," I manage, forcing my voice to be steady.

Once my feet are on terra firma, I tug my hand back. Luckily, the kids launch themselves at Max, effectively breaking the odd connection.

“Uncle Max, we saw mountains,” Dario said.

“No kidding.”

“Do you have a pool?” Daniella asks.

“I do.”

“Does it have sharks?”

Max lifts a brow. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“I’m going to leave you here,” Nic says, surprising me. I thought he’d want to make sure we got back to Max’s safely. Maybe meet with Max. I guess it suggests that his trust in Max is as sure as my mother’s was.

Nic gives me and the kids a hug. “If you need anything, let me know.”

What I need is to be in New York, living my life and doing my job, but I don’t say that. Instead, I nod.

Nic boards the plane, and me and the kids are ushered into the middle SUV, security vehicles boxing us in front and back. The twins chatter excitedly about the plane ride while I sit rigid, hyperaware of Max's presence beside me, of the way his cologne still makes my heart skip.

The convoy moves smoothly through traffic, the tinted windows keeping us hidden from curious eyes. I've never felt more protected or more trapped.

5

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