Page 19 of Secret Mafia Daddy

“When will you set a date?” my mother asks quietly, and I tilt my head.

“As soon as possible,” Angelo says. “I’m from Chicago, but we’ll fly you both out.”

“That sounds lovely,” my mother says. “I’ve never been.”

Her eyes are lit up like she’s so happy for me, and I feel a pang of guilt that all of this will be over as soon as I can manage to escape.

I know that my mother wants me to have a good husband, one that can protect me. She wants me to have a good life the way that she has.

And I’m going to. As soon as I get out of New York City. But her life will never be my life. I don’t want this for myself.

I know that I’m trading one devil for another, but in time, I’ll be able to get away. I have to believe that. I may not ever be able to keep him out of Chelsea’s life, but at least I can take her somewhere safe. He can come and visit anytime, as long as he doesn’t bring danger to our door.

“You’ve been quiet, bellissima,” Alonzo says to me, close to my ear so that Angelo, who’s talking to my mother animatedly about Chelsea, doesn’t hear. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure, Papa,” I say quietly, feeling a little guilty still for wanting to get away from him. He’s given me a good life, but not exactly a safe one. I’m always worried that someone might hurt me or Chelsea, and I just can’t live like this anymore.

Unlike Angelo, I didn’t grow up in this life. I grew up with my Irish father who was a fisherman, but his boat was lost at sea one stormy night when I was still so young. I remember that peaceful, normal life still, though, and I want it for Chelsea.

“So, you’ll be moving out?” my mother asks.

“Yes, immediately,” I agree. “Angelo and I can’t wait to get our life started,” I lie, looking at Angelo with a smile.

Angelo smiles back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I think he’s still mad at me for not telling him about Chelsea, but I honestly don’t know how I would have reached him.

By the time we get ready to go, Chelsea’s sleeping on Angelo’s shoulder again, her thumb in her mouth. I know I need to break her of that soon enough, so that it doesn’t affect her teeth, but right now, asleep in her father’s arms, it’s so cute it makes my heart ache.

Angelo’s gentle when he puts her into her car seat after we say our goodbyes. He’s always gentle with her, and I have to admit it does things to my heart. All this time not having a father around to help and having to rely on my family...

But it doesn’t matter. I can’t go back, and it may have still been for the best. At least he’s in her life now, and I’ll do my best to keep him in it – as long as it’s not dangerous.

But how do I know that everything Angelo does isn’t dangerous? I remember how wild-eyed he was that night. It was part of what had attracted me to him.

I sigh, getting into his car, and he’s quiet on the way home.

“You did a good job with Alonzo,” I comment.

“Told you I would,” he says, his voice cold now instead of the charming lilt it’d had with my father.

“When are we planning to get married?” I ask, glancing over at him. He doesn’t even look at me. I guess he’s still mad.

“As soon as we get back to Chicago,” he says. “We’ll go to the courthouse and later we’ll have the wedding for your parents.”

I nod slowly, thinking. So, this will be one of my last nights as a single woman. Not that I’ve done much as a single woman before. Especially since Chelsea.

Angelo wasn’t my first, but he was certainly my best. I’d only been with a couple of guys in high school, mostly because my stepfather is so protective.

We arrive back at his suite and Angelo starts packing up.

I raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“You should be packing, too,” he says. “We’re flying out tonight.”

I feel something like anticipation or panic rise in my throat. “Already? But Chelsea’s so tired—”

“She can sleep on the jet,” he says. “We have go tonight, Dante needs it tomorrow.”

“I need a shower,” I say, and Angelo shrugs, as if he doesn’t care one way or the other, and I go into the bathroom to undress and shower quickly.

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