Page 161 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

I shake it. “Is it a car?”

“No, Daddy! Open it.”

I open the box to find a very expensive watch. “Wow. I didn’t realize I paid you this much allowance.”

“I might have pitched in,” Isabella says.

“I love it.” I give them both a kiss.

When the floor disappears under wrapping paper, I reach for the last gift hidden behind the tree.

"For you," I tell Isabella, placing the carefully wrapped package in her hands.

She unwraps it slowly, revealing a leather-bound photo album. On the cover, engraved in gold,The Ginetti Family.

"Open it," I urge softly.

The first few pages contain photos of Emilia and baby Angelica, memories I want preserved. I watch carefully, hoping they don’t upset Isabella. If she is impacted, she doesn’t show it as she turns the next page filled with snapshots I've been taking secretly—Isabella teaching Angelica to sew, Isabella sleeping on the couch with fabric samples spread around her, Isabella laughing with Elena. And the first sonogram of Baby Ginetti.

The rest of the album is empty, waiting.

"For our future," I explain. "I want to document everything. The baby, Angelica growing up, all of us together."

Isabella’s eyes fill with tears. “I love it. And I love you. Thank you.” She kisses me.

Two hours later, I adjust my tie, the one Isabella and Angelica spent hours crafting together, as we enter Marco’s grand home for holiday festivities.

Christmas with La Corona families has always been an elaborate affair. This year is Marco’s turn to host.

"Look, Daddy! The triplets are here!" Angelica tugs my hand, her new dress, Isabella's finest work yet, swishing around her legs.

"Go ahead, Angel." I release her hand, watching her race across the marble floor.

Isabella squeezes my arm. "She looks beautiful, doesn't she?"

"Like her Mama-Bella." I kiss her temple, savoring the blush that still rises to her cheeks when I show affection in public.

The grand room gleams with tasteful opulence. Marco spared no expense, which is nice considering he’s never keen to host holiday events.

I scan the gathering, taking mental inventory out of habit. Marco stands near the fireplace, deep in conversation with Don Monti, whose wife arranges presents under the tree.

Dominic Vitale hovers near the bar, watching his cousin Elena corral her triplets alongside Angelica.

The children's laughter rises above the jazzy Christmas music playing softly in the background.

"Roman!" Marco breaks away, striding toward us with open arms. "And the lovely Isabella." He kisses her cheeks before clapping me on the shoulder. "That's quite the tie."

I straighten it proudly. "My girls made it."

"It's hideous." Marco grins. "I love it."

The tie, emerald green with uneven candy cane stripes, is objectively terrible. Isabella told me she'd picked another fabric but Angelica insisted on this one. Angelica's tiny stitches and Isabella's patient guidance are woven into every inch. I'd wear it to my grave.

"Merry Christmas, old friend," I tell him, meaning it more deeply than I have in years. It’s amazing what the love of a good woman can do for a man’s outlook on life. If only Marco would consider giving love a try.

“Come get a drink.” Marco gets me a scotch while Isabella goes to chat with Elena. My wife's hands move animatedly as she talks, occasionally touching her stomach in that unconscious way new mothers do.

"She's good for you," Marco says, appearing at my side. "I haven't seen you smile this much since?—"