Page 52 of Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss

If, at the end of the day, she doesn’t want to be with me, the one thing I’ll never allow is for her to be with him.

I won’t let him ruin my chance of becoming a father to two amazing children.

Sliding the curtains closed, I sneer at the window before taking a seat on the couch again.

This is my home.

No one fucks with what is mine.

Chapter Thirteen

Camilla

I’m standing in my bakery and have no idea where to start. It still smells like smoke, and I feel defeated. There’s so much to do, and when there is a long list of items that need to be achieved, the overwhelming weight of everything that needs to be accomplished makes it seem like, why bother doing it all.

And don’t get me started on Luca.

He argued with me last night to try and convince the kids and me to go home with him where we could be safe.

I denied him.

We might have rekindled an old spark, which was absolutely amazing and possibly a bad idea. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all morning. I’m thinking about his lips on mine, the weight of his body, the way he felt against me. If I think about it hard enough, I can feel his lips on mine, the warmth of his breath, and my entire body awakens from the memory.

How can one man have so much power over me?

“Knock. Knock.”

I spin around to see Taylor standing in the doorway. His hands are in his pockets, and he is wearing a beanie.

“Hey, it’s so good to see a friendly face.” I give him a hug, and he tightens his hold before letting go. “What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to check in on you. Yesterday was a stressful day. I can’t imagine how hard this is on you.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand. “And I’m sorry for how Luca treated you yesterday.”

“It’s fine,” he says, but I’m not too convinced because his jaw flexes. “I don’t know why you hang around that guy. He isn’t good news.”

“Taylor, can we not do this right now, please. I don’t want to get into it. I have so much to do. I need to get the bakery up and running, so I don’t lose too much money.”

“How about we talk about solutions while getting a cup of coffee at Cora’s?”

“That actually sounds like something I need. I need a jumpstart to my day.” I grab my coat and purse, following Taylor out the door.

It’s a gloomy day. The sky is full of gray clouds, and the wind holds a chill. Not many people are out to avoid the weather, and it’s noticeable as soon as we enter Cora’s coffee shop.

She’s behind the counter on the phone, and when she hears the bell jingle to tell her she has guests, she gives us a big smile. “The regular?” she asks us.

“Yes, please,” I say, taking a seat in the corner booth.

“No one makes a caramel non-fat latte like you, Cora,” Taylor says to her and makes a sound of disgust.

“Please make mine fat. As far as you can.”

“You got it,” she laughs. “How are the kiddos? I feel like I haven’t seen them,” she pouts while making the espresso.

“They love daycare. They always want to go and hang out with their friends, so why not? Next year they will be in kindergarten, so I might as well get used to them being away from home.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Taylor questions, sliding into the booth after he takes his jacket off.

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