Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
A flash of anger surges through me, like red-hot fire. I want to break something. My nostrils flare as I clench my fists. "I will not blackmail her."
"Oh yeah? Then what do you want to do, smart guy?"
"Here we go again," Timeo mutters.
"Drink a cup of coffee and have breakfast with my kid. That’s what I wanna do. Is there something else you need to tell me? Cuz I'm hanging up."
"Not now."
I disconnect the call. Fuck him.
I'm fuming when I return to the kitchen, but my anger almost instantly dissolves at the first sight of my son nestled on Dani's lap. I release a breath.
Marco has a sippy cup of milk, and his head rests on Dani’s shoulder. Her arm is around him, so he's nestled in the crook of her arm. Emmy is happily singing her ABCs, munching on a muffin and some sliced melon. Outside, our landscaper is starting up the lawnmower. It's so domestic. So simple.
"Everything good?" Dani asks.
"Yeah. Fine,” I lie. I can’t tell her any of this and I hate that. “I'm starving, need some coffee. You find what you need?"
Dani smiles. "And then some. Ricco, this place is gorgeous. It’s like this blend of rustic meets charming, like freshly brewed coffee in a handcrafted mug. It’s a retreat, nestled right here in the hills.”
I take a seat across from her. “It is, yeah.”
“I took a look this morning, in the thirty seconds or so I had before the kids woke up,” she says, her voice still a little husky and sleepy, but her eyes alight with delight. “There’s a terra-cotta tiled roof,” she says excitedly. “Like an actual postcard. Climbing vines, and that front door is stunning and probably weighs like three hundred pounds.”
I sip my coffee. “Yeah, I love it here. And this coffee’s fantastic. Hot, dark, and bitter.” I wink at her. “Like my soul.”
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She sighs happily. “I would love cooking in a kitchen like this. The marble countertop—all these beautiful modern appliances, but it’s so cozy with that fireplace and open shelves. This place should be featured in a magazine about modern farmhouses.” She smiles and says in a narrator’s voice, “This charming Tuscan farmhouse blends old-world charm with modern comfort, a place where multiple generations create lasting memories.”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself against a surprising rush of emotion.
Multiple generations.
Marry her.
"Are you hungry?" Dani asks, bringing me back to the present.
I love that she isn't self-conscious, half-asleep and tousled like this. I wish I could freeze time. Keep her here with me. She brings such a sense of normalcy and stability to my life, and I don't want to give that up.
"Starving," I say. "But you have your hands full." Marco has a grip on her that tells me he's not letting her go anytime soon. "I'll make breakfast."
Normally we have a housekeeper, but I didn't want them to come when I was bringing guests…particularly these guests. The fewer people know Dani’s here, the better.
Emmy sings us another song, and Dani joins in off-key, as I fry eggs and butter toast. By the time I'm done, Dani's watching me with a curious look on her face.
"You cut Marco's toast into triangles?" She smiles.
I shrug. "It's how he likes it. Do you want jam on it, buddy?"
Marco shakes his head, takes a bite of the toast, then spits it on the floor and throws the crust across the room.
"Hey! Marco, stop that.” I lift him out of his high chair where Dani had settled him as I was finishing up and plating the food. “Clean that up, please.”
The corner of Dani's lips quirks up.
Marco frowns, picks up the toast, and throws it into the sink. Penny stands in the doorway. “Um, maybe let’s get dressed, Marco?”
I shake my head and clean up the crumbs. Dani’s stifling a giggle.
"What's so funny?" I ask her. Emmy's digging into her eggs and toast.
Dani starts to laugh. "It's just that... You're like this tough guy. You don't even listen to Sergio Montavio, who is like the most notorious mobster in all of Boston. And yet your three-year-old son gets under your skin."
"He can be a little monster," I mutter. That only makes her laugh harder.
I narrow my eyes at her, but she's obviously tickled. "I know how to manage you," I say, giving her a serious look, and she just laughs again. I love that flush to her cheeks, though.
"How long do you have to work today?"
I run my hands through my hair. "Most of the day," I tell her. "I'll be back around dinnertime. Wish it could be sooner, but I have some negotiations I need to head."
Sergio sent me here for a reason. Our "negotiations" involve Martina’s family, so it's in the Montavio family's best interest if I can use my clout.