Page 101 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

Before I can protest, he wraps his scarf around my neck. It smells like him and for a moment, my heart betrays me, softening and wishing I would lean into his warmth. His strength.

That's the problem with Roman. Sometimes, I glimpse the man beneath the enforcer.

In those moments, I can almost imagine a different life, one where I could actually care for him.

But then reality crashes back. He's La Corona's weapon.

The man who threatens my freedom, possibly my life.

The same hands that caress me have ended lives.

The same man who makes breakfast for his daughter might be ordered to kill me tomorrow.

“I’ll be back.” Roman wanders toward a group of men. I linger near a hot chocolate stand, watching him from a distance.

He joins men I don’t know, but I imagine they’re captains in La Corona.

Their conversation appears casual, but I notice how the others position themselves around Roman, slightly deferential, maintaining a respectful distance.

A younger man approaches their circle, clearly nervous. He speaks quietly to Roman, who listens with an impassive expression.

The man's hands tremble slightly as he hands over an envelope. Roman merely nods, and the relief on the man's face is immediate, as if he's just survived something dangerous.

It's fascinating how they all react to him. These hardened men who flinch when Roman's gaze lands on them too long.

They fear him. Respect him. Defer to him.

Even Marco, who's technically Roman's boss, treats him more like an equal than a subordinate.

I've heard whispers about Roman's reputation.

The enforcer. The problem solver.

But seeing it play out in front of me is different.

There's something magnetic about the quiet power he wields, the way he commands respect without raising his voice. At least to the men.

To me, he was practically ready to explode.

My attention shifts when I hear Angelica's laughter. She's at the edge of the ice rink.

“Daddy. Can you help me?”

Roman’s enforcer façade breaks when he sees her. With a smile, he trots over to her, kneeling beside her, tying her skates.

"Is it too tight?" I hear him ask.

Angelica shakes her head, her face bright with excitement. "Can you skate with me, Daddy?"

"Of course, Angel." He helps her stand, steadying her as she wobbles on the thin blades.

I watch as this feared enforcer steps onto the ice, holding his daughter's hand, moving slowly and carefully to match her uncertain steps.

When she stumbles, he catches her with reflexes that remind me of his other life, but his smile, so rare when directed at anyone else, transforms his face completely.

It's jarring to reconcile these two versions of the same man, the one who makes hardened criminals nervous with just a look and the one who now skates backward, holding both his daughter's hands, encouraging her with genuine warmth in his eyes.

They glide across the ice. Their shared laughter carries across the rink, drawing smiles from onlookers.