Page 62 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

Working with Marco in his office this evening felt different. Not the battlefield I expected, but something closer to collaboration.

He listened as I explained what I’d discovered, and while he grew tense, he didn’t get defensive or angry at all the information I had that implicated him.

Instead, he methodically explained his side and while a week ago, I wouldn’t have listened, tonight, I did.

And now, the evidence against him seems flimsy when viewed through this new lens.

Or, more accurately, it seems obvious and neat, much like what Agent Blackwood shared.

My chest tightens with an uncomfortable realization that I've been wrong.

For a year, I've built an entire narrative around Marco's supposed betrayal.

I've questioned his every move, assigned sinister motives to his actions, convinced myself he was the enemy.

And yet, when given the chance to explain himself, his answers made perfect sense.

He showed me ledgers I didn't know existed.

Pointed out patterns I'd missed.

Demonstrated how he'd been protecting my father's interests all along.

I slide deeper into the water, letting it cover my shoulders, trying to ease the tension of guilt.

My suspicions, my accusations, my stubborn refusal to ask questions before jumping to conclusions created this rift between us. Why?

Why had it been so easy for me to believe Marco betrayed me and my father?

Why hadn’t I forced him to explain then?

The only reason I can come up with is fear.

Fear that I'd fallen for a man who could never love me back.

My mind replays our interaction tonight.

The almost-kiss at my door.

The way his eyes darkened before he pulled back.

There's still something there, something neither of us seems able to extinguish.

And yet, nothing has changed.

He might feel this pull between us, but he won’t see where it goes.

He’s deeply entrenched in bachelorhood, something I knew when we started our affair a year ago.

And something I think I punished him with when I believed the worst and left.

If I was wrong about Marco, I need to accept that responsibility. I should probably apologize.

Last Christmas flashes through my mind—Marco's library, the way he looked at me like I was something precious.

Something worth breaking his own rules for. And break them we did.

When I think about it, Marco took a huge risk to be with me knowing it would ruin his relationship with my father, knowing it could cause a rift in La Corona.