I’m not heartbroken—okay maybe a little—but mostly I’m pissed he lied. He told me he never had a girlfriend before. Meanwhile, a whole wife shows up at dinner? Why didn’t he tell me?
I’ve barely been outside the restaurant for a minute when I feel him behind me. His presence is heavy—angry, desperate, tense. I don’t turn around. He’s going to lie again—I know it.
"Baby” he says behind me.
I don’t respond. I stare straight ahead.
He steps in front of me, eyes locked on mine. “Baby, let me explain everything—”
“You got two minutes,” I cut him off. “I have to go.”
He cups my cheeks, his thumb brushing my jaw like I’m fragile. His voice drops—low, controlled, almost begging. “Baby… let me explain. I can’t lose you. Not now. Not ever. Please.”
Everyone deserves a chance to speak, right? Even liars.
I pull his hands off my face and head toward his car. I cancel my Uber and wait until he unlocks it. He goes to open the door for me, but before he can, I open it myself.
“I got it,” I mutter and get inside.
He gets in and drives. The car ride is silent—painfully silent. I just stare out the window, arms folded, heart locked.
After a while, I realize we’re not heading toward my place.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“My house.”
“Why?”
He stays silent. That pisses me off even more. He pulls into a long driveway and stops. Big-ass house. Expensive. Rich. Powerful. I don’t care.
“Why couldn’t you just explain this in my apartment?” I snap.
He ignores the question, gets out, walks over, and opens my door. “Please, angel. Just let me explain inside.”
Fine.
I walk in. The inside is even more beautiful, but I couldn’t care less if he lived in a palace or a cave—I want the truth.
I cross my arms and face him. “Speak.”
He exhales deeply. “It’s a long story, angel. Sit… you’re making me nervous.”
Good.
I sit on the couch, but I don’t relax. My eyes stay on him like a threat. He sits too, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together like he’s rehearsing his words in his head.
Then he looks at me—not cold, not arrogant—just raw. Nervous. For the first time, he looks like a man who’s scared of losing something he actually wants.
“Okay…” he starts. “I’m the Mafia boss.”
My chest tightens. I knew something was off about him. He’s too powerful, too mysterious. He disappears at random hours. He doesn’t answer to anyone. This explains everything—but it also makes him dangerous.
I don’t interrupt. I wait.
“I was raised to take over,” he continues. “Trained for it since I was a kid. No distractions. No emotions. Just business. Power. Survival. I never cared about relationships. Never wanted one.”
He pauses, swallowing hard.
“My parents always told me I needed a wife for my reputation. When I hit thirty, they forced it. They picked her for me—Monse.”
That name tastes sour now.
“She moved into my house. She wanted the fake marriage to turn real. She kept saying I’d love her one day.” He scoffs. “She lives in romance books. Thought she was some mafia princess from a story. She did stupid shit to get my attention.”
Of course she reads dark mafia romances. Figures.
“Two months in, I was done. I moved out.” He gestures around. “Into this house. I signed the divorce papers—she didn’t. She thinks we still have a chance. That’s why she showed up, acting like that.”
He finally looks at me… and he looks tired. Not physically—emotionally. Like he’s exhausted from explaining feelings he’s never talked about.
“I should’ve told you,” he says quietly. “I promise you—this is the truth. I swear on my life. I just never thought she would show up. I never thought she mattered enough to mention.”
“You should’ve told me anyway,” I say. “If you had been honest, we wouldn’t be here. We’d be on our date, laughing over pasta like normal people.”
He nods. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m new to this, baby. I’m not good at talking about my past. I don’t… do this. For fuck sake I've never even kissed a woman on her mouth baby. ”
I study him—he means that. He’s not just apologizing. He’s struggling .
“What about your parents? What do they think about you leaving Monse?”
He shrugs bitterly. “Haven’t talked to them since. They told me when I’m ready to bring them a wife, we’ll speak again.”
So that’s when the thought hits me—
“So now you’re looking for a wife?” I ask coldly. “ You’re just going to pick one for your reputation now?”
He shakes his head immediately and moves closer—almost desperate. “I wasn’t looking for a wife. I was done with all that bullshit. I accepted being alone. Then…”
He pauses. His eyes soften. He breathes out like just saying this is hard for him.
“Then I met you.”
My breath catches.
He leans in, grips my waist gently—not possessive this time, but careful. Scared to push me away.
“I don’t want a wife for my reputation,” he says slowly. “I want you Only you. If I marry you one day, it won’t be for them. It’ll be because I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
He pulls me onto his lap and I let him—maybe because I want to feel this, want to know if it’s real. His voice deepens, but it doesn’t sound dangerous. It sounds honest.
“I want you to be mine, angel. Completely mine. I want to protect you. Take care of you. I want to know what love feels like—with you. Only you.”
Then he kisses me—and fuck… it doesn’t feel like all the other kisses we’ve shared. It’s not rushed, not lustful, not rough.
It’s slow. Real. Scary as hell.
Because I feel myself falling.
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