Page 19 of Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss

She’s more beautiful than I remember.

Her hips are wider, her thighs thicker, and I only want to grip them while she rides me.

“Man, these donuts are to die for. Oh my God,” he groans as he sits in the driver’s seat. “And the girl that runs this place is the girl from the club all those years ago, I think. And guess what else I found out?”

“What?” I ask, never taking my eyes off her.

“She’s Camilla Thompson. The daughter of—”

“—Mr. Thompson.” A plan begins to form in my mind. One that will change the course of the meeting.

“Bingo.” Alvize puts the SUV in reverse, and I steal one last glance at the woman who has turned my world upside down.

I watch her until I can’t, until we are too far away for me to notice anything about her, and I turn around. The miles between me and my end goal are less and less.

Eventually, we are at an iron gate, and it swings open, the guard letting us in without question.

“Odd.”

“No. They are expecting us.” I double-check to make sure I have my gun in my holster.

It’s there.

And if anyone tries anything, I’m not afraid to pull the trigger, even if this is the home of the beauty that haunts my dreams.

When we park, a guard is waiting for us at the door.

“Mr. Bianco,” he greets, opening the door, and I pause on the porch.

“You aren’t going to check me for weapons?”

“You have one on you. I’m not stupid.”

“Why let me take it in?”

“You’ll see why,” the guard says. “Follow me. I’ll take you to Mr. Thompson.”

Alvize must feel the same way I do because he pulls out his gun.

“There’s no need for that. I promise.”

“I don’t take promises from my enemy,” I state, following the guard up the staircase.

It’s a nice home, but it almost seems empty. There are no pictures or paintings on the walls. It’s quiet; the only sound is the hum from the air conditioning.

This can’t be where Camilla was raised because if I had a woman like her in my life, I’d have displays of how proud I am of her everywhere.

We stop at double doors, and the guard swings them open. I step inside, waiting to be attacked, but I’m not.

Instead, I’m left staring at Mr. Thompson lying in bed, very ill.

I’m shocked. He must have kept this under wraps because I haven’t heard a thing through the grapevine of shared connections we have.

“Mr. Thompson,” I greet, dragging a chair to the edge of the bed. I take in his form, weak and fragile. I could kill him easily right now, but I think of Camilla and how she’d hate me if I killed her father.

“Mr. Bianco. It’s about time we meet.” He coughs into a handkerchief. It’s wet and intense until he’s gasping for breath. “I can guess you can put two and two together as to why I asked you here.”

“I can’t say I can. You’re ill; that much is clear, but I don’t know what I have to do with that.” I cross my right ankle over my knee and lean back in the leather chair. Alvize stands next to me, gun in his hands, ready to fire if he needs to.

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