Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss: Chapter 8

For the last few days, I’ve been keeping a close eye on Camilla. She’s out of her mind if she thinks I’d ever leave her alone. If I’m not watching her, someone else I trust is.

And who I don’t trust?

Taylor. Camilla’s…friend. He runs the bookstore across the street, and while nothing appeared on his background check that I ran, something didn’t sit right with me. I don’t like how he spoke to me. He knew too much, and someone who knows that much has done questionable things in their life.

It’s around nine at night, and I’m across the street, parked in my car, looking up at the balcony above her bakery. Camilla is outside, leaning against the railing, her hands folded together, and from here, I can see her shoulders shaking as she cries.

My hands grip the steering wheel until my knuckles are white. I hate seeing her so down, so beaten, and defeated. There are so many unanswered questions I have that I want her to answer, but I know I’m low on her priority list.

I’ll earn her trust, and eventually, I’ll be the person she comes to when she feels like this.

She straightens, wiping her under-eye, then tilts her head back to stare at the night sky. She’s more beautiful than the day I met her. She was young, shy, and curious, but now she’s a strong woman. I can tell she doesn’t take shit from people. She’s had to do too much on her own.

And it must be exhausting.

Camilla is so used to being on her own. Whatever she’s been through in the last five years has left her guarded and independent. It will be harder to get close to her now that the real world has rained its hard ways on her.

“I’ll make things better for you,” I say out loud to no one, but I wish she could hear me. I will protect her now, whether she likes it or not.

And that means making sure Taylor is who he says he is.

I wait until Camilla goes back inside and the living room light turns off. I imagine she’s getting into bed, tucking herself under the covers. I bet her cheeks are still wet from the tears she cried, and she reaches for the pillow across from her, wishing she wasn’t alone.

My lip curls at the thought, hating that she has to be by herself. I climb out of the car and ease the door shut, making sure not to make too much noise. I look up and down the street, finding it empty this time of night. Only the street lamps glow, and the one above me flickers and buzzes as the lightbulb fights to remain lit.

My phone buzzes as I walk down the street to Taylor’s bookstore. I swipe the green dot on my smartwatch.

“Bianco,” I answer.

“We have a problem at the club,” Alvize states. “The guy you beat up brought some friends to the club tonight. Looks like they want payback.”

I snort, then a dark chuckle escapes me as I take a left. I can’t break into the bookstore by going inside the front door. That would be foolish.

“Play with them and then kill them. Find out who their boss is and deliver their bodies to his doorstep. I can’t do anything about it tonight.”

“Do you need me with you?”

“No. I’m fine.” I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is following me. “I’m going to pop into the shop and leave. Something about him doesn’t feel right, and my feelings have never steered me wrong.”

“Do you have everything you need?”

I grin, taking another left behind the building and passing the dumpsters and discarded boxes. “I have the security reader. You act like I’ve never done this before. I feel offended, I think.” I step over a stagnant puddle. “I don’t know whether I need to be offended.” I stand at the back door of the bookshop and am already unimpressed with Taylor. “Got to go. Update me later on the situation.”

He’s messy. The back of the store should look just as good as the front.

“You’re not off to a good start, Taylor.” Something squeaks from beside me, and I see a rat. It’s nibbling on a piece of food while it stares at me. “You spend a lot of time here, and I bet if you could tell me, you’d say I was right to question this man.” The rat squeaks again and scurries away.

The steps are dirty with age and mold. The bottoms of my shoes stick to the cement. Even the door is rusted, and the handle is worn.

To the left, there’s at least a brand-new security system, though nothing that can keep me out of his store. I hook up the device to the system, then let it run. The lights flash on the pads, and the numbers run across the screen.

While I wait, I open my phone and pull up the security app. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but while Camilla was at work, I installed a few cameras around her apartment. I want to make sure she and the kids are safe.

I don’t know what it is about those kids, but I feel an immense pull to them, like they are meant to be mine, and I’m meant to protect them. Perhaps, it has everything to do with my feelings for Camilla. If I want her, it means I get those kids, and that doesn’t bother me.

Her front door is clear, kitchen, living room, and then I see movement.

I hold my breath and pinch the screen to zoom in.

Someone has entered her room.

I’m about to abort the mission to run across the street when I notice not one but two people crawling into bed with Camilla.

Her kids.

She holds out her arms to welcome them, and one child flanks each side of her. I exit the app, stuffing my phone in my pocket, and wonder what I could have done differently to deserve to be in Camilla’s home.

I bet it’s warm and cozy, unlike mine, where it’s minimal and cold. I’m hardly ever there. I’m always at the club. It’s where I run most of the business.

The device in my hand beeps, reminding me of the task at hand, and I unplug it, and the door automatically unlocks.

“High grade for someone like you, Taylor. What are you hiding in here?” I won’t let whatever he is up to touch Camilla.

When I enter the bookstore, I pull out the small flashlight in my pocket and click it on. Since I’m in the back, I look left, noticing nothing special but a few boxes. I lift a lid on one and see new books, and I’m already disappointed.

Shining the light in front of me, shelves of books come to view.

I pass romance, mystery, and thriller. I scour every aisle, checking every binding of every book to see if there’s anything out of place.

The floor creaks beneath my feet, and the air conditioning kicks on, blowing on the back of my neck.

I finally step behind the desk and look through every drawer. Notepads, bookmarks, stickers, paper clips.

No one is this clean. Someone is always hiding something questionable. The light shines under the cash register as I turn to check the other drawers, when something reflects. Placing the end of the flashlight in my mouth, I bend down to see a small binder shoved underneath.

“Bingo,” I whisper, lifting the register to drag it out.

It’s small. The size of an agenda with small silver rings, and when I open it, my brows raise.

Everything is in code with a number next to it.

Thousands of dollars.

“What are you up to?” I mumble and take pictures of a few pages.

When I’m satisfied, I tuck it under the register and notice something hidden in the back of one of the shelves. It’s an interesting setup he has here. The front desk is round, with a space for him to get through. In the circular desk are shelves and cabinets, unremarkable things.

But my hand wraps around something solid and cool to the touch.

What I see has my anger reaching new heights. I’ve never wanted to burn down a store and watch it crumble to ash so badly in my life. I want him to rebuild. I want to watch his dreams go up in smoke and struggle to figure out what to do next with his life.

It’s a picture of Camilla.

And by how it’s taken, I don’t think she knows about this picture.

She’s inside her bakery talking to a customer. Her hair is pulled back, and a big smile is on her face, but it isn’t real. Even I can see how well she’s pretending to be happy. Camilla is wearing a shirt that says O-Squared, stretching across her breasts.

I remember what it was like experiencing her body before her children. She’s even more beautiful now, and I ache to have that experience all over again.

But why does he have this picture? It looks like it was taken from afar.

I grip the frame with both hands so hard that the glass cracks.

He’ll not have a picture of her while she’s unaware.

He’ll not have a picture of her at all.

I tuck the frame in my jacket and give the store my back, leaving the way I came in. My blood is boiling. I’m not sure what I’d do if Taylor were in front of me right now. I know I don’t trust him, so he’ll have one of my men following him at all times.

One way or another, I’ll figure out what he wants and make sure Camilla won’t be near him.

I leave, shutting the door behind me, reset the alarm, then make my way down the steps. I step over the same puddle and head to my car but pause just outside her bakery. I pull out the picture and lift it into the air. The windows of the store align perfectly with the one in the picture.

Right in front of his bookshop, left of the front door, and right below her balcony, he stood right here and violated her privacy. What else has he done that I don’t know about?

With determined strides, I head back to my car and slam the door when I climb into the driver’s seat.

My phone rings again, and before I answer, I start the engine so Bluetooth can connect.

“What?” I bite.

The longer I stay out in front of her bakery, the more I want to set fire to his pretty books. He needs a sign—no—a warning to leave her alone.

And every second I sit in this driver’s seat, I ache to burst into her apartment. Maybe I won’t get to hold her, but every ounce of me wants to get to know her again.

What’s she like now?

Where has she been for five years?

Does she want more children?

What does she like to do?

I want to know everything, even the smallest, most insignificant detail. What does she prefer? Coffee or tea? Or maybe she likes to sleep on the right side of the bed.

I need to know these things about the woman who has taken over every corner of my mind since that night five years ago.

“You wanted me to update you.”

I rub my temples and slam the car into drive, the tires burning rubber against the pavement. The car fishtails, but I maintain control. I have to get away from Camilla.

“Is it taken care of?” I ask.

I hear a painful groan in the background. “No. They are in your office. I figured you might want to blow off some steam.”

A wicked grin spreads across my face.

My friend knows me too well.