~ Massimo ~
I woke up with a jolt for the fourth time since I tried to sleep last night, my body raw and refusing to settle down no matter how much my muscles screamed from my three-day mission.
I glanced at the wall clock—an antique that probably cost more than the net worth of half the American population—and saw it was a few minutes past 7 a.m.
I let out a jagged sigh; at least I'd managed a couple of hours of shallow sleep after the last time the ghosts of my past woke me up.
I sat up and wearily passed a hand over my face, the rough, overgrown stubble on my jaw a reminder that I'd been neglecting myself as I settled on the real cause of my restless night.
Niamh.
Just the thought of her sent a wave of heat and regret crashing down on me.
The memory of last night was so raw I could still taste the tension in the air. I wanted to tell myself it was just a dream, but I knew better.
The memory of how she'd looked my father straight in the eyes, not giving a damn about the consequences, was nailed into my mind.
Those turquoise eyes had burned like wildfire when she called me a monster, and the way the tears rolled down her cheeks when she realized marrying me was the only way to keep her son safe... it was all too vivid, too raw, to be anything but real.
The events of last night replayed in my head like a loop—from the second I burst into the room to stop my father from sending them away, to the moment I left her in tears in the sitting room after that call with Ronan.
Seeing her after five years had done something to every single part of my body. And those eyes... Hell, she could ignite flames in a man's blood with just one look.
Deep down, I was impressed by the way she had faced my entire family. It wasn't that she wasn't afraid, but instead of cowering, she'd showed off a backbone of steel and a grim determination that trampled right over her fear.
No woman had ever spoken to Don Giacomo like that. Not Marietta. Not even my mother, Juliette.
But then, I shouldn't have expected anything less from the daughter of Donal O'Connor, should I?
It was obvious the Irish Don didn't treat Niamh like most mafia princesses—pampered, watched over to ensure they don't break their cherry, then traded off to the highest bidder for an alliance.
My father had been the same with Marietta; instead of quenching her interest in the business, he let her follow her heart, even letting her marry her escort, Lorenzo.
That was a move no other mafia Don would ever make.
Niamh didn't seem to be in the family business, but it was clear her father didn't see her as a pawn, either.
Watching her display that feistiness in that sexy, bloody red dress—a tight, skimpy thing that hugged her in all the right places like a second skin forced on her by her uncle—had been pure torment.
It had taken every ounce of willpower I possessed to keep my hands to myself and my mind off the curves beneath that fabric.
Her uncle. Speaking of which, I'm going to kill that bastard.
How dare he sell off my son and his mother? My bloodline? The next Valentino generation?
He has to go down. Especially if he tries to come after them again, which I knew he would.
I couldn't wait to feel his life leave him with my hands.
I got off the bed and shifted the heavy velvet curtains, staring out at the sprawling, misty grounds of the mansion.
The morning sky was a pale, crisp blue, and as the natural light drifted into the room, it highlighted the luxury of the dark wood and polished stone around me.
I took a bottle of scotch and a crystal glass from the mahogany side-bar and poured a drink, needing that familiar burn in my chest as my mind drifted back to that night five years ago.
It was one of my best memories, that night. I still held onto it, because who the hell forgets the best sex of their life?
That's exactly what it was.
The passion and that deep, soul-level connection I'd shared with Niamh had been on a level I'd never felt before or since.
When I realized she'd given me her virginity, I'd vowed right then never to let her go. Waking up beside her that morning had felt like finally coming home—the soft morning light across her face, her red hair spilled across the pillow like silk.
Until I saw the text from my father. An emergency mission. I had to leave El Paso immediately.
I'd almost called him to cancel it, to tell him to send Romeo or someone else, since Dom was in prison and Cris was busy securing a lucrative deal.
I wanted to stay in that room, make her breakfast, and actually get to know the woman who had just brought light to my world.
But duty calls. In this life, it always does.
My father had just told me I was the heir, and the expectations were massive. I was hell-bent on impressing him, on making him proud for the first time in my life.
So I left her. I didn't wake her because she needed the rest after the intensity of our night, but I vowed to return.
And when I finally did, she was gone.
Now she's back, looking at me like I'm the worst thing that ever happened to her.
And she's brought my son too.
My breath hitched as the image of the boy hit me. I'd fallen in love with him the second I saw his eyes. My eyes.
There was no denying he was my seed. My bloodline. The next generation of Valentino.
There was no denying I would kill and set the world on fire for his sake.
If I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't have given a bloody hell about making my father proud.
I would've made a different choice.
I would've stayed with Niamh and watched my son grow from his very first breath.
But Niamh... she thought I never cared. She thought I never valued what we shared or wanted her in my life.
With the way she looked at me, I knew it was impossible to change her mind. Anything I said would just sound like a shitty excuse to her.
That was why, when I was asked to recount our meeting, I didn't even try to change her mind, no matter how much it killed me.
I said what she expected to hear. I played the part of the monster she already assumed I was.
Because how was I supposed to tell her I came back?
That I grilled every staff member in that hotel and watched security footage until I was half-blind?
That I searched every inch of El Paso for ten months just to see her again?
That I've pictured her red hair and those turquoise eyes every single time I fucked a woman since she left?
Would she have believed me?
A knock on the door pulled me out of the darkness of my thoughts.
"Good morning Mr. Massimo, Breakfast is ready sir," Luis called out.
"I'll be down in a minute," I told him, gulping down the last of the scotch.
I freshened up quickly and pulled on black slacks and a black t-shirt before heading out to the dining hall.
The weekly get-together was a family ritual, a time where we left our private lives at the door to be a family.
I usually enjoyed the peace of it. It was the bond that kept us as one of the strongest syndicates in America.
I made my way into the dining hall—a grand, echoing room where the heavy scent of coffee and well-cooked food hung in the air. Everyone was already seated, including Aurelio and Romeo.
Aurelio was the underboss and my father's right hand, a man who had helped build this empire from the ground up and lost his wife in the process. Romeo was his son, and was like a brother to me.
"Massimo, finally," Aurelio said, looking up with a smile.
"Good morning." I forced a smile and headed for my usual seat, then noticed the two other empty chairs.
"Massimo, where's your wife and son?" my father asked, and my heart sank like a rock thrown into the ocean.