Page 5 of Single Mom's Mafia Daddies

I fought off the urge to collapse on top of her and shifted off to the side, bringing her with me to rest flush against my chest.

We lay there with our legs tangled together and our breaths heaving for several long minutes. Lila traced the lines of muscle on my chest and across my arms. One finger brushed over an old scar and she paused, came back to it, and leaned to the side for a better look.

“What happened?”

“Fencing accident when I was sixteen. My father wanted me to learn. I was stubborn and thought I was better than my instructor. He taught me differently.” The lie came easy, too easy. I’d spent years lying about my life, and though I’d hoped not to with Lila I had no choice. If I told her that the wound had come from an attempted assassination when I was sixteen because my father was the leader of the Italian mafia, I’d lose her.

I had no chance of keeping her, but for tonight I lied to keep the questions at bay.

“Sounds mysterious.” She grinned up at me, her smile soft in the darkness, as a roll of thunder rumbled through the room.

My world would destroy that light in her eyes. All that was bright and beautiful would be torn away. I’d seen it happen before. My world was corrupted with violence and the power that ran through my blood, my family.

But for tonight, I had a chance to simply be Alessio, the professor’s assistant.

One night turned into a week. Then a month.

I cursed myself for the recklessness Lila brought out in me. She cut through the bullshit and stripped my willpower with the same keen precision my father used to destroy those who stood against him. Lila’s warmth and curiosity peeled away the layers of armor I’d built. She asked questions that drew out pieces of my heart and soul, learning about the man she called an enigma. I’d been given a month where I hoped for a single night. A month of stolen moments in hidden corners of campus, long drives to secluded hideaways, and nights wrapped in Lila’s loving embrace.

All for it to come crashing down with a single message from home.

Standing at the foot of the bed, I watched her sleep and reconsidered my next steps. I could tell her the truth and ask herto join me in a world where death stalked our every step. Or I could do the right thing and walk away before I destroyed her.

“I can’t stay.” I brushed a hand over her head and down her shoulder. We’d made love tonight with a frenzied passion that turned slow and languid. I savored every second in her arms and locked the memories away. “I’m going to ruin you if I do.”

Her lashes fluttered, a soft sigh escaping her parted lips. Part of me prayed she’d wake and stop me. I backed away step-by-cautious-step until I reached the doorway and paused for one last look. She lay on her stomach, one hand stretched toward my pillow and the other tucked beneath her cheek. Dark hair splayed across the mattress, the curve of her shoulder and spine illuminated in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry. You will never know how much I wish to stay.” My body betrayed me with a pulse of pain that staggered my steps. I ground my teeth and checked that my note was tucked safely beneath her coffee cup where she’d find it first thing in the morning. I’d told her nothing, not a word that my father had been murdered and I must return to Italy. Nothing of the pain of leaving her behind, the love for her that consumed me.

The drive to my private airstrip passed in a blur of heartache and regret. I stepped onto the plane and dropped into the first available seat on my jet. It wrapped around me, a false sense of security and comfort.

“Drink?” A woman in a crisp blue suit motioned toward the wet bar. “I can prepare it for you as soon as we’re in the air and the captain gives the signal.”

“Whiskey.” I rubbed the tight line pinching my forehead. “And keep them coming until we land.”

My father despised drinking for any reason other than business. I’d failed to follow his footsteps in many ways, this one included.

An easy smile graced the woman’s face. “Celebrating?”

I drove my spine into the seat and stared at the ceiling. “Mourning.”

A ruthless word for an elaborate feeling that had no beginning, no end, no true existence except to shred me to pieces. I’d lost Papà and Lila on the same day, and I mourned for the vow I’d made to protect Lila by staying away.

Better to break her heart than risk her life in my world of shadows and blood debts.

3

LILA

Present day

My shop glistenedin the early evening light cascading in through the front windows. I’d chosen this U.S. location for the lighting, as well as the foot traffic and nearby shops that drew the rich and famous. Fabrics and colors painted the walls in tapestries pulled straight from my dreams. I drew in a deep breath of the intoxicating mixture of Dior wafting out from hidden misters.

“Alexis, call Mr. Thompson and let him know I won’t be purchasing the Hermes bags after all,” I called to my assistant over my shoulder while on my way toward a familiar woman dressed in full Armani and tearing through the rack of Balmain dresses I’d acquired after the fashion show in France last month.

My own Armani suit hugged my frame, and when paired with three-inch heels with my hair swept up into a nest of controlled curls, I knew I looked successful while being both intimidating and approachable.

Alexis groaned from behind the glass counter. “He’s not going to be happy.”