Page 78 of Mafia And Maid
“Here? What, you mean likein my own home?” Marco snarls.
“Yes. I want…” I take a deep breath. “I want Rosa and Ethan to be comfortable.”
Marco just continues to glare at me. He’s not very good at taking into account other people’s feelings.
I drag my hand over my hair and try to make them understand. “They scare easily. You know, after everything they’ve been through. I just want to make things easier for them.”
The only thing I care about right now is Rosa and Ethan not being scared and not flinching. And once I explain this to my brothers, they get it.
“Okay,” Marco says with a nod.
“Got it,” Alessio adds without further argument.
And I know that my brothers will do this because they can sense how important it is to me.
A week. It’s only been a week since Rosa was reunited with Ethan. The change is palpable in her. She hums more often now, singing when she thinks the house is empty and it’s just the two of them.
But the moment one of us enters the room, Ethan’s smile drops from his face and Rosa only flashes a tentative smile before getting back to work.
I fucking hate it.
I hate how much I crave seeing her smile and hearing her sing. Anything from her is a glorious gift, and I spend the rest of the day thinking about it over and over. It’s a distraction I can’t afford right now, but one that won’t go away.
***
Ethan sits across from me this morning, finishing his pancake, eyes downcast.
I’ve tried to talk to him, but he simply blinks at me, his chest rising and falling too rapidly. Worse is when he hides behind Rosa or the furniture in the house when I enter the room.
It’s not personal, I repeatedly tell myself.
It’shisfucking fault. Grayden fucking Devlin.
And just like that, another reason to skin him layer by layer is added to the ever-growing list. Marco’s warning still swirls in my head, stopping me from doing something too rash—because I don’t want to ruin what I have with Rosa, although I’m not sure exactly what that is.
“Was something wrong with breakfast, Camillo?” she asks.
“Huh?”
Rosa stands beside Ethan, fingers brushing back the soft waves of his hair from his face. She’s motherly and affectionate, and my chest warms as I watch her with her son.
She looks down at my plate. “You’ve hardly touched your food. Was there something wrong? Do you want me to make you something else?”
“No.” I look down at the half-eaten pancake. My mind’s too preoccupied to even enjoy the fucking perfectly cooked breakfast. I rub at my jaw, managing to put a smile on. It feels strained and fake. “It’s great. It’s just work stuff.” I shovel a few more bites into my mouth to prove the point.
I’ve got too much going on in my head. And I can’t tell her what’s bothering me even if I wanted to. Because I don’t even understand it myself.
As I walk away, I try to formulate in my mind what’s going on. It takes me a while. And when I figure it out, the realization bowls me over.
I want Ethan to like me. I want him to laugh and relax in my presence.
Rubbing at my sternum, I hope I can make the tightness in my chest go away. Since when do I give a shit about anyone who isn’t my family?
I don’t even enjoy my nieces and nephews this much. I love them and will spoil them rotten during the holidays and birthdays, but this need with Ethan is different. I feel protective of him as I do his mother. Some urge to stand between him and the world nags in the back of my mind constantly.
But I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know how to connect with Ethan—or with kids in general. They’re breakable and small. Worse, Ethan is so quiet and timid that I’m not sure I know how to break through to him.