Page 21 of The Mobster’s Present

I bite my lip and something hotter flashes in his dark eyes. But it’s gone so fast I could almost convince myself that I made it up. Almost.

“You can tell me, la mia piccola leonessa.”

“It’s not the best place,” I argue, my voice thready with insistence.

“I’m not here to judge you,” his voice is deep, like a toll calling you home. It reverberates through me. “I’ve met Oriana. A little girl like that doesn’t become who she is, as sweet and kind, without a good mom showing her how.”

Tears sting the backs of my eyes and Salvatore kisses my forehead. The touch is light and brief, but I feel it deeply. The press of his lips sticks with me and the feeling of being safe deepens.

“We’ll talk about your place and having it packed up later,” his words contain a finality, like he’s already played out every scenario and that’s the one that works out the best for everyone.

I narrow my eyes, but he’s undeterred. He releases me slowly before wrapping an arm around my shoulder and tucking me into his side. The heat coming off him is intoxicating and cozy in a way I haven’t been able to find since moving into the hospital alongside my daughter.

“You should get a hotel,” I try to insist, but it sounds weak even to my ears.

A low rumble comes from Salvatore’s chest, and I feel the vibration of it. “That won’t be happening.” He pauses, his tone considering, “Tomorrow night I’ll talk you into a hotel, at least for a few hours, but tonight we’ll stay here with our little warrior in case she needs us.”

I make a humming sound and pat the couch. “This does pull out, but I’ll warn you that it doesn’t make it much more comfortable.”

With a squeeze of my shoulder, he gently stands me up. “It might not be soft and will definitely leave our muscles aching, but it’ll give us more space for me to hold you while we keep watch.”

I watch Salvatore’s movements as he gets everything set up. He even hunts through the cabinets to find the pillows that I’ve stashed there because those suckers have a way of disappearing if I don’t keep them hidden.

There is nothing performative about the way he moves around the room. He’s not trying to be efficient, he just is. He’s not actively thinking about his next move, but I can tell he’s already multiple steps ahead in his mind.

I have to squeeze my thighs together because his capacity for capability is a major fucking turn on right now.

It doesn’t hurt that he treated my daughter like a princess and has already talked to the nurse to send a message to the billing department about stopping by first thing tomorrow morning. I can only hope the message goes out because the nurse looked a little dazed.

Not that I can really blame her. Salvatore is the kind of handsome that makes you look twice. His jaw is square and sharp. There’s something artful about the curated messiness of his dark strands. His body is strong, but he’s not overly broad or muscular.

He slides onto the bed as if it’s not the thinnest, cheapest thing he’s ever laid down on. The expectant look he gives me has me smiling shyly as I slide in next to him. When he reaches for me, there is nothing hesitant in his touch.

With a firm grip, there’s no doubt in my mind that he has no intention of letting go. Not anytime soon.

He pulls my hair free of the messy bun I plopped it in at some point in the evening. Then he runs his fingers through the strands, the movement of it lulls me into a dreamlike state.

“I never imagined that the diagnosis was going to be something as big and scary as leukemia,” I keep my voice low, not wanting to wake Oriana but having someone here for me, who I know will listen to me, has my defenses crumbling.

“As her mom you wanted it to be the simplest, easiest, and least invasive problem. I think that’s natural.”

I almost laugh. He’s almost too giving.

“My first thought,” my words come out small and scared, “was that my bad luck must have rubbed off on her.”

“La mia piccola leonessa,” there’s an admonishment in his tone that I understand, no matter what language he’s speaking.

“I couldn’t help it,” I try to protest but his fingers flex where he’s holding me in warning and I press my lips together.

“Life doesn’t hand you proof of your bad luck. You simply walk through it, sometimes there are things out of our control and sometimes there are things we control completely. How you react to both is where the truth of a person lies.”

“Mob philosophy,” I wonder, “who would ‘a known?”

He chuckles. “I’m not just a gun.”

The quiet settles around us and my smile fades. “Not knowing what was going on was awful, but now I know what’s wrong and I’m still helpless. That’s almost worse than not knowing.”

Salvatore’s hand cups the back of my head while he grips my chin with his other hand. He tips my head back, rolling us just enough that I won’ be going anywhere unless he allows it.