Page 47 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

“I can watch them,” Maria says from the doorway to our school-slash-office room.

“I can’t ask you?—”

“You didn’t. I offered. We can make some playdough.”

“Can we, Mommy?” Daniella asks, her hands in prayer position as she pleads.

“Well…”

“Come on, children. Let’s let your mommy work.” Maria ushers the kids out of the room.

“Thank you, Maria.”

As she turns away, I remember to ask, “Maria? Is Max planning a Thanksgiving meal?”

She shakes her head. “Mr. Giraldi doesn’t usually celebrate if he’s home alone.” Her brows rise. “But?—”

“The kids and I would enjoy having Thanksgiving. Can we work on that with you?”

Maria smiles widely. “It would be my pleasure.”

With the kids occupied, I settle into work, but not before noting the good people Max has working with him. They respect him, not because he might kill them, as my father ruled, but because he’s a man who garners respect. I know Nic thinks the world of him. And my mother did too. After all, she charged Max with being my godfather. It occurs to me that Nic might be glad to have Max in my life as something else. As my husband. As the father to Dario and Daniella. He’s definitely better than Aldo. And Nic wouldn’t get caught up in the age difference. After all, the age difference between him and Bella is more than that between me and Max. The godfather thing… well, Nic was the one who was the most present while I grew up. I knew Max was there, protecting me, but he was always keeping close to my father. Nic was the one who made decisions about my schooling. Who raised me. Surely, Nic would see that Max isn’t a father figure to me.

I give my head a shake, trying to rid myself of this schoolgirl fantasy. I’ll only bring myself more heartache hoping for something that Max won’t let happen.

15

MAX

Isit at my desk, not paying any attention to what my staff are saying to me. Instead, I’m lost in Gia. The memory of tracing my fingers down her body as she lay underneath me. Her honey blonde hair spilling across my pillow, and the moonlight filtering through the windows bathing her skin in an ethereal glow. The passion we shared was everything I remembered and more, tender yet fierce, familiar yet thrillingly new.

My chest swells with a contentment I haven't felt in years. Having her in my bed felt right in a way nothing else has. But even as I bask in the afterglow, doubt creeps in like a shadow.

What would Nic say if he knew I'd fucked his baby sister? The same sister he trusted me to protect. The same woman who's technically my goddaughter. The guilt suffocates the joy.

The weight of our situation settles over me. We're living in a bubble here, sheltered from reality. But reality has a way of bursting even the most beautiful bubbles. But I don’t regret last night. I've spent too many years denying what I feel for her. Maybe for once, I can allow myself this slice of happiness. If we’re discreet, no one will have to know.

“Mr. Giraldi?” Alica interrupts my thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay, Sir?”

“Yes, yes. Just thinking.” I sift through my mind, trying to remember what we were talking about.

She turns to Donovan, my right-hand man here in Vegas, and Caliente, his right-hand man. “I’ll have those reports to you this afternoon.”

Donovan’s eyes narrow as he looks at me. “Sure you’re okay, Boss?”

“Yes. Just… as you know, I have Don Nardone’s sister and children?—”

“Kids. I haven’t had a good night's sleep since my first one was born.” Caliente laughs.

“Yes.” I agree even though it’s not Dario and Daniella who’re distracting me.

My phone rings, and I’m grateful to be saved by the bell. I check the caller ID. “It’s Nardone.”

Everyone rises and exits my office. I poke the answer button. “Nic.”