Page 50 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
Not really.
Five years, and still her name tastes like unfinished business on my tongue.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see it coming.
The way she vanished after those questions about whether I was ready for fatherhood.
The perfect symmetry of her silence.
One day, she’s leaning across a boardroom table with that tight little smirk and a dress that made me want to ruin her in twelve different languages, and the next, she’s gone.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Of course I know where she is.
Did she really think I wouldn’t?
Valentina might have signed the papers, but she doesn't do anything that permanent unless she has help.
Gianna made it look like it was all some clean-cut assignment, a nice little overseas post to make herself useful.
But she chose to go.
She asked for it.
And that’s what pisses me off.
That she wanted to leave.
That she didn’t even try to lie to my face.
Just slipped out the back door like I was something to be escaped.
I didn’t chase her.
That would have looked like caring.
And caring is not something I do.
She chose her life, even though I clearly told her what I was, and what I wasn’t.
Maybe it was all that talk, the undercurrent in her voice when she asked if I ever wanted more.
The question I dodged without subtlety.
I told her the truth.
I’m not built for permanence.
I’m not built for bedtime stories and strollers and matching linen.
I am built for pleasure and ruin, for quick nights and cleaner exits.
So, if she expected me to look at her and see fatherhood, the mistake was hers.
But she should’ve told me she was leaving.
