Chapter 13
MARCO
I told myself it would be good to get out of the house where I can’t escape Gabriella even when we’re in different rooms.
I can feel her essence everywhere and it’s driving me mad. I don’t ever enjoy myself at the winter festival, but at least there will be fresh air and distractions.
But as I step into the winter festival, I’m immediately assaulted by blinding Christmas lights, cloying scents of cinnamon and pine, and the cacophony of laughter that seems to mock my very existence.
All this… happiness.
It clings to everyone but me.
Roman waves from across the crowd, his daughter perched on his shoulders squealing with delight, Isabella next to him cradling a swaddled baby.
Even my hardened enforcer has fallen under the spell of this ridiculous holiday.
The sight of his genuine smile only deepens the hollow feeling in my chest.
“I’m going to find my father,” Gabriella says. “Try not to scowl so much.”
I grunt in response and make my way to an area that seems safe from sticky children and obnoxious teens.
"Marco! You made it." Dominic approaches. "It’s always a crap shoot whether you’ll show.”
“I didn’t know you were a gambling man,” I quip. It’s bad enough that I hate all this. Everyone makes it worse by pointing out that I’m the epitome of Scrooge.
“I hear they have bourbon-spiked hot chocolate at the concession stand."
"I'll pass."
Dominic smirks. “You’re the only person I know who would rather be walking into a warzone than here.”
I shrug. He’s not wrong.
A burst of familiar laughter cuts through the noise.
Gabriella stands near the skate rental stand, head thrown back in genuine amusement at something Isabella is saying.
The sight of her flushed cheeks and snowflakes caught in her dark hair takes my breath away.
For a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to join her, to be the reason for that laugh.
To pull her close and taste the winter on her lips.
The fantasy evaporates when Antonio appears beside her, looking confused.
Even from this distance, I can see Gabriella's smile falter as she gently redirects him, explaining something with patient gestures.
"You keep staring at her like that, people will talk," Dominic says, following my gaze.
I tear my eyes away. "I'm her guardian for the week. I’m required to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid."
I hope I’m convincing.
The last thing I need is for Dominic to see that I crave her more than my next breath. That I've spent a year trying to forget the feel of her skin against mine.
“The alternative was for you to marry her,” I say, hoping to wipe the smirk off his face.
He turns toward Gabriella and takes a long, appreciative look that has my fist clenching. “I suppose there could be worse things than marrying Gabriella. She’s smart and fun.”
Mother fucker.
He turns back to me, his brows lifting, and I suspect I look ready to murder him. “I imagine you appreciate the intelligence in her, but the fun, that likely eludes you.”
“Did you come here today just to fuck with me?”
He laughs. “No.” His expression turns serious. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about Antonio. He seems… not all there sometimes.”
“Antonio is fine,” I say a little too forcefully.
Dominic’s jaw tics. “I respect Antonio, you know I do, Marco. But if there’s something La Corona should know—”
“La Corona will know what it needs to know when Antonio is ready. In the meantime, we have to trust that everything is being taken care of.”
Dom’s eyes narrow as he studies me. “La Corona trust goes only so far.”
I hold his gaze. “La Corona shouldn’t question Antonio at all.”
We have a short, heated glare off, and then a child calls out, “Uncle Dom!”
He turns to see one of Elena’s children waving wildly at him. “Gotta run. I’d wish you a good time, but I know pigs will fly before that happens.”
He pats me on the back and then saunters off toward his cousin and her children.
I blow out a breath thinking I should have taken him up on the hot chocolate with bourbon.
I wonder if they’d serve it without the hot chocolate.
My gaze finds Roman on the ice, gliding with a grace that belies his imposing frame.
Angelica holds his hands, her small face alight with joy as they weave between other skaters.
I remember when he first married wondering how my fierce enforcer would manage family life.
The man can compartmentalize like no one’s business.
I’ve seen him make men shit themselves in fear and then a few hours later, he’s a big softy having a tea party with his daughter.
"Faster, Daddy!" Angelica squeals, and Roman obliges, picking up speed.
I glance over at Isabella, who stands at the edge of the rink cradling baby Leo.
The infant is bundled against the cold, a ridiculous reindeer hat covering his head.
Isabella rocks him gently, her face filled with happiness as she watches Roman and Angelica on the ice.
It's jarring to think this is the same woman who nearly brought down La Corona last year with her accusations of me.
Now she's a devoted wife and mother, seemingly content in the life she was forced into.
Her punishment became her salvation.
Something twists in my chest.
Not jealousy.
I've never envied Roman for his domestic life. And yet, there is an emptiness, an ache as I watch them.
They exist in a world I've never allowed myself to enter.
For a long time, I didn’t believe love existed. I don’t just mean romantic love, although I was certain that was a commercial construct created to sell flowers and chocolate.
But even familial love didn’t exist for me, not in my family.
But when I finally saw evidence of love, I realized that while it did exist, it eluded me and my family.
The Calabresis were void of love.
Love makes us vulnerable and weak, my father would insist. More accurately, he’d say, “Don’t be a pussy, Marco. No one respects a pussy.”
I suck in a breath as his words come back to me and I realize that these moments of longing are a sign of my weakness, and I can’t be weak.
I remind myself that I previously had a moment in which I wondered if there could be a future for me and Gabriella, and right after that, she accused me of betraying her and called me soulless.
It was proof positive that I’m not a man who’ll be loved.
Not in the way Isabella loves Roman. Or Roman loves his family.
Somehow, for him, love isn’t a vulnerability, but his strength.
For me, love doesn’t exist.
"They're sweet together." Gabriella's voice startles me.
She's materialized at my side, two steaming cups in her gloved hands. "I brought you coffee. Black, no sugar, just how you like it."
I tell myself it means nothing that she knows how I take my coffee.
"Thanks," I mutter, accepting the cup without meeting her eyes. "Your father?"
"With Leo. They're reminiscing about some Christmas party from thirty years ago." She sips her drink, watching Roman and Angelica. "Roman's a natural father."
I nod.
“I remember when he first married Emilia thinking what does she see in him? He was the scariest man I knew.” She laughs, but it’s not like that laugh before. And it’s not from something I said. “He’s a big teddy bear when it comes to his family.”
I nod again.
“I’m glad he found love again. I didn’t know Isabella well. Her mother always kept her away, but she’s sweet.”
“Her mother wanted her out of the life.” And it got her killed.
“It’s not easy for women.”
I glance down at her. “You do alright.”
She purses her lips at me. “I’m required to have a guardian. What other woman in the world needs to be guarded like she’s a petulant child?”
“One who betrays her family by talking to the Feds.”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“Uncle Marco!” Angelica and Roman skate by. “I’m beating Daddy!”
“You’re a winner,” I call out.
“Softy,” Gabriella says under her breath as she sips her coffee.
“Excuse me?”
Her grin is filled with amusement and I don’t like it. “You. Even you’re a softy around kids.” Her eyes narrow as she scrutinizes me. “You never wanted what Roman has?”
I scoff. "What I want is irrelevant."
"That's not an answer, Marco."
On the ice, Roman catches Angelica as she stumbles, setting her upright, worry in his eyes until she’s steady again.
What would my father have done?
Laughed if I’d fallen. Or maybe beaten me for embarrassing the family. After all, Calabresi men don't fall.
"I'm not built for it," I finally say. "Some men are meant to build families. Others are meant to protect them from a distance."
Gabriella's shoulder brushes mine, the contact sending heat through my body despite the winter chill. "That sounds lonely."
"It's necessary."
"Is it?" She turns to face me fully, her eyes searching mine. "Or are you afraid?”
Irritation grows. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“You’re not afraid of crime and violence. But you’re afraid to feel.”
My teeth clench together as I work to hide how angry… how hurt I feel from her words.
Because she’s right. Well, sort of.
I’m not afraid to feel.
I just know that showing feelings makes you vulnerable. The last thing I plan to do is give someone ammunition against me.
"Let's skate," Gabriella says, eyes bright with challenge. She extends her hand toward me, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Unless the mighty Don Calabresi is afraid of a little ice too?"
Anger blooms. This woman never stops pushing.
"I don't skate," I say flatly, keeping my hands firmly wrapped around my coffee cup.
"Everyone skates, Marco. It's not complicated." She tilts her head, that infuriating smile still in place. "I'll hold your hand if you're scared."
The memory of her hand in mine on New Year’s Eve, walking through my garden as fireworks sounded in the distance, slams into me with unexpected force.
With equal effort, I push it away.
"I'm not interested in playing your games, Gabriella." My voice is as cold as the air around us. "I'm here because it's expected, not because I want to participate in this" —I gesture vaguely at the festive scene— "charade."