Gemma: A Mafia Forbidden Romance

This secret between us is just that, a secret.

I’m not ready to deal with that train of thought just yet, instead I want to focus on her, be with her. She’s everything a man could want or need. I wonder how often she’s taken advantage of. Her reaction last night when I asked about her family, insinuated that they might hurt her was wild and angry. At dinner, she avoided talking about them. I wonder if they are truly as supportive as she makes them out to be. Do they love her? Do they support all her hopes and dreams?

I know from experience that women are seen as lower, beneath us. My own father doesn?

?t value his daughters. He thinks their college degrees are a waste of money. A woman’s duty is to get married and have children. Gemma doesn’t seem fit for a life chasing toddlers and cooking dinner.

She looks like she wants more.

She looks like she’s worth more.

I want her to have more.

Then again, I didn’t ask her what she wants from life. She mentioned she has a degree in Art History and she was in Boston for an art show, but she doesn’t look like an artist to me. She’s working in her father’s law firm, but I don’t see her being a lawyer or an assistant either.

So what does Gemma DelGado want with life?

My mind wanders to the cuts on her thighs, does she want out of this life. Is that it?

God, I hope not. I hope she’s not there, not yet, not ever. The thought of her six feet under brings a strong ache to my chest.

“Hey,” her voice is light and soft when she wakes and her big brown eyes look to me. “What time is it?

Just days ago I was thinking about death, and now as I look over at a barely awake raven haired beauty, death is the last thing on my mind. I want to live.

“Nine.”

She runs a hand through her messy hair. “Ugh,” she groans. “My father is going to freak.” She presses herself up into a sitting position, letting the white sheet fall and expose her perfect tits.

“You still live at home?” I taunt.

She shoots me a pointed look over her bare shoulder. “Yes, Liam.” She says my name with the same sass that drips from her every word.

“Hmm. How old are you?” I tease.

She nudges my shoulder in a playful way.

“Twenty-four. Don’t be a jerk.”

“Never, Princess. I’d never be a jerk to you.” I give her a smug look.

“Liam,” she whispers, moving closer to me, bringing her face to mine. “When we leave here… are we going to see each other again?”

I think over her question. It’s not that I don’t want to see her again, I do. Ditching both our families to keep up this charade is going to be tough though. And if we do keep this going, where does it lead? Where does it end?

“We have no future.” I tell her.

“I know.” she returns. “This love is doomed.” She smiles, it's sweet and sinful. “But I’m not ready to give it up.”

Neither am I.

THERE ARE THREE CARS IN the driveway.

A black Porsche belonging to Gio.

A black BMW belonging to Gian.

And a black Escalade, my father’s.