Page 155 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
Her eyes fill with tears, but I can't tell if they're from relief or something else. It doesn't matter. I've made my promise, and I'll keep it.
"But there's one thing that's changed." I let my gaze drop to where her hands still rest protectively over her stomach, ready to fight to be a father.
“Roman.” She presses her fingers over my mouth. “It’s my turn.”
“But—”
She pinches my lips together. “My turn. I don’t want to go. I don’t want a life away from you and Angelica.”
I like these words. I’m a little worried that I'm dreaming them.
“And our baby.”
My breath hitches. She’s telling me about the child. She’s not hiding it.
“I just…” She looks down. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep me or the baby out of duty.”
“Duty?” I nearly choke on the word. “Have you been listening to me?”
She sniffles, and I feel bad for barking at her.
“I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want you out of duty and I don’t want you to give up your dreams out of duty, either. I won't stop you from going. But I won't abandon my child, either. I can't."
“Roman, do you love me?”
“Yes! How many times do I have to say it?”
She smiles, and it melts the cold fear in my heart. “Every day. And I’ll tell you every day too. I love you.”
“Thank fuck.” Carefully, I take her in my arms and settle her in bed so she can rest. "I've got you,” I murmur into her hair. "I've always had you, Isabella."
The bedroom door flies open and Angelica bursts in, a whirlwind of energy. "Daddy! Isabella!" Her dark curls bounce wildly around her face as she launches herself onto the bed.
She scrambles between us. "Did you get the bad men, Daddy? Did you make them sorry?"
I shift, making room for her in our embrace. "Yes, Angel. The bad men can't hurt anyone anymore."
Angelica turns to Isabella. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too, sweetie,” Isabella says, her gaze lifting from Angelica to me.
In those eyes I finally see everything I need.
Trust. Love. A family.
32
ISABELLA
I stand beside Roman in front of La Corona, a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach.
I’ve never been in the inner sanctum of a La Corona meeting and it’s a little overwhelming.
I’d rather be anywhere else this Christmas Eve, but this meeting is important.
Roman’s hand rests protectively against the small of my back, a gesture that calms me. I know I’m safe with him, even in a room filled with Dons.
The four Dons, Marco, Leonardo, Dominic, and Antonio, observe us with calculating eyes. They didn’t want me here, but Roman insisted, told them I deserved to be there.
