Page 64 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don
The intensity in his eyes when he'd watch me come undone.
The rare, genuine smile afterward, not the calculated one he shows the world, but something real. Something just for me.
I pinch my nipple as my fingers furiously rub my clit.
“Yes… yes… Mine.” He drives in, coming apart over me.
I gasp as my own release washes over me in waves.
I think back to the times he’d look at me afterward.
I swore I could see something vulnerable through his carefully maintained control.
Those rare moments when Marco Calabresi, the feared Don and ruthless businessman, would let his guard down just for me.
I realize now that it gave me hope that he’d change his mind.
That he’d allow himself to love me.
Allow me to love him.
But it wasn’t to be.
Even if I hadn’t overheard his conversation and taken it wrong, Marco won’t ever open up to me.
It would be wise of me to remember that this week because it’s clear to me that while I’ve spent a year trying to hate this man, my body, my heart remember the truth.
I wake the next morning to sunlight streaming through the curtains.
I stretch like a cat in the luxurious bed.
For the first time in months, I feel like myself again.
The Gabriella who embraces each day with enthusiasm rather than suspicion.
I feel lighter. Optimistic.
Not about me and Marco, of course.
I’ve accepted who he is.
But the weight of hate is gone.
The drive to live full-throttle, seize the day, is back.
I dress for the holiday, choosing an emerald cashmere sweater that looks great, but more importantly, it is comfortable.
I slip on dark jeans and ankle boots.
Perfect for a day of sifting through papers and sleuthing to find out who is targeting my father.
I head downstairs. The scents of fresh coffee and pastries greet me.
Marco's housekeeper, Maria, smiles warmly as I enter the kitchen.
"Good morning, Miss Monti. Breakfast is ready whenever you'd like. You can eat here or the dining room is set up.”
"It smells amazing," I say, peering at the spread of pastries, fruit, and what looks like a perfect frittata. "Is Marco joining me?"
