Page 83 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

I’ve fucking lost my mind. Unprotected sex! Seriously?

It isn’t just the idea of accidentally creating a child that has me rattled, although I can’t deny I nearly had a heart attack.

What has me shook is how I completely lost control.

I’ve always known that Gabriella has a dangerous power over me, but never have I ever been so lost in desire as to forget a condom.

I’m pissed at myself for getting so caught up and then blaming Gabriella for it.

She’s right. I am a shitty person.

When she left the sauna, I didn’t follow her at first, not because I didn’t want to, but because I knew I’d fuck things up even more.

As I sat there in the hot steam, I scraped my hands down my face, chastising myself for being a dick.

After all, she said everything was fine. Nothing to worry about.

And that’s when the image flashed in my mind. Gabriella, full and round with my child.

Panic wasn’t the first emotion that came from that thought, which doesn’t make sense considering I've built my life around avoiding exactly this scenario.

My plan is no wife, no children, no permanent attachments. No chance to become my father.

Another image manifests. A dark-haired child with Gabriella's smile and zest for life.

Strangely, the thought doesn't repulse me like it should. It doesn’t change my plans.

After all, the way I reacted and treated Gabriella proves I’m not marriage or family material.

She even said so.

…the truth is, you are unlovable, Marco, because you treat people like shit.

No wonder she ran out of here like a bat out of hell.

If she did get pregnant, I’d do what I needed to do.

I’d marry her. I’d protect her and the child, but part of that protection would have to be from me.

It wouldn’t be long before she was unhappy, resentful. It’s a relief to know that’s not in our future.

My phone rings again, jarring me out of my ruminations. I grab it from the table, seeing Roman's name flashing on the screen.

"Roman, what is it?"

“We have a situation at Antonio’s warehouse in Jersey.”

"I'll meet you there in thirty," I tell Roman, ending the call.

I quickly dress, my mind already shifting to business mode.

The warehouse situation provides the perfect escape from whatever the hell just happened between Gabriella and me.

I’d like to shower first, especially since I swear Gabriella’s scent is lingering on my skin. But duty calls.

I rush up the stairs, two-by-two. “I’m heading out,” I tell Carlos as I make my way to my office to grab my gun. “Make sure our guest stays put.”

I don’t think Gabriella will try and leave, but I hurt her enough that she just might book her own flight to Italy. My mind tells me that would be best. The ache in my chest hopes she doesn’t.