Page 164 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
Her dark hair falls in wild waves past her shoulders, and when she laughs at something Elena says, I find myself wishing I could hear it clearly.
I shouldn't notice these things. Antonio Monti's daughter is off-limits, not because of any formal rule but because of complications it would create.
Relationships between families must be strategic, controlled.
What I feel when I look at Gabriella is neither.
She glances up, catching me watching her. Instead of looking away, I raise my glass slightly. She holds my gaze for a moment before returning to her conversation.
"Something interesting about Don Monti's daughter?" Dominic asks, following my line of sight.
"Just observing." My tone ends the inquiry.
I take another sip of scotch, letting the burn distract me. This attraction is inconvenient, unwelcome. Yet as I watch her move through the room with quiet confidence, I know it's not something I can simply dismiss.
I force myself to look away from Gabriella, focusing instead on Roman's daughter Angelica chasing the Vitale triplets around a massive Christmas tree.
"Don Calabresi." Leonardo Ferraza approaches, clapping my shoulder. "Quite the transformation with your enforcer. Marriage suits him."
"Some men are built for it," I reply. Ten years ago, I couldn’t imagine Roman being married. Then he met Emilia and he was a changed man.
When she died, something died with him until Isabella. Marriage suits him. Makes him more himself.
But not me. I've kept La Corona and the Calabresi family strong precisely because I remain unattached.
No wife to become a target.
No children to become leverage.
Just the cold clarity of power and purpose. Sure, I have no heirs, but Roman is like a brother. Should I pass, he’ll make a great Don.
I drain my scotch, signaling a server for another as my eyes drift back to Gabriella against my will.
She's helping the children now, her face animated as she organizes some game.
That perpetual cheerfulness of hers should repel me. I've always preferred women with darkness that matches my own. Not this effervescent light.
Yet I can't look away.
She's laughing again, her entire face transformed by joy. It's so foreign to me, that easy happiness. It's annoying. Irritating. And somehow magnetic.
"You're staring, Marco," Antonio Monti says, materializing beside me. "Something interesting about my daughter?"
I maintain my composure, though inwardly I curse my lapse in vigilance. "Just considering how different our approaches to family are, Antonio. Most Dons would have kept their daughters cloistered and married them off when they reached Gabriella’s age."
He laughs. “You’ve met my daughter, haven’t you? Locking her up would be like trying to box in a tsunami. Nah, I’ve got Luca to carry on the family business. Let Gabriella be Gabriella.”
He eyes me with something between suspicion and amusement. "Gabriella has always been curious about you. The mysterious Don Calabresi."
The information registers, though I don't let it show. Instead, I nod politely and excuse myself, needing distance from both Monti and the daughter I shouldn't be thinking about.
I move through the crowd, making it look like I’m mingling or hosting or whatever the fuck I should be doing. My guests part before me, offering respectful nods that I barely acknowledge.
My attention is elsewhere. Gabriella has disappeared from the main gathering.
It shouldn't matter. She's not my concern.
Yet I find myself drifting away from the celebration, listening for her distinctive laugh among the corridors of my home. The farther I move from the ballroom, the quieter it becomes.
