Page 155 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

---

"Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?" he murmurs, already drifting.

"Always."

I watch as sleep claims him.

Without the weight of La Corona, without the ghosts of his past haunting him, he looks younger, almost peaceful.

I imagine a baby with Marco's intense eyes and my smile, stubborn like both of us.

"Your papa saved us," I say to our baby. "And we're going to save him right back."

29

MARCO

I open my eyes to the soft winter light filtering into my room. Christmas morning.

For the first time in decades, the day feels like something more than just another twenty-four hours to endure.

My chest throbs dully where Frank's bullet tore through me.

The doctor says I'm lucky.

An inch to the left and I'd be in a pine box instead of this bed.

But pain is an old friend of mine, and this physical discomfort is nothing compared to the years I spent denying myself happiness.

Beside me, Gabriella sleeps peacefully. Her hand rests protectively over her stomach, over our child.

The thought of being a father still sends a jolt through me.

Please, God, don’t let me fuck this up.

I’ve been home three days, and while I’m still like a decrepit old man, each day I’m a little stronger.

Yesterday, Roman helped me hobble through a few high-end shops, cursing me the entire time for refusing to stay in bed.

I reach carefully into the nightstand drawer, feeling for the small velvet box hidden there.

Not the necklace.

That's wrapped and under the tree downstairs. This is something more permanent.

Gabriella stirs beside me, and I quickly shut the drawer.

There's time for that later.

Right now, I want to savor this moment of quiet before the day begins.

I'm not foolish enough to think everything is fixed.

Frank is dead, but whoever orchestrated the attacks on Antonio's business is still out there.

Blackwood remains a threat.

And I still have decades of emotional baggage to work through.

---