The Mafia's Forbidden Bride
he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
I hiccupped, glaring at him through tears. “Then, leave me alone.”
“No,” he stretched out beside me, folding his arms behind his head like he owned the bed. “I’ll stay until you stop.”
And he stayed. Every night after, whenever the crying started, Matteo was there. Sometimes he told me stories he made up on the spot, about kings who hid treasure, or knights who never lost a fight. Other times, he just stayed quiet, his steady breathing enough to calm me.
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