Page 69 of Creed

“Come here,figlio,”Papácommands hoarsely, and I sit in the empty chair in front of his desk. He skewers me with his piercing blue gaze. “You love her.”

There’s no hesitation. “I do.”

“You going to claim her?”

I already have.

But not in howPapáreferred. Marriage. Babies.

Regardless of the situation, my dick stirs at the thought of breeding Sophie. Having her pregnant—big and round with the child I put in her—and being the mother of my children.

I force the thoughts away for now and focus on my father. “She’s not ready.”

They know about Sophie’s family keeping her away from her father and ‘the life’ and her reason for putting the brakes on us.

He sits back, interlinking his fingers over his stomach, which has started to soften these past months because he can hardly do more than walk from his desk to the door without becoming winded. It’s painful to watch the decline of such a strong man.However, his ruling power hasn’t diminished because he built his empire, so it isn’t dependent on him or his brute strength.

“This link with Morales to where she grew up… This could play in your favor, Creed.”

Papáis a strategist; he has to be to hold his power as Don for as long as he has.

I stretch my neck to the side, making it crack, and ease some tension. “Exposing Morales and revealing how he’s not such a deserving and revered man, that the definition of good and bad is subjective… It’s something to consider.”

The fact that a seemingly upstanding businessman has ties to her father, possibly the cartel, highlights that good isn’t automatically a given just because someone ‘walks on the right side of the line.’ Life is a blend of good and bad, right and wrong. Good and right can do some of the world’s worst.

Can I use this to my advantage to try to convince Sophie that my family, even though they’re mafia, are people with strong morals and values?

And am I enough of a bastard where I will try to spin this to my benefit and bring her around?

Yes, absolutely. Because I can’t live without her.

Papá’s computer rings with an incoming video call.

“It’s Crispin,” he tells us, answering the call.

“Don,” Crispin replies urgently.

Crispin is always amped up as if he just drank three energy drinks, his leg constantly bouncing, but his voice always has a paradoxical, slow, relaxed drawl. We all cue into his tension, and Massimo, Vito, and I move behindPapá’s chair.

As my team dug to unearth more of what Morales kept hidden, Crispin and Daniele searched for the man himself because he’d fallen off the grid for the past thirty-six hours. Daniele is who you want on your side when you’re trying to find someone. It may take her time, but as far as I know, she’s never failed to deliver.

“Daniele found Morales” Crispin says. “He's with Ortez.”

“Where are they?” Vito demands.

Crispin’s eyes settle on me. Nails rake down my spine. “San Diego.”

Two words. Two words that drop like successive bombs, each one landing with a compounding, percussive blast that rattles and quakes the ground under my feet.

Morales and Ortez are together. In San Diego.

Sophie is in San Diego.

I’m in San Francisco.

Overfive fucking hundredmiles away.

“No.” Fear nearly chokes me. “Fuck, no!”

---