The Mafia Man Wants My Heart

r so I thought. The moment I looked up, my stomach did a ridiculous flip. Marco was still there. He leaned casually against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching me wit

ough with it-but through your bookstore." My chest warmed at the thought. "That's really generous of you," I said softly. Marco shrugged. "I like to keep certain things personal. This is one of them." I studied him for a moment. There was something in his tone-something unguarded. He wasn't just doing this for show. "I can put together a selection for you," I offered. "Good. Bring them to my house tomorrow, and we'll go through everything there." I blinked. "Your house?" He smirked. "Yes. It'll be easier to sort through them in person." My mind raced, but I nodded. "Alright. Just send me the address." The waitress returned with our drinks, and I wrapped my hands around my cup, letting the chill ground me. Marco took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on me over the rim of his cup. The way his jaw flexed as he drank was distracting, and I had to force myself to look away. "Tomorrow, then," he murmured, setting his cup down. "Tomorrow," I echoed. MARCO VALENTINO She didn't press me for details about why I wanted to keep the orphanage deal personal, and I appreciated that. Most people would have asked a dozen questions, pried into things that weren't their business. But Mia? She simply nodded, as if understanding that some things were better left unsaid. It made me look at her differently. I leaned back in my chair, letting my gaze linger on her. She was beautiful-striking in a way that wasn't just about her looks. It was in the way she carried herself, with a quiet confidence and an unshakable sense of purpose. The soft café lighting played with the waves of her blonde hair, the golden strands catching the light each time she shifted. Her fair skin had a warmth to it, a natural glow that only added to the effortless elegance she carried. Her eyes-deep, expressive-held a curiosity that made me wonder just how much she had already figured out about me. She was watching me closely, as if she could piece together the puzzle of who I was just by observing. Her lips pursed slightly as she traced the rim of her cup, lost in thought. I found myself fo