Page 61 of Secret Mafia Daddy

He rubs a hand over his face. “Catarina, listen. I want you. I want you, and Chelsea, and I want you for good. I never thought that I could fall in love.”

My heart drops to my toes. “Love? Are you saying that you love me?”

“I do,” he says softly. “I do love you, Catarina, and I’m stupid for not noticing it right away. I should have kept in touch with you after that first night, because you made me feel a way that no other woman has.”

“You’re talking crazy,” I say quickly. “How much champagne did you have at the reception, Angelo? Because this is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he asks, putting a hand on my face. “I see the way you look at me. Especially when I’m interacting with Chelsea. I know that you have feelings for me, too.”

“You don't know anything,” I insist. "You don’t even know how you feel. I’m supposed to believe that you just suddenly fell in love with me?”

“You’re supposed to believe that what I’m telling you is true, Catarina,” he says firmly, and I step away from him. I ruffle through my luggage to find a dress to slide on, and Angelo just watches me, his expression exasperated.

“I don’t believe you, Angelo. I don’t believe that you suddenly fell in love with me, or that this is all real.” He opens his mouth and I hold up a hand to stop him. “But it doesn’t even matter if it is true, because this isn't the life I want to lead. I can't wait at home with Chelsea while you’re out on some dangerous job. I saw my mother go through it, and I won’t do that.”

“Catarina—”

“That’s it, Angelo. We do this for a while so that you can trust me, and we’ll figure out something about custody of Chelsea, but this isn’t a real marriage. You don’t love me.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” he warns darkly, and I bite my lip but then swallow hard, determined.

“It doesn’t matter how you feel if I don’t reciprocate your feelings,” I say, my voice going soft, and Angelo’s face falls before his expression shutters.

“Fine,” he finally says, through gritted teeth. “This is just temporary, then. Doesn’t that mean I can do what I want?"

I shrug, my heart aching. “You’ve always done whatever you want, Angelo, what changes now?”

“I guess nothing,” he says quietly, looking away from me, and then he gets dressed, throwing his clothes back on, half buttoning his shirt and sliding on his shoes at the door.

“Where are you going?” I ask, my throat tight with unshed tears.

“Out,” he says, and then he slams the hotel door when he leaves, grabbing his keys and wallet.

I plop down on the bed, choking out a sob. He has to be drunk. He can’t possibly be in love with me the way that he said.

What the hell is going on with him?

25

ANGELO

I rush out of the hotel before I even know what I’m doing, where I’m going. I call a car to take me to Dante’s, and when I arrive, bursting past him into the house, he looks at me in shock.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks. “Isn’t it your wedding night?”

I let out a long breath. “It’s not a real wedding, Dante,” I say through gritted teeth. “Catarina made that very clear.”

Dante frowns. “I thought you were going to tell her how you felt.”

“I did,” I burst out. “She told me I was lying, and that she didn’t want this kind of lifestyle. Give me a job,” I plead. “I need to do something.”

Dante looks me up and down, as if considering. “I don’t know if you’re in the right frame of mind for a job, Angelo...”

“Oh, fuck off, Dante,” I growl. "You're not my therapist.”

Dante gives me a hard look but then softens. “All right, fine. You can check in on the Russians.”

“Don’t give me a bitch errand, Dante, I need to bust my knuckles open,” I plead.

---