Page 32 of Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss

What I see has my anger reaching new heights. I’ve never wanted to burn down a store and watch it crumble to ash so badly in my life. I want him to rebuild. I want to watch his dreams go up in smoke and struggle to figure out what to do next with his life.

It’s a picture of Camilla.

And by how it’s taken, I don’t think she knows about this picture.

She’s inside her bakery talking to a customer. Her hair is pulled back, and a big smile is on her face, but it isn’t real. Even I can see how well she’s pretending to be happy. Camilla is wearing a shirt that says O-Squared, stretching across her breasts.

I remember what it was like experiencing her body before her children. She’s even more beautiful now, and I ache to have that experience all over again.

But why does he have this picture? It looks like it was taken from afar.

I grip the frame with both hands so hard that the glass cracks.

He’ll not have a picture of her while she’s unaware.

He’ll not have a picture of her at all.

I tuck the frame in my jacket and give the store my back, leaving the way I came in. My blood is boiling. I'm not sure what I'd do if Taylor were in front of me right now. I know I don’t trust him, so he’ll have one of my men following him at all times.

One way or another, I’ll figure out what he wants and make sure Camilla won’t be near him.

I leave, shutting the door behind me, reset the alarm, then make my way down the steps. I step over the same puddle and head to my car but pause just outside her bakery. I pull out the picture and lift it into the air. The windows of the store align perfectly with the one in the picture.

Right in front of his bookshop, left of the front door, and right below her balcony, he stood right here and violated her privacy. What else has he done that I don’t know about?

With determined strides, I head back to my car and slam the door when I climb into the driver’s seat.

My phone rings again, and before I answer, I start the engine so Bluetooth can connect.

“What?” I bite.

The longer I stay out in front of her bakery, the more I want to set fire to his pretty books. He needs a sign—no—a warning to leave her alone.

And every second I sit in this driver’s seat, I ache to burst into her apartment. Maybe I won’t get to hold her, but every ounce of me wants to get to know her again.

What’s she like now?

Where has she been for five years?

Does she want more children?

What does she like to do?

I want to know everything, even the smallest, most insignificant detail. What does she prefer? Coffee or tea? Or maybe she likes to sleep on the right side of the bed.

I need to know these things about the woman who has taken over every corner of my mind since that night five years ago.

“You wanted me to update you.”

I rub my temples and slam the car into drive, the tires burning rubber against the pavement. The car fishtails, but I maintain control. I have to get away from Camilla.

“Is it taken care of?” I ask.

I hear a painful groan in the background. “No. They are in your office. I figured you might want to blow off some steam.”

A wicked grin spreads across my face.

My friend knows me too well.

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