Page 34 of Secret Mafia Daddy

It’s Mia, carrying Alessia on her hip. She’s come to watch Chelsea for us while we go on our date. Dante’s out on a job, so he wants them safe, anyway, and they’ll be safe here.

“The spare room is already made up with fresh sheets,” I tell her as I let her in, and she puts Alessia down on the floor. She’s not walking yet, but she’s holding on and pulling up on all the furniture.

As if she can smell baby, Chelsea comes running to the door.

“Alessia!” she chirps, and even though it sounds more like “alee-yah” in her baby voice, I’m surprised that she remembered her name.

Alessia looks up and promptly grins, holding her fat little hands out, and I feel a pang of pity for myself that I’d never experienced Chelsea like that.

If Catarina hadn’t already sent me some pictures and videos, I’d be harassing her non-stop, because it leaves an ache in me to think about all the time I missed.

Mia plops down on my couch, looking exhausted. “She wouldn’t sleep last night. She never does when Dante's away.”

“That’s because you don’t sleep,” I accuse, and Mia looks chagrined.

“Maybe so,” she says with a groan. “We just worry about him. It hasn’t been that long since Nico got hurt...”

I swallow, thinking of the day I’d brought Nico home and been covered in his blood. I don’t usually let shit like that affect me, but Nico and I are close, so it definitely had.

“He’s okay now. Enjoying that little boy of his.”

She nods tiredly. “Yeah, but Dante still won’t let him do any jobs. Not until the baby is a little older.” She grunts. “Hypocritical since Alessia is only nine months old.”

“You know Dante,” I say as Catarina comes down the stairs.

She’s got her hair down, the dishwater blonde curls falling to her lower back. Her makeup is natural but she’s still got that crimson red lip. I want that lipstick all over my body.

She’s wearing a white dress that stretches tight over her ass, hips, and thick thighs. I lick my lips, watching her walk down carefully in the stilettos I’d picked out. They make her legs look even more amazing than they already do, and I have to admit, I’m kind of a leg man. Or an ass man. Or maybe I’m really into small tits, because Catarina’s are less than a handful and I love running my palms over her nipples.

Or maybe I have to admit to myself that I just have a thing for a specific, blonde, silver-eyed girl who happens to have given birth to my child.

“We should be back in a few hours,” I say, still staring at Catarina as she smiles and nods at Mia and grabs her purse.

“Take your time,” Mia says, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ve got the girls. You have no idea how glad I am that Alessia likes Chelsea. She doesn’t like to play by herself, so I’m usually stuck as her playmate. Now, they’ll entertain each other while I watch reality television.”

Catarina snorts. “You watch that, too?”

“Yeah, all the housewife stuff. It’s fascinating. Like, we have money but we don’t act like that.”

“Mafia wives are a whole different thing,” I say.

“That’s a show, too,” Catarina snorts, and she and Mia share a laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.

I look at them, baffled, and then lean down to kiss the top of Chelsea’s head. She ignores me, and her mother, too, babbling to Alessia about pirates and being the pirate queen. Alessia is happy enough, crawling around and following her as Chelsea searches for buried treasures in the shag carpet.

“Thanks again, Mia,” I tell her as we get to the door, and she smiles at me and gives me a thumbs-up. Dante couldn’t have found himself a better wife, in my opinion, and on that matter, I quite like Nico’s wife, Aurora, too. I guess I should be glad that Catarina and Mia get along.

“Now do you trust Mia to watch her?” I ask Catarina as we go down the elevator.

She shrugs. “Yeah, she’s a good mom to Alessia. She gets it.”

“Gets what?” I ask, lost as I open the passenger side door for her.

I slide into the car and crank it up.

“That I get worried,” Catarina says bluntly. “That what you do and what Dante does is scary, so we worry about our kids.”

“You worry too much,” I argue as I back out with one hand, looking behind us briefly so that I don’t hit the valet. He’s a nice kid, named Bud or Buddy or Bubba or something, and I tip him too well to run him over.

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