Page 23 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

"Our room?" I echo, scanning the space for any sign of alternatives. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Here," he says simply. "There is no spare room. Like I said, my place isn’t the mansion you’re used to. The other bedrooms are in use by my daughter and her nanny.”

“Maybe you could sleep with the nanny.” The sarcasm drips from my voice, a shield against the panic rising in my chest. “Isn’t that the old cliché? Single fathers and their nannies?”

Roman's lips curl into an amused smirk. “Maybe inThe Sound of Music.” He turns toward the doorway where an older woman with a gray bun stands. "Mrs. Rossi, my new bride suggests you might prefer to share my bed. Any interest?"

The older woman's eyes widen before she bursts into laughter. "Well, that’s quite an offer, Mr. Ginetti, and I can’t deny that if I were younger, I’d take you up on it.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I’ve been here less than five minutes and everyone is laughing at me.

Mrs. Rossi's laughter dies down as a young girl peeks around her legs, solemn eyes fixed on me with suspicion.

"Angelica," Roman says, his voice softening in a way I wouldn’t have imagined he could do, "come meet Isabella properly."

The little girl steps forward reluctantly, her small shoulders squared like she's preparing for battle.

"Hello, Angelica," I say, crouching down to her level. Up close, I can see Roman in her features. The same determined set of the jaw, the same watchful intelligence in her eyes. "It's nice to finally meet you."

She doesn't respond, just stares at me with an intensity that feels unsettling coming from a seven-year-old.

"You're supposed to say hello back," Roman prompts gently.

"Hello," she mumbles, then adds with unexpected directness, "Are you going to make Daddy send Mrs. Rossi away?"

The question catches me off guard. I glance up at Roman, whose expression reveals nothing.

"No," I answer honestly. "Why would I do that?"

"Because stepmothers always change everything," she declares with absolute certainty. "In stories, they make the real children do all the work and sleep in the attic."

A small, unexpected laugh escapes me. "I promise I won't make you sleep in the attic."

She doesn't look convinced. "Do you know how to make chocolate chip pancakes?"

"I… don't, actually." I feel a strange pang of inadequacy at this admission.

Angelica nods, as if confirming her worst suspicions. "Daddy makes the best ones. With extra chips."

"Maybe you could teach me sometime?" I offer, unsure why I suddenly care what this small, skeptical person thinks of me.

She shrugs, noncommittal.

I have a strange unease settling in my stomach. A fear of rejection, of failing at a role I never asked for but suddenly find myself desperate not to botch.

"I'll let you settle in while I put Angelica to bed.”

“Come on, Angelica, let’s get your PJs on.” Mrs. Rossi excuses herself, taking Angelica’s hand and leading her away, leaving me alone with him in the room Roman said was ours.

"I'm not sharing a bed with you," I announce. I hate that I’m so scared of what he might expect of me tonight. I’m not against sex. I’d like to have it someday.

Just not with him.

Not like this.

Roman's eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn't seem surprised or particularly bothered. He moves to a closet, pulls out a plush blanket, and tosses it onto a nearby chair.

"The couch is comfortable enough," he says with a casual shrug.