Page 136 of Massimo

I pause him by holding his wrist, needing to tell him what happened in the kitchen before all the chaos. "I fed myself." I know how that sounds—pathetic with a capital P—but it's a huge win for me. "Without even thinking. No mental gymnastics—"

My words are cut off by Massimo pressing his mouth to mine and kissing me deeply. He finally breaks away, staring at me with love. "I'm so fucking proud of you, princess."

"I thought I was your queen." I love this version of myself—teasing, light-hearted, and bold—the one that comes to life with him.

"You most definitely are." He kisses my nose, and I melt a little more for him. "But princess just rolls off the tongue so easily, whereas queen alone doesn't quite have the same ring. Though, if you'd prefer, I could always call you 'my queen' instead."

"Maybe Queenie?" Then I scrunch up my nose. "Scratch that; it sounds like a dog's name."

His deep, rumbling laugh rolls through me, and I take a moment to try to process that this really is my life as he feeds me a chunk of pancake dripping with syrup. "You were my princess first, and you always will be."

My vision turns misty. "Is it all real? Am I really pregnant?" My hand moves to my stomach, my heart fluttering wildly at the thought of a tiny life nestled inside me, protected by me and this massive, powerful man.

Massimo gently places his hand over mine on my belly. "Yeah, you really are."

"Did you marry me for real and knock me up?" I blurt, still not able to believe everything.

His laugh this time is rolling and infectious, and I giggle. Igigglefor what might be my first time ever.

"I was worried you'd hate me," he admits, turning serious. "By taking your choice away in this. I didn't even know if you wanted children." He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. "But I couldn't see any other way to ensure that the 'Ndrangheta would have to back me against your father."

A swell of vulnerability rises within me, but I lean into it, being open with Massimo. "I never allowed myself to think about children. Just like I never allowed myself to think about what I'd want to do in the future. Being under my father's control and with his plans for me, I knew I'd never have any choice in anything."

Massimo's look is tender and loving. "All choices are open for you now, wife."

"Thank you, husband." My throat is thick with emotion.

His lips press against my forehead, and I close my eyes, feeling his strength—physically and emotionally—seep into me.

We sit like that until Massimo picks up another piece of pancake.

"As much as I fucking adore you warming my cock while I feed you." My core clenches, because Ilovethis cockwarming kink, and I squirm, which makes him smirk. "For now, just having you in my lap will have to do so I can feed you before we call Nathaniel Kessler."

I loves how he loves to take care of me. I don't think I'll ever stop loving eating a meal this way.

"You have no recollection of this man?" Massimo asks.

I've been wracking my brain since Creed told us about his phone call. "No, but there's something about Vincenzo," I admit. "Something in my memory and that has to do with my mother, I'm sure of it."

"Your mother's death?" Massimo has tensed, and I study him.

"Are you not telling me something about my mother's death?"

His dark eyes go impossibly darker, and I know he is keeping something from me. "I don't want to know, do I?" I whisper.

He's silent as he studies me, then finally answers, "No, princess. But know that your father will pay forallhis sins, Nova."

And I believe Massimo. And most importantly, I trust him.

I stop Massimo from reaching for more of the food, not being able to eat anymore right now. "Can we call this Nathaniel man?"

Massimo hesitates for a moment, as if considering whether to encourage me to eat more, but then relents. He wipes his hands on a napkin, pulls out his phone, and dials the number Creed gave him—activating the speakerphone so I can hear the full conversation.

A male voice answers, "Massimo Santoro, I presume?"

From the polished, cultured tone, I picture the man as an aristocratic blue blood.

"You're correct," Massimo replies.

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