Page 90 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

I lean against the vanity, arms crossed over my chest. "You alive in there?"

He doesn't startle at my voice. Of course not. Marco probably sensed my presence the moment I approached the door.

"Unfortunately," he mutters, not turning around. “My pride hurts more than my head.”

Silly man, worried about his pride with me. I shake my head. "You're not the first man to indulge in a drink after a rough night, Marco. Your reputation for being an intimidating, stone-cold Don is still intact. I mean, it’s not like you danced on the tables or anything.”

His head turns to me, his lips twitching upward slightly in a smile.

"What happened last night?" I ask gently.

His eyes, bloodshot but clear, lock with mine. "It was a shitshow. We got ambushed.”

Without thinking, I step into the shower, my silk pajamas instantly clinging to my skin as water soaks through them.

My hands move across Marco's chest and shoulders, searching for wounds.

Marco gently takes my wrists, stilling my frantic movements. "Gabriella, I'm fine."

I look up at him. Marco isn't one to express emotions openly, but I can see the tight lines around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.

"And Roman? Is he okay?"

"Roman's fine. Takes more than a hit squad to bring him down." There's a hint of pride in his voice.

But it’s his choice of words that has me stilling. “Hit squad?”

“We think so.” He turns his back to me, the spray hitting him in the face like he’s trying to wash away the horror of last night. “I lost a few men. I need to check on their families, visit them personally as well. I take care of what's mine."

Hearing the pain in his voice, I wrap my arms around Marco's waist, pressing my cheek against his back.

I expect him to stiffen or push me away since he’s not a man to accept comfort, but after a moment's hesitation, he turns and his arms encircle me.

"I'm sorry about your men," I say. “But I’m glad you’re okay.”

His arms tighten around me.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to.

I understand him more than he thinks.

More than he’d probably like me to.

After a moment, he pulls back just enough to look down at me, his dark eyes searching mine.

"You still care after how I treated you?" His question surprises me.

"I know who you are, Marco." I reach up, brushing wet hair from his forehead.

His eyebrow arches, expression hardening slightly. "Unlovable." He quotes my cruel words back to me.

The shame causes me to look down. In my anger, I'd struck at what I knew would hurt him most. "I'm sorry I said that. I was angry and hurt and I wanted to wound you."

His face remains carefully neutral.

"No, you're not unlovable, Marco." I place my palm against his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath my fingers. "Even though you try so hard to be."

He flinches slightly but doesn't pull away.