Page 19 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

I push the sheet back and conjure up Gia again. It’s not the first time I’ve stroked my dick to thoughts of her. Sometimes, I replay that one perfect night with her. Other times, I imagine what it would have been like to teach her more ways to give and get pleasure. Showing her how to take control and ride me.Letting her explore my dick with her mouth. I’ve had so many fantasies about her. I’ve just never masturbated with her in such close proximity. I wonder what she’d think if she knew my brusque manner toward her is all a cover to hide how much I want her.

Tonight, I go back to the beginning. Her wide-eyed innocence as I touched her. Her eager hands exploring my body. The feel of her pussy as I broke through her barrier. The sound of her voice as she called my name when she came.

My orgasm comes, a mix of pain and pleasure as my cum shoots across my stomach and chest. As usual, guilt and more pain follow. I’m such a fucking mess.

I have to find a way through this. I need to keep my distance while keeping them close, have to remember why I left New York in the first place, to hide our past from Nic, to hide my continued feelings for her.

I need to be strong, stronger than I’ve ever been in my life. I can’t give in to this soul-deep yearning for my best friend’s sister. For my goddaughter.

6

GIA

Ilie in the luxurious bed, staring at the ornate ceiling of Max's guest room. I’m unable to quiet my racing mind. I lie awake, thinking about Max's behavior tonight compared to his visit last Christmas. Back then, he'd kept a polite distance, speaking to the kids but never lingering. Tonight felt different.

The Max who helped make pizzas with the kids tonight wasn't the same man who'd kept his distance during the holidays. That Max had been all business, building walls between us with every interaction. But here, in his domain, he’s not cool and aloof. The way he'd smiled at Dario when he'd spread too much sauce, or how he'd praised Daniella’s artistic display of pizza toppings, those weren't the actions of someone maintaining professional distance. Even the playroom he'd set up showed thought and care beyond mere obligation.

Maybe it’s because we are in his territory now. In New York, he was in my home, Nic’s back yard. Here in Vegas, in this house he'd built for himself, perhaps he feels more in control.

Or maybe… maybe it’s because I've finally stopped throwing myself at him like some lovesick teenager. Last year, each time I tried to talk to him, he probably thought I was going to hit onhim again. Assuring him today that I was over my crush may have put him at ease.

The problem is, as I replay the day in my mind since arriving here, I know my feelings for him are still alive and well. How warm and strong his hand was when he helped me off the plane. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at the kids’ antics. He seems more like the Max I remember. The Max who’d been my friend when I needed him. The one who was at my side whenever danger lurked.

At eighteen, when everyone else treated me like a commodity to be traded in marriage, Max saw me as a person. He listened when I cried about Aldo, offered quiet support when my father's temper flared. Even now, the memory of his arms around me during those stolen moments makes my chest ache.

I press my face into the pillow, frustrated with myself. I'm not that naive girl anymore. I'm a mother, a businesswoman. I've built a life beyond those feelings.

But watching him with Dario and Daniella tonight, the tenderness in his eyes, the natural way he connects with them, it’s hard to keep my emotions in check.

"Look, Mama, Uncle Max made a face with his pepperoni!" Daniella had squealed.

Uncle Max. The title should feel right. He’s my godfather, after all. But something twists in my chest every time they say it.

I’m grateful the kids are having the time of their lives on this grand adventure. Earlier as I tucked the exhausted twins in bed, Dario asked if they could stay forever.

“This isn’t our home,” I’d answered.

“Why are we here, then?” he asked.

I couldn’t tell him about the danger. “Like I said, it’s just a fun adventure. But eventually, we’ll go home.”

“When?”

Children and their constant questions. “I don’t know.”

I’m relieved that my babies are safe here, protected within Max's fortress of a home, free to just be children. Whatever shadows lurk back in New York can’t touch them here.

Before I came to bed, I took a moment on the back patio, breathing in the crisp desert air. Looking up, I saw so many stars. Back in New York, the city lights wash out most of the stars, but here they pierce through the darkness with startling clarity. I can see why Max likes it here. The openness. The freshness. The privacy. I realized at that moment that I still held resentment that he’d left six years ago. I’d been angry he hadn’t saved me from my marriage to Aldo. That he hadn’t stayed for the kids. But of course, he couldn’t defy my father. And he didn’t know about the kids. He still doesn’t. And it’s clear to me that he won’t. This is his life now. It’s not in New York. It’s definitely not with me.

Now in bed, sorting out all these thoughts and emotions, I wonder how long the kids and I will need to be here. Weeks? Months? Knowing that Max is my protector, my friend and only my friend whose life is here, doesn’t stop my heart from wanting more. The longer we’re here, the more difficult it will be to keep my heart in check.

I send a silent prayer that Nic will figure out who’s after me. It’s followed by guilt. Nic has a wife and kids. He shouldn’t have to continue to dedicate so much time to me. I wonder if there’s something I can do to help figure out who is stalking me. It won’t be easy to do from here, but I know neither Max nor Nic will let me return to New York until the stalker is caught.

Deciding that ruminating on all the challenges in my life isn’t going to fix anything, I close my eyes, willing sleep to come. But as it does, memories of Max filter in with the dreams. I see him on the tarmac, walking toward me looking so handsome it makes my chest ache.

Instead of taking my hand, his hands cup my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks with the same tenderness he’d used six years ago when I asked him to touch me. His dark eyes hold mine, filled with desire and… dare I say love?

"Gia," he whispers, and my name on his lips sends shivers down my spine. His cologne wraps around me and I press closer, feeling the solid warmth of his chest against mine.