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“I should have never shown you those.”
“You wereadorable.”
“Maybe. But let’s hope our children get your brains and beauty.”
“And what will they get from you?”
“My ability to crushcazzoslike fucking bugs,” he growls, and then nibbles on the tip of my shoulder. I shriek with a wild laugh and squirm against his attack. He slips me under him, staring down at me with his normally smoothed-back locks falling into his face. “They’ll be a perfect blend of us both. Italian American and African American.”
“Is that something ‘the family’ will be okay with? Our child not being full Italian?” I use my index fingers to air quote “the family,” earning another ticklish squeeze from him.
“They have no other choice,” he says decidedly. “I’mthe King. They will accept what I tell them to accept. My son will be as rightful as any other heir.”
We’re interrupted by a knock on our hotel suite door. Gio’s out of bed without hesitation, his reflexes unmatched. He strides toward the door, his demeanor intimidating and vigilant, treating something as simple as a knock suspicious.
“Gio, put pants on,” I giggle. “You shocked the bellboy last time you answered the door naked. You can’t just go flashing that weapon at everyone.”
He begrudgingly listens, slipping on a pair of sweats. Moments later, he returns with our room service. We move onto the balcony, bathed in the late-morning warmth. The appetite I thought I didn’t have comes to life the second I pick up a croissant and smear butter on it.
Gio wears the kind of smirk that plainly saysI told you so.
I can’t even argue. He’s right—I need to take things easy and ensure I’m well fed and rested. Our little one needs to be welcomed into the world as healthy and safe as possible.
We eat our breakfast and lounge around, basking in each other’s company. At some point we return to bed to enjoy each other even more. It’s not until almost dusk that we venture beyond our hotel room, dressed up for the dinner reservation Gio made for us.
I clutch his arm and smile as we head out for the evening. He’s not the only one fantasizing about our future. Moments like these, I do, too, as I can’t resist marveling at how lucky I am to be in love with him.
Falynn Marie Sorrentino. Queen to my Mafia King.
