Page 11 of Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss

“Okay,” she whispers, snuggling into the pillow.

For the first time in years, I sleep so well that I don’t even feel her sneak out of bed.

I wake up alone.

No note. She didn’t leave a number, her last name, or anything.

I only had one night with a woman I thought might have changed everything for me.

Chapter Three

Camilla

Present day.

“Don’t go. Stay.”

His voice wakes me up, and when I find I’m alone, I’m reminded it was a dream. That night with Luca changed my life. It was amazing, beautiful, and by far the best birthday I’ve ever had.

And it was the last birthday I’ve ever celebrated.

The sound of something breaking has me getting out of bed and tying my robe together, rushing out of the bedroom to find the twins in the kitchen. They are standing on a seat, trying to clean the dishes, but one must have slipped from Oliver’s hands because not only is he a soapy mess, but the plate is shattered on the floor.

It’s too early for this.

“It was Olli’s idea,” Oliva tattletales quick, pointing at her brother.

“You agreed to it.” He splashes dirty dish water on her.

“Did not.”

“Did too!” he screams at her, sticking out his tongue.

I rub my eyes and yawn. “Okay, stop. It’s fine. It’s okay. What time is it?” I place my hands on my hips. “Olivia. Oliver. What time is it?”

“Five o’clock,” they mumble in unison.

“And what is the rule for you two?” I ask them, putting a slightly scolding tone to my voice.

“Not to get out of bed until seven,” they say, hanging their heads.

“Because?” I press.

“It’s important to get a good night’s rest,” Oliver explains as if he has heard this one hundred times.

He has.

Because we have this conversation every other day.

“That’s right. So why are you two up?” I pluck Oliver from the chair, swing him around, so he is away from the glass, and ease him to the floor. I do the same with Olivia, then scoot the chair back where it belongs.

There is soap, water, and shattered pieces of a plate everywhere.

“We got bored, Mommy,” Olivia explains. “We wokied up and wanted to help you.” Her big blue eyes fill with tears, the eyes she got from her father.

They look so much like him; it pangs my heart some days.

“It’swokeup. Wokied isn’t a word, baby.” I kiss her forehead and push her black curls behind her ear. “And you guys did all this for me?”

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