Page 74 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

I move to weights next.

I load the bar with more than usual, seeking that edge where physical strain drowns out mental turmoil.

Each rep burns, muscles screaming in protest, but I push through.

One more. And then one more.

Sweat pours down my face, my back, soaking through my shirt. But it’s still not enough.

Nothing is enough to purge her from my system.

A year apart did nothing.

What chance do I have with her sleeping under my roof?

My muscles finally give out. In an effort to purge my feelings, I’ve only weakened my defenses against them. I’m pathetic. Weak. Everything my father said I was.

I drag myself to the shower, washing away the sweat, and then with a towel wrapped around my hips, I head to the sauna.

The heat seeps into muscles that still ache from my punishing workout.

I close my eyes, willing my mind to empty, to find that meditative state where Gabriella Monti doesn't exist.

It doesn't work. It never works.

Even with my eyes closed, I see her laughing on the ice, Paulie's hands on her body, her smile directed at someone else.

The memory burns hotter than the sauna stones.

I adjust the towel around my waist, lean back against the wooden bench, and force myself to think about business.

I’m strong, dominant in business.

It never lets me down, never makes me feel inept.

The door creaks open, sending a brief rush of cooler air into my refuge.

My eyes snap open to see Gabriella entering the sauna.

Her hair is piled messily atop her head, tendrils hanging along her neck.

She wears only a towel, and my body reacts instantly, viscerally, blood rushing south.

My gaze is immediately drawn to the swells of round tits, which only makes the situation with my dick worse.

I try to drag my gaze lower, but then I see long legs and immediately remember how they used to wrap around my hips and pull me deeper inside her.

I let out a frustrated growl as I look at her face. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“It’s cold out. I wanted to get warm.” She saunters in like she owns the place and sits on the bench across from me. “You abandoned me today.”

“No, I didn’t.” I wish I could get the image of Paulie’s hands on her out of my head. I should tell her to leave. I need to protect what little sanity I have left.

She adjusts her towel in a way that reveals nothing yet somehow everything.

Why does she keep doing this to me?

Invading my space, my thoughts, dismantling my defenses.