Page 80 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

“Bring Benny, like you said. I want to hear what he's spewing.”

“Will do.”

The line goes quiet, and I picture Nic at his desk, probably sensing something off in our conversation. That’s another thing he’ll want to see me in person about. He’ll want to assess whether there’s something up with me. We've known each other too long to completely hide things from one another. That thought makes my stomach turn. How many years of friendship am I gambling with right now? When the trust is broken, what will he do?

How do I even tell him? I love your sister. Those kids are mine. I've been lying to you for years.

The thought of losing Nic's friendship, his trust, makes my chest tight. He's been more than a friend. He’s my brother in everything but blood. We've fought together, bled together, builtthis empire side by side. And here I am, about to blow it up because I can't stay away from Gia.

But the alternative, living without Gia and the kids, feels impossible now.

I pack for my return to New York. My hands pause over a small stuffed dinosaur Dario left behind, and I tuck it into my bag without hesitation. I head to the playroom to find something to bring to Daniella. I find a little art kit and pack it.

I think about Gia, but I know no gift will fix the chasm I’ve created between us. No, I’ll need words, and I hope to hell that between now and my arrival at her place tomorrow, I’ll find the right ones.

Can I really do this? Be the father those kids deserve, the man worthy of Gia's love? Forty-one years of habits don't change overnight. But then I think of how easy it was for them to enter my home, my heart. It was seamless. Automatic. And now they’re a part of me.

I close my bag and vow to return to New York as the man Gia saw in me before I let her down. I could lose everything—my position, my friend, maybe even my life—if Nic takes it badly. The smart play would be to stay here, keep running the Vegas operation, let Gia move on. But I'm done being smart. Done putting duty before family. Done denying the only happiness I’ve ever truly felt.

That future is worth any risk. Worth facing Nic's anger. As I exit my home, I pass a mirror in the foyer. My reflection shows the same face, graying temples, lines around my eyes from years of hard choices. But something's different now. The walls I built to keep my love for Gia out have crumbled.

24

GIA

Istare at the Christmas decorations scattered across my living room floor, trying to summon the enthusiasm to deck our halls like I promised the kids. But my heart isn't in it.

We arrived home Friday, and yesterday, we tried to adapt to the time change and jet lag. I’ve determined that it’s easier to fly east to west than west to east. Today, I got us all up at nine, which was sleeping in for us. But it was only six in the morning in Nevada, so it was difficult to rise and shine, even for the kids.

Today is Sunday, and to help keep us busy and, to be honest, distracted from Max, I pulled out our fake tree to decorate for the holidays.

"Can we video call Max to show him our tree when it's done?" Daniella asks, holding up a glittery ornament.

"No, sweetheart." I hang a red ball on a branch. "Max is busy.”

"But he said we could visit anytime," Dario protests, dragging over another box of decorations. "You promised we'd go back for Christmas."

I hadn't promised any such thing, but arguing with a five-year-old's selective memory is pointless. "We’re going to spendChristmas with Uncle Nic and Aunt Bella and the babies. It’s the babies’ first Christmas. Won’t that be fun?"

The twins exchange that look they get when they're not buying what I'm selling. They've been doing it more the last few days, especially when Max comes up in conversation. Which is often.

"I miss his pancakes," Daniella sighs. "And movie nights."

"And the playground," Dario adds.

I focus on untangling a strand of lights, blinking back tears. They'd carved out such an easy routine in Max's home. Now we're back to just the three of us, and while I love our little family fiercely, there's an emptiness I can't shake.

"Mommy, are you sad?" Daniella's small hand touches my cheek.

"No, baby, just frustrated with these lights." I force a smile and kiss her palm. "Why don't you two find the star for the top of the tree while I make us some hot chocolate?"

In the kitchen, I take a moment to get it together. This isn't the first time I've had to rebuild after Max Giraldi turned my world upside down. But it's harder now, knowing our children miss him as much as I do. Knowing he’s rejected not just me, but our children as well.

But a moment is all I take. All I can afford. I put a pot of milk on the stove and focus on the here and now.

Monday morning,I drag myself out of bed at six, my body convinced it's three in the morning. The time difference continues to kick my ass. In Vegas, we'd developed such an easy rhythm, lazy mornings with Max making breakfast while I got the kids ready for our homeschool day.

Now it's a battle to wake them up in what feels like the middle of the night. "Daniella, Dario, time to get up for school,"I call out, flipping on their bedroom light. They burrow deeper under their covers.