Page 17 of The Mobster’s Present

“No. The home I just purchased down the street from Angelo.” Her mouth falls open and I add, like it’s part of the package, “Oaklynn and her men aren’t far. Kids should grow up together.”

For a long moment she just stares at me and it’s fucking adorable. I can tell she wants to pepper me with a million questions. When her mouth closes and she presses her lips together in a thin line, I know she’s accepted what I’m saying. She might not believe it yet, but she’s accepted it.

Tentatively.

“We should pick out the rest of the furniture for the house as well. I have the floor plans and measurements. Everything will be delivered and set-up exactly how you want it before we head home.”

“That quickly.”

“Money can speed things up considerably.” I don’t explain that it helps to have a name like Amato at my back; I don’t need to. “The house is already bought. I signed the paperwork this morning.”

“I think I’m dreaming,” she mutters.

I keep talking, ignoring her because she’s not dreaming. She’ll figure it out soon enough. “My only requirement is that it feels like a home for us, for you and our daughter especially.” I pause for a moment and think about if there’s anything else that’s non-negotiable. “And I want the biggest bed possible.”

“Why?”

I chuckle under my breath. “Because I can already picture us with a bunch of little ones climbing on the bed on lazy mornings.”

Ashleigh teases, “Do mafia men have lazy mornings?”

When I meet her gaze, I hold it. I want her to see. I want her to know how fucking serious I am.

“They do now.”

“Oh,” she breathes out, dazed, “okay then.”

This time when I tilt the tablet toward her, she’s hesitant in a different way. She keeps looking at me to see my reaction, but she doesn’t understand yet. I need her happy. I need Oriana safe.

What is driving my life has shifted.

It’s no longer blood.

It’s no longer the family I have shielded with my life.

Now, it’s Ashleigh and our daughter.

We deal with the most important rooms first. Oriana’s room. The kitchen. The living room. Our room.

I don’t say it.

She doesn’t ask.

“Aren’t you the kind of guy who would usually hire a designer?” There’s real curiosity in her voice, not judgement.

“That’s how I ended up with my penthouse.” I shrug. “It’s fine for what it is, and I can’t say I spend a lot of time there anyway.” I point toward the tablet. “This place is different. It is going to be our home, and I want to do it with you, for us. We don’t have to do it all, we can leave a little room to grow into it.”

“You make guarding against you difficult, Salvatore,” she says it like an admonishment, but it lands softly.

“Good,” I don’t hide the satisfaction in my voice, “that’s my whole plan.”

The rest of the trip is spent going over Oriana’s needs, her struggles, and how the medicine and environment affect her. By the time we arrive at the hospital I’m excited to meet her and worried that I’ll fail to protect her and making her feel safe.

When we reach her door, Ashleigh glances at me with a coy smile tugging at her lips. “Are you nervous?”

I look at her and hold her gaze. “Yes.”

Something shifts in her eyes and confirms that she wasn’t expecting me to be honest, as if telling a lie would help me save face.