Page 154 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

"A grumpy old Don with a hole in his chest?"

“A man full of love who loves me.”

He leans to me, grunting at the pain as he kisses me. “I do love you.”

As we arrive at Marco’s home… our home, I feel a giddy anticipation.

Not just for Christmas, but for everything that comes after. Our child. Our life together. The challenges we'll face as a couple.

"What are you thinking?" Marco asks, studying my face.

"I'm thinking about tomorrow," I say. "And the day after that, and the day after that…"

"All of them with you," he finishes, bringing my hand to his lips.

"All of them with us." I place our joined hands over my stomach.

Roman helps me get Marco inside and up to his bedroom, all the while Marco groaning that he’s not an invalid.

“Careful, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder,” Roman says to him.

“He threatened me with that,” I say. “We should listen.”

“You throw my woman over your shoulder, Roman, and we’ll have a problem.”

Roman shakes his head. “Yes, Boss.” He leaves us once Marco is sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Marco grumbles as I help him remove his coat.

"Of course not," I placate him, carefully easing him out of his shirt to check his bandages. "You're just a man who took a bullet in the chest and should be in a hospital instead of proposing to his girlfriend."

His eyes soften at my words. "Worth it," he murmurs, his hand finding mine as I inspect the clean white gauze covering his wound.

I give him water and pain medicine, then carefully arrange pillows behind him, hyper-aware of his eyes following my every movement.

There's something different in his gaze now.

The walls are down.

I can see everything he feels for me written plainly across his face.

Granted, it could be because of the pain he’s in, but I don’t think so.

I think he’s handed his heart over to me, and I plan to care for it.

"Are you comfortable?" I pull the blankets over him.

He tugs my hand, pulling me down beside him. "I will be."

I kick off my shoes and carefully settle against him, mindful of his injury. His arm wraps around me, drawing me closer.

"I still can't believe you stepped in front of a bullet for me.”

"I'd do it again," he says without hesitation. "Though I'd prefer not to. It hurts like a mother fucker."

I laugh softly. "I'd prefer that too."

We lie in comfortable silence, the tension gradually leaving his body as the pain medication takes effect. His breathing slows, deepens.