Page 112 of Mafia And Maid
Catching my eye, Camillo smiles, his hand rubbing along my calf in affection. I can feel the tension ebbing from all my muscles. Closing my eyes, I’m so relaxed that I could even fall asleep right now. Because I trust him with my son. I trust him with our lives.
Ethan’s sleepy voice fills the room as he asks questions just like he normally does. My eyes close, and I listen to the two most important people in my life just be.
It’s foolish to trust him so soon.
And it’s even worse to allow him into my life in a way that will crush me when it comes shattering down like everything good ever has.
But I can’t help it…
“Rosa?”
I hum in reply, unwilling to open my eyes.
“Rosa?” This time his whisper is accompanied by a gentle brush against my cheek. “Come on, let’s get to bed.”
“Ethan’s gotta…” My words tumble into something incoherent as I force my eyes open. I blink into darkness which is illuminated only by the dim nightlight sitting atop the dresser.
Camillo’s soft expression fills my vision as he brushes a stray strand behind my ear.
“He’s out cold. I tucked him in and everything.”
“You did all that?”
“I did. I didn’t want to wake you until I had to.”
I nod, pushing from the awkward position I fell asleep in and going into Camillo’s embrace. Despite the sleepiness tugging me under, I smile into his chest. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“Still, thanks.”
“C’mon, sleeping beauty, let’s get into a proper adult bed.”
Fingers laced, Camillo leads me to the door before he pauses. Following his gaze, I see him looking at Ethan as if he’s reluctant to let him out of his sight.
The expression on his face is one I can’t quite make sense of.
It’s vulnerable, open—but in a new way I haven’t seen before. Something like fear etches into the corners of his mouth and forehead.
“C’mon. If we hover too long, he’ll wake up.” This time it’s me who tugs us down the hallway, Camillo’s heat pressing into my side me like a cozy blanket hugging me. I stifle a yawn as he flicks the nightstand lamp on.
He pulls the shirt from his body and exposes the ropes of muscle and beautiful lines of ink to my greedy eyes. I follow his lead in discarding my clothing onto the armchair. Sleepily, my fingers fumble around in the drawer I hope is mine, tugging on the nearest t-shirt, before I lazily walk toward the bed.
The smell of sandalwood fills my nose. And I realize it’s not my shirt but one of Camillo’s as it hangs off my body in a way mine usually doesn’t. Not caring enough to change, I slip into the smooth sheets with a sigh.
The room darkens, and the bed dips.
“Tonight was perfect,” I say in a soft voice.
“Yeah?” His large frame cocoons me from behind, pulling me against his chest, making me feel safe and secure. A large hand circles my waist, holding me against the planes of his body. It’s a familiar position we’ve settled into over the last few days.
“Yeah.” I nod into the darkness. “You should join us for bedtime more often.”
His lips at the back of my neck send a soft shiver skittering through my body. “Anytime. It was nice.Nulla è difficile per chi ama.”
I love when Camillo speaks Italian. I don’t understand it, but the rhythm of it is soothing. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d ask him what those words mean, but sleep once more pulls me under as Camillo’s deep breathing evens out behind me.
I relax into his embrace, feeling some sense of peace I never thought I’d ever feel—and which I know can’t last...