Page 44 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
"Isabella?" Roman's deep voice calls out.
I scramble to my feet, suddenly self-conscious about the creative chaos I've spread across his bedroom. "In here."
He appears in the doorway, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened. His eyes sweep over my supplies scattered across the floor, and I brace for criticism.
"I see the boxes arrived," he says instead, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.
"Yes. Thank you for…" I gesture at everything around me. "This was unexpected."
He shrugs like it's nothing. "Do you have everything you need?"
"More than I expected to have again."
Roman steps closer, examining a sketch I'd left open. His proximity makes my pulse quicken, a reaction I refuse to analyze.
"This is good," he says, surprising me. "But I imagine you need more supplies. A workspace."
"Eventually, maybe," I admit cautiously.
"I cleared my afternoon. We could go shopping now if you want."
I stare at him, trying to reconcile this thoughtful gesture with everything I know about Roman Ginetti, the feared enforcer who makes people disappear.
The man I'm convinced had something to do with my mother's death.
"Why are you doing this?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
His dark eyes meet mine. "Because you're stuck here, Isabella. Doesn't mean you need to be miserable."
Something in his gaze makes my chest tighten. It would be easier if he were cruel. His kindness is far more dangerous to my resolve.
"I…" I get caught up in his dark, penetrating eyes. I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
I freshen up, using the moment to get myself sorted. Then I leave the apartment with Roman. He drives to the garment district and to Mood Fabrics, one of the premier fabric shops in Manhattan.
“How do you know about this place?” I ask as we ride the elevator up to the third floor to the shop.
“Angelica told me. She watches some design show and said this was the place to shop.” He’d said she liked fashion, but apparently more than the average seven-year-old.
“Project Runway?”
He looks at me with amusement. “Yes. You know it?”
“Everyone who likes fashion design knows it.”
He shrugs. “Never been a fashion guy myself.”
I take in his expensive suit. “So how do you dress so well?”
He looks down at his suit and tie. “It’s not so hard for a man. Just go into a men’s store and pick a dark suit.”
I roll my eyes.
Our elevator arrives, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a sense of peace. This is my place among the never-ending bolts of fabric.
Roman follows me around as I take in the colors, the patterns, the cottons to the linen to the leather.
I run my fingers over a bolt of emerald silk, trying to focus on the fabric rather than Roman's intense presence just a few feet away.
