Page 17 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

She looks up at me, studying me as if she wonders whether I’m speaking the truth. The air between us crackles with memories of that night when everything changed. When I crossed a line I can never uncross. A line that I can’t cross again, even as in this moment, I’d give everything I have to cross it.

She clears her throat and looks away. “It’s important to me that you don’t feel put out. I don’t want to be an imposition.”

Fuck. She’s back to being an ice queen. “It’s no imposition.”

“I know you like your privacy, your alone time. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

“It’s not a problem?—”

“You don’t have to worry about me… well… I understand the situation, and I appreciate all you’re doing for us.”

“What situation?” What is she trying to say? And why do I feel like I don’t want to hear it?

She lets out a sigh. “Last year, I think you worried I might… proposition you again.” Her cheeks flush red with embarrassment, and I hate that anything about me would make her feel like that. This is my fault. I was an asshole to her, and it made her feel silly and foolish. “I can assure you that wasn’t the case, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Mama, can we go to the playroom again?” Dario asks.

“First, thank Mr. Giraldi for all he’s doing for us.”

Mr. Giraldi. The formality stings, even though I know it's safer this way. After all, hadn’t I referred to her as Mrs. Cantore?

“You mean Uncle Max?” Daniella asks, her sweet little face pinched into confusion.

“Yes.”

“Thank you for the playroom, Uncle Max,” the kids chime, their arms wrapping around my legs.

“Anything for you little munchkins.” They run off, and I’m left alone with Gia. A million things run through my mind but none of them come out.

“I should go unpack,” she says.

I swallow the disappointment. “Of course. I have a few things to do. My office is over there.” I point toward another wing. “If you need anything, let me know.”

She nods and leaves me standing in the living room alone.

I want them to stay. The realization hits me with startling clarity. Not just until the threat is neutralized, but longer. Maybe forever.

It's a dangerous thought. One I have no right to entertain.

Fuck.

I bury myself in work,only coming up for air when I hear the old grandfather clock in the hall chime six.

I venture to the other side of the house, finding Gia and the kids in the playroom.

“I was thinking of pizza for dinner.”

"Can we make it?" Daniella's eyes light up. "Mama makes the best pizza!"

“I thought I’d order?—”

"Please?" Dario adds, already bouncing on his toes. "We help roll the dough!"

I lean against the doorframe, watching Gia's expression soften. She's always had trouble saying no to their enthusiasm.

"If it's okay with Max," she says, glancing my way. "We'd need to raid your kitchen."

"Mi casa es su casa. Maria keeps everything stocked."

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