Page 169 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

It’s fucking annoying how much those words hurt. “I never made any promises.”

She laughs bitterly. “They wouldn’t mean anything if you did.” Then she's gone, the door closing behind her with a slam.

I pour myself a drink, welcoming the burn of whiskey down my throat.

This is good, I tell myself.

Cleaner this way.

I was never cut out for whatever she was starting to expect from me.

I'm Don Marco Calabresi. I don't do relationships or commitments. I don't do vulnerability.

What we had was temporary insanity, nothing more. A momentary weakness that needed to end before it complicated everything.

I repeat these thoughts like a mantra as I stare out the window, watching Gabriella's car disappear down my driveway. This is for the best. For both of us.

So why does it feel like I've lost something irreplaceable?

And what the fuck did I do to make her leave?

To be continued.