Page 120 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

It was probably peeling off my shirt in front of him. Dumb, gutsy move on my part. But he grins, almost embarrassed at himself, and says instead,

“You stole a french fry from me.”

I stare at him for a long moment, trying to reach back and grab onto such a tiny, insignificant memory.

“…A french fry?”

“The first night I was out from prison, by the water. You just snatched it right off my plate. Took my heart right with it, I think. I wasn’t any kind of sane after that.”

I blush hotly.

Nico’s right. It is a stupid way to fall in love, go on a warpath, and end up with a baby—and I crush my mouth to his because it’s so perfect. And I know, with him, I’m not going to last. The species is going to keep continuing, on and on, because I won’t be able to resist him.

Epilogue

Ava

The realization happens at 8 A.M. in a bathroom mirror.

I’m drying off from a warm shower when I catch a glimpse of myself through the condensation and steam. I double take. I scrub the water away from the glass, trying to see through the blur. I touch my face, tracing the contours of my face as the water pools in thick droplets. My fingertips follow the curves of my cheeks, which came back full and high, and are now slimming from the gradually shedding baby weight.

My hair hangs in dark, curling curtains around my face again, boasting over a year’s worth of growth since that last drastic cut. It’s been given a new luster and shape with a little care. There’s a brightness in my eyes that shows even through the hot fog and forgotten smile lines that dimple the corners of my mouth.

I recognize her.

I stare at myself in the mirror, the drenched and waterlogged girl washed up from the waves. But she’s alive, and she’s not drowning anymore. She’s finally stretched on the hot sand, basking in the sun. At peace.

There’s no guilt hidden in the shadows of my eyes, and my grief is like a keepsake box, tucked high on a shelf and packed full of fond memories instead of bad ones. The girl in the mirror is someone Vinny would be proud of.

I’m not the only one who’s had some changes for the better.

In the half a year since becoming a father, Nico is almost on the verge of getting along with Salvatore. Or at least, the most they argue about lately is which one of our kids will beat up the other one more, and maybe a running bet on who will have the next one first. Tessa and I might feign insulted, but when Nico sweeps me back to the bedroom with a flimsy excuse about one-upping his brother, I have no complaintsthere.

And I find myself there again one afternoon, melting in his dark heat. Married, I thought maybe Nico’s urge to own me would be sated. Because he does. There’s nothing left for him to claim that he doesn’t already have, no part of me I wouldn’t give up to him. But with my back against the mattress and my legs around his waist, Nico takes me like he’s never had me before.

When we first fell back into bed together, I had the lights off and buried us under the covers. I was mortified of having him see me once I wasn’t pregnant, and just dealing with the aftermath of it. But Nico is tenacious, and he wants what he wants, and he gets me naked in a strip of sunlight this morning, and he worships every pale white stretch mark and fading vein, and eventually, I forget any reason to be ashamed or embarrassed.

And his genuine enthusiasm is obvious, straining heavy against his briefs.

Hot blood pumps in my veins as we kiss, the mattress dipping harshly as he traps me beneath him and kisses the breath right out of my lips. I cup his face, fingers trailing down to trace the new, dark ink swirling across his skin. My name swirls across his neck in dark, cursive letters, the tattoo still fresh enough to shine a little in the light.

When Nico first surprised me with the tattoo, when it was still pink around the edges, I was shocked. “Nico, that’sforever,” I had said, stupidly. But he just grinned and said,

“So are we.”

And now, every time I look at it, I love it, and think:forever.

I never thought I would be the type of girl to have her name permanently etched on a man’s body, but then, I never thought I would end up with a man like Nico. He turns me onto my side and lifts my leg, scrubbing his huge hand against my pussy and circling it. I moan, clutching the pillow and steadying my breath as I focus on the constant swirl of his palm.

Ever since we started having sex again, Nico has been gentle. We’ve taken it slow, learning all the ways to make love to another person. Feeling them move against you, with your fingers locked together and the pressure hitting so deep, it rockets up to your heart.

Orgasms that bring tears to your eyes for how much they say, when the air is filled with nothing but heavy breathing.

But today, with Nico worshipping me head to toe, my pussy already throbbing, my thoughts twisted like a cat in heat—I want all of him. Everything he can give me, heart and mind.

I spread my legs, draping one over his shoulder as I grind my pussy up against his stiff, clad erection.

“Don’t hold back.”

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