Page 52 of Mafia Darling

I didn’t know what to say. I think my brain was in shock, stuck on what this would mean if I agreed. “This is quite the proposal.”

His brows knitted and leaned back in his chair. “I decided on practical rather than romantic, after last night.”

Fair enough. “You said you would never marry again. What changed your mind?”

“You.”

“Because I asked for security in case things between us went up in flames?”

“That’s not why I want to marry you. I need you in ways I can’t begin to explain, and if this is what it takes to have you—all of you—then I will do it.”

Everything was starting to make sense. “Ah, so instead of showing me you’ve changed and giving me time to trust you again, you are moving forward at warp speed and proposing marriage. Just so I will say I belong to you.”

“You do belong to me. And if you agree to this”—he gestured to the paper in my hand—“then I belong to you, as well.”

I stared at the wall and tried to think. This was all too much. Was he right about the Guardia? Would they try to use my sisters or my child against me? I knew without a doubt they would. Hell, Agent Rinaldo had already tried.

Is this what you want for your child? A lifetime of wondering when his or her father will be arrested? Blood and murder and drugs?

But marriage meant forever. It meant becoming Mrs. Fausto Ravazzani, staying in Siderno until one of us died.

No way.

Except realistically, what had I thought was going to happen? Fausto would never let his son or daughter go, and neither would I. Was I picturing some joint custody situation, where I lived in Siderno and our child spent every other weekend at the castello? That was ludicrous—and dangerous.

The safest place for our child was here, at the castello, protected by Fausto’s men. Not to mention that I’d been kidnapped once already—twice, if you counted Fausto in Toronto. I really couldn’t handle a third time.

Fuck me. Was the best choice to say yes?

I stared at the paper in my hand, thinking it over. Yet the word would not come. I was still too mad and too hurt. He’d broken my heart, and I hadn’t finished stitching the pieces back together.

Swallowing hard, I put the paper on the desk. “I need to think about this.”

He dragged a hand over his mouth, probably to hold in a string of Italian curses. Finally, he said, “Okay.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t decide on something this major in an instant. I need to think. I mean, I always pictured having my family at my wedding. My sisters . . .” I couldn’t finish that thought without bursting into tears, so I just took a breath instead. “I appreciate this, I do, but I’m still trying to adjust to the idea of having a child, let alone the child of an Italian mafia king.”

“King?” One dark eyebrow shot up arrogantly.

“This is not funny. I’m totally overwhelmed, Fausto.”

“I am trying to help you, Francesca. Let me take care of you.”

“If you want to help, give me some time.” Head spinning, I stood up to go. I needed more coffee and food. This was too heavy of a conversation for an empty stomach.

“Wait,” he said. I stopped but didn’t look at him. Was he going to try to seduce me into giving an answer?

He pressed something into my free hand. “Here.”

It was the ring box.

I tried to give it back. “Fausto—”

“Keep it.” He curled my fingers around it and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “When you put it on I’ll know your answer is yes.”

God, this man. He understood me better than anyone. Saying the word, actually agreeing to something I knew was bad for me, would not come easily. I nodded and slipped the box into my pocket, where it sat heavily.

Just like my future.

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