Page 129 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
Or maybe he's just avoiding coming home to face me. To face the decision of whether to believe me or not.
How many hoops do I need to jump through to prove myself?
I handed over the burner phone. I've stayed away from Blackwood. I've done everything he's asked, and still, one conversation I couldn't avoid has him questioning me all over again.
The notebook sits on the bed, my mother's words waiting to be read fully.
I change into my nightgown and slide under the covers, staring at the ceiling. The bed feels too big, too empty without him beside me. It's strange how quickly I've gotten used to his presence, his warmth.
I roll to my side, watching the door, willing it to open.
But as the hours tick by, I realize he's not coming home tonight.
As much as I want him to come back, I’m also terrified of what will happen when he does.
I wake with a start. The space beside me remains undisturbed. Roman never came home.
Sunlight filters through the curtains telling me I did sleep, after all.
My body feels heavy as I push myself up, a wave of nausea washing over me.
Great. Just what I need, to be sick on top of everything else.
I press my palm against my forehead, expecting to feel warmth. At least I don’t have a fever.
I drag myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and brushing my teeth.
The apartment is quiet as I make my way to the kitchen. Mrs. Rossi is already there, preparing Angelica's breakfast.
"Good morning," I rasp.
Mrs. Rossi gives me a sympathetic look. "You don't look well, Mrs. Ginetti."
Mrs. Ginetti. A title I never wanted but now cling to as my only protection.
"Is Roman…?" I start, scanning the apartment as if he might materialize from the shadows.
"He called early this morning," Mrs. Rossi says, cracking eggs into a bowl. "Said he had business to attend to."
Business. Is that true or is he avoiding coming home to face me? Or maybe he’s being grilled by La Corona.
I sink into a chair at the kitchen table.
Angelica bounces in. She stops when she sees me, her little face scrunching up. "Where's Daddy?"
"Working, sweetheart," Mrs. Rossi answers before I can.
Angelica's disappointment mirrors my own, though for different reasons.
She misses her father.
I miss… what? The possibility of something real between us?
I wrap my hands around a mug of tea Mrs. Rossi sets before me, letting the warmth seep into my cold fingers.
I stare at the scrambled eggs Mrs. Rossi places in front of me, the smell suddenly overwhelming. My stomach lurches violently.
"Excuse me," I mutter, pushing away from the table so quickly my chair nearly topples.
