Page 33 of Hot for Her Italian Mafia
Lucas. So close to my own, yet somehow wholly independent of me. But with one look into his baby blue eyes, no title could fit him better.
“Welcome to the world, Lucas. You’re going to do great things,” I say.
“We’re going to do great things,” Josie corrects. “This is just the start of our perfect family.”
“God, I love you.” She knows me better than I know myself. My first-born son, the greatest day of my life, and it’s only the beginning.
The past is behind us. What I’ve done, what I’ve accomplished, was never in vain. It was the foundation needed to find true happiness.
And it’s all thanks to the gorgeous woman at my side.
“I love you too,” Josie coos. She presses her lips against my forehead.
And it’s here we sit, together in peace.
Together, forever.
Extended Epilogue
JOSIE
Sixteen Years Later
When I was young, the idea of someday having the perfect family felt like a dream so far out, I’d never be able to reach it no matter how far I stretched. My perception of family life was warped. The good, the bad, and the ugly somehow found a way to center around despair. Happiness was a fleeting dream, and sorrow was the norm.
And all it took to change that view of the world was a single night in a small town’s dive bar. That night, and of course, Luca Palermo.
I feel his hands wrap around my body before I realize he’s even in the kitchen with me. They settle over the swollen bump carrying our seventh child and rub gently. His sudden arrivals and soundless touches used to startle me, but in time I’ve gotten used to them.
Somehow, it’s the small gestures like these, those that have carried over since before I knew we were going to have Lucas, that enforce it in my mind that he still loves me more and more every day. It’s the way he smiles at me with a goofy grin that only grows wider with every day that passes from his old life. The way he clings to me like I’m the only life raft in the middle of an icy cold ocean. The way he stares at me with passion behind those eyes and a deep burning lust.
Hell, those eyes glow brighter when I’m pregnant.
“If I’m lucky, she’ll kick for me today,” he whispers the words against my head before pressing a gentle kiss against my hair. His voice sends a warm spike through my body that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. “She’s a stubborn one, but I will whittle her down.”
“Stubborn like her father,” I tease, giving him a side-eyed glance over my shoulder.
“You better believe it, baby.” Luca gives me another kiss, this time against my temple before reluctantly breaking his grip. He barely takes a step back, not wanting to leave my side further than he has to for me to continue chopping the vegetables for dinner.
“Is there anything I can do to help you out?” he asks, leaning into the counter. Tufts of gray line his jet-black hair, and a single strand runs down the right side of his beard. But even fine wine couldn’t age as well as my Luca. “You know you’re supposed to be taking it easy. The doctor said so.”
“It’s not my first rodeo, cowboy.” My eyes roll but I can’t help but smile. He’s been this way since Lucas was conceived. During the nine-month period, Luca does everything in his power to make me comfortable and safe. Like a Fabergé egg, too delicate to touch, yet always wants me to be on display. “Making food is hardly going to cause stress.”
“Yes, but you know I can do it too.”
“You’re good at putting buns in the oven.” I set the knife down on the counter and take his cheek in the palm of my hand. “But leave the cooking to the professionals.”
A cheeky grin cracks the corner of his lip. “Seven hardly seems like enough practice. By my estimation….” He checks an invisible watch on his wrist and mumbles fake math equations. “We’ll be able to go for another round in a month or so.”
“Mommy, mommy, mommy,” Brent, the youngest of our boys at seven years old, screams as he barrels into the kitchen. His clothes and blonde hair are coated in a thick layer of dust. “You wanna see something cool?”
“I’m looking at something cool,” I say, winking at Luca.
“No, it’s really cool. You gotta see it,” Brent whines, too young to understand the flirtation between his father and me.
Brent’s holding something in a balled fist at his side. The naughty smile on his face tells me it’s something I’m not really going to want to see, but I’ll do it for my boy.
“Let’s see it then,” Luca says.