Page 23 of Caged Captain

My man joins me in bed once more, both of us satiated for the time being. He wraps himself around me and kisses the back of my neck, both of us drifting into a deep slumber.

10

MARCO

“Marco, this is incredible,” Imogine says in awe as I lead her to the table set up on the deck in my backyard. After all our fake dates, I decided Imogine deserved a real date. Not that I’ve ever been on one, but I’m trying my best.

She’s been staying with me for a week now, and for some reason, she keeps telling me she loves and forgives me. I can’t comprehend it, but I’ve finally stopped questioning her. If she’s willing to look past our rocky start and my glaring flaws, the least I can do is spoil her in every way. Starting with a home-cooked meal.

I pull out the chair for Imogine and pour both of us a glass of wine. I sit across from her, anxious in a way only she can make me. “I haven’t cooked for anyone since…” I blow out a breath, reaching into my distant memories from before I joined the Caparellis. “Well, probably since I was sixteen. Mynonnawas first-generation Italian, and she taught me everything she knew. She told me I’d need to cook if I ever wanted to catch myself a woman.”

Imogine smiles and leans forward, her blue eyes sparkling with each new detail I give her about my life. “What if you already caught a woman?” she teases.

“Well, in that case, I’ll need some way to keep you by my side. Authentic, hand-made pasta, sauce, and meatballs are a good start, right?” I’m trying to match her light tone, but I’m desperate for her approval.

“Absolutely,” she replies, squeezing my hand. “Tell me more about your nana.”

“Nonna,” I gently correct. “It’s Italian forgrandma. She was smart and sassy and loved a challenge. Much like someone else I know.” Imogine blushes, but I know she loves my compliments. “I grew up with my grandma, mother, and aunt, three strong women who would’ve adored you.”

“I can’t wait to meet them,” she replies with a soft smile.

“I wish you could. Unfortunately, we were all in a car accident when I was fifteen. I was the only survivor.” I clear my throat and look away, feeling raw and vulnerable. I haven’t thought about that day in so damn long. I suppose that was the point of throwing myself into my career as a made man. No time to dwell on the past when every moment in the present is a crisis.

“I’m so sorry you went through that,” Imogine whispers. “I can’t imagine losing everyone at such a young age.” She pauses briefly as if not sure if she should continue. I take her hand in mine, silently encouraging her. “My mom had an aggressive form of brain cancer,” she says quietly. I almost don’t hear her. “She died two months after the diagnosis. A week after the funeral, my father placed his first bet, hoping to make enough money to pay off the funeral and medical bills.”

“Jesus,” I murmur as I rub my thumb over the back of her hand. “How old were you?”

“Ten.”

The air stills and the world seems to stop spinning for a moment as we take on each other’s past and pain. Imogine’s blue eyes meet mine, reaching into my goddamn soul and breathing new life into me. We’ll heal together, grow together, and overcome together.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Imogine says, changing the subject. I squeeze her hand one last time, thanking her for sharing another piece of her life with me.

We dig into our food, and somehow, Imogine makes slurping spaghetti sexy. I grin at her and reach out to wipe away the sauce on the side of her mouth.

“Hey, I was saving that,” she protests, nipping at my thumb. I chuckle, delighted that she approves. “Seriously, this is amazing. All of it. The food, the paper lanterns, the flowers… It's beautiful.”

“So I did okay for a first date?” My voice has a desperate edge that Imogine picks up on.

She puts down her utensils and gives me a sweet, almost wistful smile. “It’s perfect,” she says softly. “It’s just us. No one around to impress or put on a show for. Thank you.”

I refill our wine glasses and we fall into an easy, lighter conversation. Imogine tells me her father has been going to Gamblers Anonymous meetings twice a week and even managed to get an apartment in a better part of town. He’s moving there next week.

I don’t tell her I paid off the remainder of her father’s debts to various thugs and shady loan sharks and secured the new apartment by paying for six months upfront. Her father is making an effort to turn his life around, and it makes Imogine happy. That’s all that matters. I’ll support her family in any way I can as long as I get to experience her smile every single day.

She asks more about my past, trying to connect the dots between the tragic car accident and how I ended up working forthe Caparellis. It’s hard for me to get the words out and share anything personal, but I would do anything for Imogine.

“It’s been a long time since anyone has cared enough to ask,” I tell her truthfully.

“I want to know everything about you,” she assures me. Imogine is the most genuine person I’ve ever met, and I know she means every word. “But we have a lifetime together, right?”

“Yes,” I answer instantly, pleased that she’s starting to have confidence in me again. I know I did damage by leaving her that morning, but I’m trying my damnedest to make it up to her with every breath.

She takes a sip of wine and finishes her dinner. I stand from my seat and offer her my hand as Vivaldi plays from the speakers installed beneath the deck. Imogine peers up at me with questions in her eyes, though she gives me her hand. Something in me settles, knowing she trusts me like this. I’ll never take it for granted again.

“Dance with me,” I murmur as I pull her onto her feet.

“You cookanddance?!” she exclaims, making me grin.

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