Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
The heat rose to my cheeks for a second.
But this wasn’t the first time he’d made that kind of request.
I could feel his gaze on my ass the whole time I walked away to the bathroom, then when I emerged to find him sitting on the chair in the living room.
I made my way right to him, climbing up on his lap, resting my head on his chest. My favorite place in the whole world.
I wanted to wait until dinner.
Really, I did.
But something about this moment, with his heartbeat under my ear, and his fingers drifting casually over every inch of skin, felt even more right.
“I have to tell you something,” I started.
“If you already spent that five grand on books, you know where to find more,” he said, making a smile tug at my lips.
“We’re going to need to increase that book budget soon,” I said, pulling back to look at his face.
“Yeah?” he asked, something in my voice having his brows draw together.
“Yeah,” I said, reaching for his hand, and pressing it onto my belly. “Because I plan for this baby to be a reader too.”
I watched as the curiosity morphed to understanding. And then, better yet, wonder.
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yeah,” I said, smile spreading wide.
“Fuck, Lore,” he said, grabbing the back of my neck, and pulling me in for a long, hard kiss.
“You’re happy?” I asked. “I know we weren’t planning on this yet…”
“Can’t think of anything I want more,” he said, pressing his forehead to mine. “Think maybe I need to get someone in here to start building a library now.”
“That might be for the best,” I agreed, making him let out a little laugh.
“When?” he asked.
“Around Christmas. Before.”
It seemed like a present to us both from the universe.
“You’re gonna be a fucking amazing mom, mouse.”
“You’re going to be a great dad,” I told him, knowing he sometimes doubted that, given his own horrible upbringing.
But he’d shown time and time again his ability to be fatherly.
Especially with guys like Cage and Coal, who he’d taken from unruly kids to mature men.
And if he ever doubted his ability to do sweet and soft, he needn’t look any further than how he treated me.
“Fucking love you, Lore,” he said.
It didn’t matter that he’d been saying it since just a week or two after the whole kidnapping thing years back. Each time, it still made my heart feel too big for my chest.
“I love you more.”
“Not possible.”
Maybe that was true.
I might have loved first.
But Renzo loved hard.
It was everything I had ever dreamed of.
And more.
And now we got to take all that overflowing love of ours and pour it into a baby.
Then another.
And another.
I wanted about half a dozen little Renzo Lombardis.
This was just the beginning…
Renzo - 15 years
“What’s going on?” I asked, walking into the apartment to find Lore standing there, jiggling our youngest, at three, on her hip. As our oldest, eleven, sat on the couch, shoulders hunched, eyes defiant, face busted the fuck up.
That apple, yeah, it didn’t fall far from the tree, I had to admit.
He looked like me. Same face, same hair. But he had his mother’s eyes.
Though, right now, one of those eyes was filled with blood—a subconjunctival hemorrhage. I’d gotten dozens of them over the years. And I knew what they came from.
Taking a fist to the eye.
Along with that, he had a busted lip, and a nasty bruise sneaking up his cheek.
“What’s this?” I asked, walking over to grab his chin, angling his head up to get a better look, checking for any worse damage.
The hardheaded little shit stared up at me, not an ounce of fear or regret.
I didn’t want my kids afraid of me.
But he was still being ballsy as fuck.
“What’d we say about fighting in this family?” I asked.
“That we don’t start ‘em. We finish ‘em.”
Well, I mean, that was what I’d told him, much to his mother’s chagrin.
“Who’d you fight with?”
“Elliott Miller,” he said, biting off the name like he wanted another piece of him still.
“Okay,” I said, nodding. “I’ll bite. What’d Elliott do?”
To that, his head whipped to the side, refusing to give me eye contact.
“Don’t think this counts as snitching,” I reminded him.
He might be only eleven, but the kid had big ambitions already. Namely, running this family one day. And as much as some part of me wanted him to go to college, get a normal, boring-ass job, and have a normal, boring-ass life, I knew that the chances were slim that he wouldn’t follow in my footsteps.
My son’s gaze cut back, cold anger still in them, despite clearly having gone a couple rounds with this Miller kid.
“He was pushing a girl around,” he said, jerking his chin up, daring me to scold him for doing… exactly what I’d raised him to do.
“She okay?” I asked.
“Skinned her knees,” he said, eyes narrowing at the idea.