Page 168 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
I scowl at her crude joke, but she only laughs, fearless as always. That's what draws me to her, her absolute refusal to be intimidated by who and what I am.
But I need to stay focused. I don’t know that she’s realized it, but her father is starting to slip and that could cause all sorts of problems for Antonio and his family, especially since his son Luca shows no signs of wanting to return to New York from Italy.
I’m already planning to talk to Roman about how we can protect Antonio’s territory or perhaps absorb it if Luca doesn’t return.
"This isn't sustainable," I say, not for the first time.
She rises from the bed, gloriously naked, and crosses to where I stand by the window. "Nothing worth having ever is, Marco."
When she wraps her arms around me from behind, pressing her warmth against my back, I feel something inside me crack.
This bright, bold, effervescent woman has wormed her way past my defenses.
But I can’t allow that.
I need to stop this insanity.
If her father found out about us, I’d be forced to marry her or risk having La Corona inflict a punishment that could include death.
"You're thinking too much again," she whispers against my shoulder blade.
I turn in her arms, cupping her face between my hands. "This was supposed to be simple. Physical."
Her smile is knowing, triumphant. "But it's not, is it?"
It's not. What started as lust has become something I won’t name.
Something that makes me seek her company even when sex isn't the objective.
Something that has me listening to her opinions on business matters, valuing her perspective, craving her laughter.
"You terrify me.”
Gabriella's eyes widen slightly, then soften. "Good," she says simply, rising on her toes to kiss me. "It's about time something did."
Two weeks after that, I’m nearly resolved that I’m going to lose this battle. That the feeling in my chest could be love.
Gabriella storms into my office. “I hope you go to hell, Marco Calabresi.” It’s not the first time she’s yelled at me, but it’s the first time that her eyes have flashed with hatred. "I'm done with this. With you." She gestures between us, her movements jerky, uncharacteristic of her usual grace. "Whatever this is, it's over."
I lean back against my desk, arms crossed, face carefully neutral despite the unexpected blow. "May I ask what prompted this sudden change of heart?"
“You are a terrible person.”
Something that feels like pain squeezes my heart, but I’m nothing if not cool and aloof. I hide how her words impact me.
"I see." I don't, actually. Just yesterday, she was in my arms, whispering things that made even me blush.
"You know what you did. You just used me to?—”
"When I first fucked you, I told you there was no future for us."
"Yes, you did. But I thought you fucked me because you wanted me, not because you planned to use me."
A part of me wants to demand answers, to grab her arm and force her to explain. The other part, the colder, more rational side, tells me this is for the best.
"If that's what you want," I say finally, my voice steady.
“I was so wrong about you. It’s not that you don’t want people to know you. It’s that you don’t want people to realize you have no soul.”
