Page 33 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

"And you were working toward this? Before everything happened?"

"I was getting ready to start my own small line.” I feel a pang of loss thinking about the collection I'd been working on when my world imploded. "I had a studio space and everything."

The silence stretches between us, and I realize I've revealed more than is wise, although I’m not sure how he can use it against me.

“Angelica likes clothes.”

For a moment, I can’t believe he shared that.

Could he really be trying to connect with me and not dig for information he’ll use against me?

“She has excellent taste in clothes. That outfit today, mixing teal and purple, it’s unusual but it worked. It was adorable."

Roman's expression shifts, a genuine smile breaking through his guarded demeanor. "You noticed that, huh?"

I find myself smiling too, thinking of Angelica's outfit. "Not many seven-year-olds have such a defined style."

He chuckles, a warm sound in the darkness. "Mrs. Rossi indulges her, probably too much, but I’m not much better. She’s got me tied around her finger.”

It’s hard to imagine anyone having control over Roman.

He's quiet for a moment, then says, "Angelica isn’t sure of this situation we have.”

That makes two of us.

“But she loves clothes. It could be a way for you to connect with her.”

The thought of bonding with his daughter over something I love catches me off guard.

We aren’t a family.

Considering my infraction, I’d think he’d want me as far away from Angelica as possible.

"You'd trust me with her?" I ask cautiously.

"I'm not saying hand over scissors and needles," he says with a half-smile. "But yeah, I think you two could be good for each other."

For a minute, I’m pleased by this until I remember I don’t have anything to design with. I didn’t even bring my sketch pads.

“That would be fun, but I don’t have any of the materials I need.”

“What do you need? I can get them for you.”

For a moment, I allow myself to imagine it.

A corner of this place transformed into my workspace, sketching designs, fabric swatches spread across a table.

"You'd do that?" I search his face for signs of deception. "Why?"

"You're right. Your life isn't fully your own right now," Roman says, his voice surprisingly gentle in the darkness. "I won't pretend otherwise."

"That's refreshing to hear. Most people in your position would tell me I should be grateful to be alive."

"Being alive and having a life worth living are different things.”

I study him, trying to reconcile the man beside me with the ruthless enforcer I've been taught to fear. "Why do you care whether I'm happy or not? Wouldn't it be easier if I just stayed quiet and compliant?"

"Easier? Maybe." He shrugs. "Then again, happy wife, happy life, right?"