Page 122 of Filthy Little Games

She shrugs and scoops up a mosquito from the water to toss out of the pool. “It just sounded like there was a ‘but’ at the end of your remark.”

“I love getting to spend all this time with Oriana, finally having a chance to really get to know her…”

“But?”

I groan. “But I guess I’m still angry at Creed.”

“You’re still angry, or you still miss him?”

“Both. It’s for the best how things worked out. I mean, I spent seven years of my life being tied to a mobster.”

“But Creed is different from Emilio, right?”

“He’s still a mob boss. Boss of bosses, actually. You were angry at him for what he did to Emilio’s guards, remember?”

“Yes, he’s a lethal mob boss, but he risked his life to save your daughter when he barely knew you. A lethal mob boss who risked his men to not only save Oriana a second time, but me and Bethany, too, when he could’ve told his men to leave us behind.”

“He’s a good man who does bad things sometimes, like kill people. And that’s why I shouldn’t want to be with him. His lifestyle constantly revolves around violence. I don’t want Oriana to grow up with all the bloodshed and rivalries.”

“If Emilio could protect her from his enemies, then I’m sure Creed Ferraro can too. Oriana could use a decent male role model in her life.”

“And you think Creed Ferraro would be a decent role model for her? After everything that has happened?”

“Ori was born a mafia princess, and she already bosses everyone around like they live to serve her royal majesty.”

Laughing, I admit, “She does do that. I had no idea how muchyou and the Rovinas had spoiled her. She deserves to be loved, not given whatever money can buy to appease her at the moment.”

“Ori is young enough that she probably won’t miss Izaiah and Emilio as much if she had another father figure to help you raise her. Hopefully she won’t remember them in a few years. She needs a male role model to help love her and show her what a healthy relationship looks like. I doubt there are many men who could handle such a firecracker without dousing her flames completely.”

“Well, you’ve certainly thought a lot about something that’s never going to happen,” I point out to her, wishing she hadn’t painted such a sweet picture in my head of the three of us as a happy family. Swiping the tear drop from underneath my eye, or maybe it’s just a drop of rain, I remind her, “Creed didn’t even come to tell me goodbye before we left. He’s done. That ship that I was literally on sailed away from him at his direction.”

“You don’t think it’s possible that he didn’t come say goodbye to you because it would’ve been too hard to let you go? I doubt a man like Creed Ferraro has much experience being vulnerable around another human being. I doubt his parents gave him many hugs when he was growing up or told him that they loved him. He’s probably emotionally stunted because he was raised to be the meanest motherf’er in New York City, to always show his strength and power, not openly share his feelings.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t raised in a very loving home. His mother tried to take him and leave when he and his brother were kids because his father was too angry and violent. She gave up his father to the feds. Eventually, though, the charges were dropped, and his father found and killed his mother in front of them.”

“That’s awful. Other than his mom and brother, you’re probably the first person who has ever loved him, the man, not just his money or the power. He’ll need some time to wrap his head around all that. To allow himself to trust that you won’t leave him or hurt him like they did, even though it wasn’t their choice.”

“Again, this is all a moot point. I can’t even call him, since he never gave me his phone number. Not that I would call him if I had it.”

“God, you’re so damn stubborn. That’s where Ori gets it from, not just on the Rovina side.”

“I’m not stubborn. I’m only being realistic,” I tell her. “It’s time for me to move on and forget Creed Ferraro. I’m sure he’s already forgotten all about me.”

Creed

It’s only been three weeks since Zara left, which is about half as long as I knew her, and I’m still constantly thinking about her adorable freckles and long curls that bounce right back up when I tug on them.

I already struggle to remember the details in her face, where exactly those freckles were on her nose and her cheeks, the curve of her lips, the steel in her green eyes when she was pissed at me…

I should’ve taken more photos of Zara when I had the chance. Why the fuck didn’t I? All I have are a few images on my phone of her and Oriana my guys sent and a photo taken right after our marriage ceremony. In it, I look annoyed, and she looks nervous.

I was an idiot who was too busy worrying about not being able to trust her that I pushed her away rather than pulling her closer.

“What are you going to do about Zara, you sad sack of shit?” Dre asks when him, Tristan, and Lorenzo barge into my office.

I rotate my chair from the sun setting on the city to frown at them. Standing before my desk, Dre’s arms cross over the chest of his three-piece suit as if I’m inconveniencing him with my misery. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘what am I going to do about Zara?’ She’s off in Italy, living her life. You should be worrying about your wedding plans, not me.”

“We know where Zara is, but you’ve been a miserablefiglio di puttanasince she left, and I doubt that’s going to change anytime soon. So, what are you going to do to fix it?” Tristan asks.

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