Forced into a marriage neither of them wanted, a fierce Greek mafia princess and a ruthless Sicilian underboss must navigate a storm of power, passion, and betrayal-only to discover that their greatest battle might be against their own hearts.
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T...
It's been a while since I did a question of the day, so here's the last one:
What's one word you'd use to describe this book? 🤍
Enjoy! This is a very long one 🤭
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"Costa, stop." I snapped, eyeing his stupid leg that he kept bouncing.
"I can't help it. I'm nervous."
"How do you think I feel?" He chose to ignore my very, very, valid question.
"Fuck." He muttered, running a hand over his face. "I can't do this, Millie."
"Oh. Shall we just go home then? Maybe we'll make it back in time for dinner?" I spat drily, watching my husband unravel before my eyes.
Seriously. He's acting like I can just tell my Mini Milk to get comfortable again because we're going home.
"I'm being serious. I-...I need more time." This time I resisted the urge to give him another sarcastic remark. But only because I already anticipated he'd be feeling this way during my labour. All our recent conversations leading up to the birth hinted that he wasn't going to take it well.
So instead, I softened my voice, reaching out for his hand.
"I know you're scared. I am too, baby. But you're going to be the best father. As soon as you meet Mini Milk, all these nerves will go away." I smiled, squeezing his hand from my place in my bed.
Did I ever think I'd be his fucking therapist while I'm four hours into labour? No. But here we are.
"You're so good with your baby cousin and your niece. When it's your own baby, you'll be even better."
"You don't know that." He shook his head, staring at our joined hands. "I might fuck it up. My father did."
"You're not your father." It was the same line I'd been repeating to him for months whenever he had one of these wobbles. He believed he'd turn out just like his father.
But I knew Costa. I knew he wouldn't.
"Millie-"
"Wait." I cut him off when another contraction started. For the next minute Costa helped me through the contraction, suddenly switching places with me.
Now he's my therapist.
As the contraction faded, I relaxed back into the bed, catching my breath. Costa was still gripping my hand, his knuckles white from how hard I was holding it.
