Page 27 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

Not the ridiculous, impossible idea Roman planted about marriage.

The suggestion pisses me off not because it's dishonorable, but because for one treacherous moment, I considered it.

Marrying Gabriella.

But it’s impossible.

Gabriella Monti is the one weakness I can't afford and the one I can't seem to eliminate.

There must be a solution, a way to remove her from the equation without raising suspicion.

Italy. Luca's current domain. Far from here, far from danger, far from me.

Antonio could send her to assist Luca, claiming he needs her legal expertise for some international expansion.

It would seem natural enough, a father utilizing his daughter's education for family benefit. No one would question it.

Except Gabriella herself.

I almost smile, imagining her reaction. She'd see through it immediately.

She'd refuse, dig in her heels, become even more determined to protect her father from whatever threat she imagines I pose.

Would Antonio force the issue?

I doubt it.

His indulgence of her has always been his weakness.

He's given her more freedom than any Don's daughter in our history.

He wouldn't suddenly reverse course, not even at my suggestion.

No, Antonio won't be my solution here.

The truth is, I don't want her gone. Not really.

Despite the complications, despite the danger, despite everything, I want her where I can see her.

Where I can protect her, even from herself.

Later that night, I drag myself to bed, bone-tired but knowing sleep will be elusive.

The sheets are cool against my skin as I stare at the ceiling, my mind still filled with strategies, contingencies, and the constant, maddening presence of Gabriella Monti.

Surprisingly, sleep comes easily. The darkness pulls me under, and suddenly, she's there.

Gabriella. Not the business-suited adversary, but the woman from last Christmas.

Hair loose around her shoulders.

Eyes bright with challenge and desire.

That half-smile that always made me feel like she knew something I didn't.

"Marco," she whispers, and even in dreams, her voice pulls me in like a siren’s.

She's in my library again, fingers trailing along leather-bound spines, but she's looking at me.