Page 70 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don
He turns to see one of Elena’s children waving wildly at him. “Gotta run. I’d wish you a good time, but I know pigs will fly before that happens.”
He pats me on the back and then saunters off toward his cousin and her children.
I blow out a breath thinking I should have taken him up on the hot chocolate with bourbon.
I wonder if they’d serve it without the hot chocolate.
My gaze finds Roman on the ice, gliding with a grace that belies his imposing frame.
Angelica holds his hands, her small face alight with joy as they weave between other skaters.
I remember when he first married wondering how my fierce enforcer would manage family life.
The man can compartmentalize like no one’s business.
I’ve seen him make men shit themselves in fear and then a few hours later, he’s a big softy having a tea party with his daughter.
"Faster, Daddy!" Angelica squeals, and Roman obliges, picking up speed.
I glance over at Isabella, who stands at the edge of the rink cradling baby Leo.
The infant is bundled against the cold, a ridiculous reindeer hat covering his head.
Isabella rocks him gently, her face filled with happiness as she watches Roman and Angelica on the ice.
It's jarring to think this is the same woman who nearly brought down La Corona last year with her accusations of me.
Now she's a devoted wife and mother, seemingly content in the life she was forced into.
Her punishment became her salvation.
Something twists in my chest.
Not jealousy.
I've never envied Roman for his domestic life. And yet, there is an emptiness, an ache as I watch them.
They exist in a world I've never allowed myself to enter.
For a long time, I didn’t believe love existed. I don’t just mean romantic love, although I was certain that was a commercial construct created to sell flowers and chocolate.
But even familial love didn’t exist for me, not in my family.
But when I finally saw evidence of love, I realized that while it did exist, it eluded me and my family.
The Calabresis were void of love.
Love makes us vulnerable and weak, my father would insist. More accurately, he’d say, “Don’t be a pussy, Marco. No one respects a pussy.”
I suck in a breath as his words come back to me and I realize that these moments of longing are a sign of my weakness, and I can’t be weak.
I remind myself that I previously had a moment in which I wondered if there could be a future for me and Gabriella, and right after that, she accused me of betraying her and called me soulless.
It was proof positive that I’m not a man who’ll be loved.
Not in the way Isabella loves Roman. Or Roman loves his family.
Somehow, for him, love isn’t a vulnerability, but his strength.
