Page 108 of Mafia Shade's Reluctant Bride
I pulled him in closer, holding him tighter against me, one hand on the back of his head, gently brushing through his curls.
“You’re safe now,” I said softly, my voice almost getting lost in the wind. “I got you.”
He didn’t say anything. He just held on to my shirt like it was the only solid thing in the world. His little fists clenched and unclenched in the fabric.
My chest ached watching him try so hard to be brave. He was just a kid. Just a little boy. And he’d seen things no kid should have to.
“I’m not going anywhere, Matteo. Ever. You hear me?” I whispered. “You’re not alone.”
Maria’s eyes locked with mine. There was something heavy in her expression, something she’d been holding for too long.
“Oh, how touching. Where is my pet talk, or I don’t deserve one,”
That’s when I noticed Luca. He was standing awkwardly nearby like he wasn’t sure if he should thank me or punch me again. The look on his face said both options were still on the table.
I looked at him, and then at his clenched fists, and then back up.
“Okay, I will give you one,” I raised a brow, adjusting Matteo’s weight on my leg. “But if you ever punch me again, I’m knocking all the teeth off your jaw. I only let it slide the first time because, you know, trauma and grief and all that sentimental stuff. But next time? I'm flipping tables.”
Luca finally cracked a smile. It started small like he didn’t quite believe it was allowed, but then it spread, and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck like a teenager caught sneaking back in at 3 a.m.
“You let it slide because you knew I’d knock you out cold.”
“Sure,” I nodded solemnly. “Right after pigs fly and Enrico joins a knitting club.”
Maria rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Children” before standing. Her arm had a small cut, and she was dusting herself off with a sigh like she was trying to shake off the last seventy-two hours.
“Now that you two have had your testosterone tug-of-war,” she stepped forward, her voice lighter now, “I think it’s time we tell Matteo something important.”
I tensed. It wasn’t that I didn’t want it. God, I wanted it. I just couldn’t believe it was real and that I had earned this. That someone like me, someone carved in shadows, who danced too close to the wrong side of every line, could get to sit in the sun for once.
Matteo looked up at Maria like she hung the moon.
“Matteo,” she crouched beside us, her hand brushing his wild curls with that mother-gentle touch I was still trying to learn. “Remember how I told you about your dad, and I said one day you would meet him?”
He nodded, eyes wide.
“Well,” she smiled, glancing at me, then back at him. “He’s right here.”
Matteo blinked. Then he blinked again.
“Lorenzo is your father,” she said softly.
My heart was jammed so far up my throat that I didn’t even dare breathe. I watched him, scared to move, scared to scare him—scared I’d screw this up just by being me.
Then he looked at me. And something shifted.
That tight line of worry across his brow softened, and his shoulders dropped. The fear was still there, but now it was loosened and dulled like it finally had somewhere to rest.
He smiled.
He looked like he’d just found something he’d been missing his whole life and didn’t even know it.
“Daddy?”
That one word split me open and finished me. Right there in the dirt, surrounded by ash and aftermath, I was done. Just a man ruined by a kid’s voice and a lifetime of regret finally catching its breath.
It wasn’t just that he said it. It was how he said it—like it made sense and felt right. Maybe, just maybe, the world wasn’t such a terrifying place anymore because he had someone to call by that name now.
