Page 45 of Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss

I’ve never needed anyone, and I never will.

“I know, Beautiful Girl.”

“I can do this.” A sob breaks free. “I can take care of myself,” I repeat, but I know I don’t mean a damn word of it.

I’m so tired. I feel so defeated. I’m so exhausted. I can’t take care of myself anymore. I don’t know if I have the energy.

“You’re doing great, too,” Taylor chimes in. “I need to go, but I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ll be back soon.” He leans in and kisses my cheek, but I don’t miss the evil eye Luca gives him.

When he’s gone, Luca stands, cupping my cheeks in his palms. “You can take care of yourself. You can take care of your children. You can do anything by yourself.”

A tear breaks free, and I nod. “I can.”

“But you don’t have to,” he murmurs, running his fingers up my nape to hold my head back as he towers over me. “You can,” he reiterates. “But you don’t have to. I understand your fight, Beautiful Girl, and I’m not here to take it away. You have survival instincts. I respect them. You no longer have to fight alone.”

I shake my head because this can’t happen between us. Not again. “Luca—” I start to explain that he can’t be the person to help me. It isn’t a good idea.

He slips a finger over my lips to silence. “Will you be quiet and just let me take care of you?”

Before I can say anything else, he swings me into his arms again and carries me to the door that leads up to my apartment, which is right next to the entrance of the bakery. The firetrucks and medics leave, and when Luca opens the door, I let the fight go and drop my head against his shoulder.

He unlocks my apartment door, but I never give him a key.

“I own the building, remember?”

“I don’t know how I feel that you can come in here whenever you want.”

“I’d never do that to you. Your privacy is your own.” He locks the deadbolt and climbs up the stairs. “What time do the kids need to be picked up from daycare?”

“I can do it.”

He opens the door that leads us straight into the living room. “I know you can. I’m asking what time they need to be picked up from daycare?”

“In a few hours,” I relent. I do mean to fight him at every turn.

It’s a habit.

“Okay.” He places me down and kisses my forehead again. “Go take a shower. I’ll make you a snack.”

I watch as he shrugs off his suit jacket, folds it, then places it on a chair. “You aren’t moving,” he states, rolling up his sleeves.

What is it about such a simple gesture that has me melting for him?

“You don’t have to make me anything. I’m fine. I appreciate you bringing me to the apartment, but I can take it from here.”

“Beautiful Girl,” he sighs, gripping the back of the chair with his hands. The muscles in his forearms ripple, and the dark hair on his arms contrast against his olive-tinted skin. He hangs his head, then peers up at me, those electric blue irises spearing me through his ebony lashes. “What have I been telling you? I know you can take it from here. I know you can do all of the things your heart fucking desires. I know you can. You know you can. I’m telling you—” he pushes the chair aside and stands in front of me in three long strides. “—Go take a shower before I kiss you, and if there’s one thing I know youcando, it’s kiss.”

I gasp when he grips my chin between his fingers. He tilts my head back, his lips hovering dangerously close to mine. The warmth of his breath tickles my cheeks, and the smoke clinging to my clothes surrounds me as if we are creating our own fire and setting the apartment ablaze.

“You can do that, can’t you?” he whispers, nudging my nose with his before ghosting his fingers down my neck. “I dream of these lips. So soft, so…delicate.” His thumb rubs down my bottom lip, and I inhale a sharp breath. “The things I think about doing to this mouth.” He presses his forehead against mine, and a deep reverberation sounds in his throat. “Things I wanted to do before you left me alone. So if you aren’t ready to do those things, get in the shower and get cleaned up. Now.” He pushes himself away from me, running his fingers through his hair.

I can’t seem to move my feet. I know I need to, I want to, but I’m trapped by the disarray of his image. He’s breathing hard, his nostrils flare, his hair is a mess, and he doesn’t bother hiding how hard his cock is. It’s tenting his pants, protruding long and wide, just like I remember him.

“Go!” he roars at me, and I jump, startled by how loud he gets.

I finally get my feet moving and run down the hall, leaving him behind me. I press my hand against my heart to feel how fast it’s beating and slam the bathroom door behind me, locking it to be safe.

If he wants to get in, he will.

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