Page 2 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
"With sprinkles, frosting, and everything else that will ensure a proper sugar rush," Roberto confirms with a conspiratorial wink.
I help Angelica out of her coat, my fingers working the small buttons.
The transition from enforcer to father happens without thought. The hardened hands that broke a man's jaw last night are now gently untangling a scarf from my daughter's curls.
Of course she doesn’t know what I do.
Will she be disappointed in me when she finds out?
"Can I go, Daddy? Please?" She's practically vibrating with excitement.
"Of course." I hang her little red coat on the rack. "But mind your manners with Elena. And don't eat too many?—"
"Before dinner. I know!" She finishes my standard warning.
These are the moments that remind me of who I really am beneath everything else.
To the world outside these walls, I'm Roman Ginetti, the shadow behind Marco Calabresi, the name whispered in fear.
But here, now, I'm just a father fussing over a crooked bow in his daughter's hair.
The duality doesn't feel like a contradiction anymore. Both sides serve the same purpose, protecting what's mine.
I press a kiss to Angelica's forehead. "Go on, then. I'll come find you when I'm finished."
She darts down the hallway where one of Dominic’s staff has appeared to lead Angelica to the kitchen.
I watch until she disappears around the corner toward the kitchen, taking the lightness with her.
I follow Roberto through the familiar corridors of the Vitale estate, each step carrying me further from the father I was moments ago.
My posture straightens, jaw tightens.
Roman the dad fades and Roman the enforcer emerges.
"This way, Mr. Ginetti." Roberto leads me to Dominic’s office.
"Are all four families present?" I keep my voice level, professional.
Roberto nods once, his expression giving nothing away. "They've been assembled for nearly an hour."
That's concerning.
Whatever this is, it's serious enough to pull all four Dons away from their operations just as the Christmas season is ramping up.
We reach the heavy mahogany doors. Roberto knocks twice, waits for the muffled acknowledgment, then steps aside.
"They're expecting you," he says, then disappears back down the hallway.
I take a measured breath, squaring my shoulders before entering. The room falls silent as I step inside, all eyes turning toward me. I keep my expression neutral despite the curiosity burning inside me.
The four Dons of La Corona sit around the circular table.
Marco catches my eye briefly, his face revealing nothing.
Beside him, Dominic Vitale, youngest of the Dons at thirty-six, drums his fingers against the polished wood.
Don Antonio Monti checks his watch with irritation.
