Page 14 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don
Anger. Detachment.
The tools I've used all my life to keep people at a distance. Showing emotion reveals weakness, and that’s not something I’ll do.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," I say, my voice hardening. "You think you've got it all figured out, but you're seeing shadows where there are none. But you'd rather believe the worst of me than know the truth."
Inside, a voice screams at me to tell her the truth.
About my efforts to shield her father from the other families. About how much it fucking hurt when she walked away without giving me a chance to explain.
But I've survived this long by keeping my emotions locked away. By never letting anyone see the real Marco Calabresi.
Not even her.
"You want to believe I'm the villain? Fine." I step back, holding on to my indifference. "It's easier that way, isn't it?"
She just glares at me.
“Or maybe you have your own little game you’re playing. Perhaps I’ve been wrong about you too.”
Gabriella’s eyes narrow. "Wrong about what?"
"About your motives." I watch her. "Maybe you were just using me to get information. Is that it? Sleep with the enemy to learn his secrets?"
Her hand flies up again, but I catch her wrist before it connects with my face.
"How dare you," she hisses. "You know damn well that wasn't what happened between us."
I should back away. I should release her wrist. I should end this conversation and have her escorted out. Instead, I lean in closer.
"Do I? You left without explanation. Now I find you digging through my files." My voice drops lower. "Tell me, Gabriella, are you working against me? Perhaps you were in allegiance with Sal to bring me down. He’s dead now, you know."
Her eyes flash with momentary fear, and I hate that I put it there, but I’m tired of this bullshit.
"You're despicable. What we had was real until I discovered who you really are."
Real?My chest constricts, but I ignore it. "And who am I, exactly?"
I'm practically towering over her now, the heat from her body radiating against mine. "The monster you've created in your head?"
"You're a man who puts power above everything else," she says, chin lifted, refusing to back down. "Even above us."
"There is no 'us'," I say flatly even as the words sour in my mouth. "There's just you breaking into my office and me deciding what to do about it."
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the anger gives way to something else, something that reminds me of tangled sheets and moments of laughter and joy.
It makes my chest ache. My heart yearns in ways it never has except when I was with her.
The air between us crackles with tension, partly anger and partly something else that is too dangerous to acknowledge.
The scent of her perfume clouds my judgment.
It's the same scent that lingered on my sheets long after she left, tormenting me with memories.
Without thinking, I lean closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes.
Her breath catches. I watch her throat move as she swallows.
“You think you have me all figured out.” My gaze drifts to her lips, and the desire to taste them again nearly brings me to my knees.
