20. Gia

20

GIA

I wake to Max shifting beside me, his warmth starting to slip away in the predawn darkness. My heart aches, knowing these moments are numbered. The sheets rustle as he moves to leave.

"You don't have to go yet," I whisper, reaching for his hand. He stills, and I can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he's caught between staying and leaving.

His fingers thread through mine. "I need to check in at the office. There's work that can't wait."

The excuse sounds hollow. We both know what this is, the beginning of our goodbye. Still, I hold onto his hand, memorizing the feel of it in mine.

“Will you be back for Thanksgiving dinner?”

"The kids would never forgive me if I missed it,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

The mention of the kids, our kids, though he doesn't know it, sends a fresh wave of pain through my chest. I release his hand, letting him slip away. The mattress rises as he stands, and I hear the soft sounds of him gathering his clothes.

I keep my eyes closed, pretending to drift back to sleep. It's easier than watching him walk away. The door clicks shut behind him, and I'm left alone again.

I nestle deeper into the warm indent Max left behind, pulling his pillow close. His scent lingers, spicy cologne mixed with something uniquely him. The ache in my chest deepens, but I push it aside. I can't dwell on what can't be.

The first hints of dawn peek through the curtains, reminding me there's work to be done. Maria will be here soon to help with Thanksgiving preparations. The menu runs through my head—turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes.

I stretch and sit up, my mind shifting to the day ahead. The turkey needs to come out of the fridge to reach room temperature. Vegetables need chopping. The kids will want to help, making everything take twice as long but bringing twice the joy.

Focus on the holiday , I tell myself. The kids deserve a proper Thanksgiving, even if we're away from home. Even if it might be our last day in Max's house. Even if my heart is breaking.

I shower and dress, then pad down to the kitchen, my mind drifting to past Thanksgivings with Nic. For years, it was just the two of us after our father drove everyone else away. We'd order takeout and watch old movies, creating our own traditions when the regular ones felt too painful.

This year should have been different. Nic has his own family now. Bella brought light back into his life, and their triplets make him smile in ways I haven't seen since we were kids. I'd been looking forward to watching him play proud papa, to helping Bella wrangle three squirming babies while trying to eat turkey.

Instead, I'm here in Vegas, and they're back in New York. The distance feels heavier today. I pull out my phone, checking the time. Too early to call. Nic will be busy with the babies' morning routine. Bella's probably already knee-deep in cooking, determined to prove herself as the perfect Mafia wife and mother.

"Mommy! Where's Max?" Daniella bursts into the kitchen with Dario on her heels, both still in their pajamas with bed-mussed hair.

I pause in pulling ingredients from the fridge. "He had to go to work early, sweetheart."

"But he always makes breakfast with us." Dario's lower lip trembles. "He promised chocolate chip pancakes for Thanksgiving."

My heart clenches. The kids have grown so attached to their morning routine with Max. I force a smile. "We can still make pancakes. I know his secret recipe."

"It's not the same." Daniella crosses her arms. "He does the funny faces with the chocolate chips."

I glance around the kitchen, half-expecting Max to appear and save me from their disappointment. But no luck. No coffee brewing, no pancake batter being mixed, no deep laugh echoing off the walls.

This isn't like him. Even on mornings when he has early meetings, he at least stops by to say goodbye to the kids. But he’s pulling away. I felt it this morning. I just wish he’d given the kids one last moment.

"Can we call him?" Dario asks, climbing onto a barstool.

"He plans to be back for Thanksgiving dinner. Let's give him some time to work," I say, wondering if he’ll be distant tonight. Max's absence right now feels deliberate, like he's already started the process of letting us go. I try to dismiss that idea. I know he’s feeling pressure from Nic to find Benny.

His words about our leaving come back to me. “If I do, or I don’t, either way, you’ll be going back to New York.”

We could leave as early as tomorrow. I need to get us ready.

Once the kids are fed and playing and the turkey is stuffed and in the oven, I head back to our rooms. The kids have accumulated so many new things during our stay, toys from the playroom Max insisted on filling, books he bought them. I need to sort through it all, figuring out what to take and what to leave behind.

In such a short time, everything here feels settled. Our routine. The kids' artwork hanging on the wall, the extra special ones going on the fridge. Meals. Movies. Quiet nights in his arms.

I sink onto the bed feeling sorry for myself. I told myself not to fall for him, not to dream of a life with him. Like a dummy, I failed.

The sound of the kids laughing drifts to me. They’re not in their playroom. Has Max come home? I push myself up from the bed, leaving the packing dilemma for later.

I hurry to the kitchen, expecting to find the children and Max whipping something up even though they’ve already eaten.

My heart drops as I see Daniella and Dario intently watching Maria with the pies.

"Can we do the whipped cream?” Dario asks Maria.

“When it’s time. It’s too early now,” she says.

“Maria, thank you so much for coming in, but it's Thanksgiving. You should be with your family,” I say as I join them in the kitchen.

She waves off my concern. "My boys are away. Besides, these little ones are like family too." She ruffles Dario's hair as she passes.

"At least let me pay you extra for today."

"Nonsense. My mother always said a quiet kitchen is a lonely kitchen. And look at these precious helpers. We'll have more fun cooking together than I would alone at home."

The kids beam at her words, and I feel a rush of gratitude for this woman who's made our stay here feel more like home.

"Now." Maria claps her hands together. "Who's going to help me wash and peel potatoes?”

“Me!” the kids chime, their hands shooting up.

I force myself to relish this time, to be Thankful for all I have. That doesn’t stop me from checking my phone as the day progresses to see if there is a message from Max. Each time I look, there’s nothing.

The clock edges toward two, and still no word from Max.

"When's Uncle Max coming?" Daniella tugs at my sleeve for the third time. "You said he'd be here for dinner."

"He'll be here soon, baby." But I wonder if he’s ditching us. Coward . I shake my head. No. He has important business. His job is to keep us safe. That is more important to him than a meal.

Maria catches my eye from where she's basting the turkey. She's been watching me pace between the kitchen and living room windows all morning.

"The turkey needs to rest," she says. "Why don't you let the children play outside while we wait?”

"Alright," I say. "But jackets first. It's chilly out there."

They race to their rooms for their coats, thundering back moments later. I watch from the back door as they sprint toward the new playground, their excited shrieks carrying across the yard. Two of Max's security men discreetly adjust their positions to keep the kids in view. I wonder if Max feels the playground is a waste since the kids won’t have much time to enjoy it.

With the kids occupied, I return to the kitchen, setting the table using the kids’ place holders. I set Max’s at the head of the table, wondering if he’s going to make it.

My phone finally buzzes and my heart leaps. “Hey. Dinner is about ready.”

"I can't make it." His voice sounds strained, tired. "We might have a lead on Benny."

I grip the phone tighter, fighting back the sting in my eyes. "The kids have been asking for you all day."

"I know, I'm sorry. Tell them I'll make it up to them."

"Will you?" The words slip out harsh before I can stop them. "Or are you just avoiding us now?"

There's a long pause on the other end. I hear muffled voices in the background, the sound of a door closing.

"Gia." His voice softens. "I'm not avoiding you. This is about keeping you safe. Nic trusted me with your protection, and if Benny is behind the stalking, I need to handle it."

"Right. Your duty to Nic." I swallow hard. "Always your duty."

“This is about your safety, Gia. Yours and the kids’.” I can hear the irritation in his voice. “If anything happened to you or the kids because I wasn't focused on finding Benny?—”

"I understand," I cut him off, not wanting to hear more about his obligations. "The kids are outside. I should check on them."

"Gia—”

“I’ll save you a plate.” I end the call before he can say more, before he can break my heart even more.

Max's words about duty and obligation ring in my ears. Of course he'd choose work over us. That's who he is, who he's always been. The responsible soldier, putting the family's needs above his own desires.

Above me. Above the kids.

Through the window, I watch Daniella and Dario on the swings, their laughter carrying across the yard. They look so happy here, so at home. But this isn't our home. It never was. It never will be.

Maria's humming drifts from the kitchen, along with the rich smell of turkey. The table I set feels like a mockery now, four places that will only seat three. But the kids deserve their holiday dinner, even if Max won't be here to share it.

“I think dinner is ready to be served. Will Mr. Giraldi be back soon?”

I shake my head. “Duty calls.”

She nods in understanding, although I see disappointment for me and the kids on her face.

“Will you join us?” I ask her.

Her brows lift in surprise. “I… uh…”

“Please join us. It’s Thanksgiving. We have enough. Hell, we have enough for everyone. We should invite them to join us too.”

She seems hesitant. Perhaps my eagerness is what tips her over the hurdle. “I’d enjoy that.”

“I’ll get the kids. Perhaps Marcus can carve the turkey for us.” I step outside, plastering on my brightest smile. "Who's ready for turkey?"

I gather the kids from outside, their cheeks pink from the cool air.

Maria has called Marcus inside. He waits like a soldier at the ready for my orders. “Will you join us?”

He glances at Maria as if he’s not sure how to respond. “I’m on duty?—”

“You have to eat. You can do us a service by carving the turkey. We have plenty of food. Enough for all of you.”

“We can’t leave our posts?—”

“Perhaps your men can join us in shifts,” Maria offers. I’m so pleased she’s getting in the spirit, letting me do this for the people who’ve been so good to me and the kids while we’ve been here.

“I suppose that will be okay.”

Maria sets an extra place for herself and the guards. "Such a shame Mr. Giraldi couldn't make it. He was so excited about today, wanting it to be special for you all. I don’t know that he’s ever had Thanksgiving here."

“Is Uncle Max back yet?” Daniella asks as she returns from washing her hands.

"He's working, sweetheart."

“Aww… He’s not coming?” Dario’s expression falters as he sits next to Daniella at the table.

“Sometimes, his job takes him away. But look at this amazing food we have. And Maria and Marcus and others will join us.”

“They don’t have name tags,” Daniella says.

“I can fix that.” Dario jumps up from his seat and rushes out of the room. I can’t imagine what he’s doing. He returns with a crayon. “We can put their names on the tags.”

I smile at him. “Good idea.”

"The turkey looks amazing," Marcus says as he picks up the knife to carve the turkey.

Daniella bounces in her chair. "I helped make the cranberry sauce! And the rolls!"

"They're the best rolls I've ever tasted." Maria winks at her, and Daniella beams with pride.

The conversation flows easier after that. Marcus tells stories about his grandmother's infamous burnt turkeys, making the kids giggle. Maria shares tales of her sons' childhood Thanksgivings. When Marcus leaves us, another guard arrives, Joey, who tells jokes that have everyone laughing.

My children's faces light up as they pass dishes around the table, their earlier disappointment fading in the warmth of our makeshift family dinner. It's not what I imagined for today, but there's joy here, nonetheless.

By the time each staff person has had a chance to join us, we’ve been at the table for hours, but it didn’t feel like that. Max has good people working for him. Good people who understood how important this meal was to my kids and did their best to give them a wonderful day.

The kids help clear the table. Maria insists on handling the dishes despite my protests, shooing us toward the living room.

"Can we watch a Christmas movie?" Daniella asks.

"That's a perfect idea.” I invite the others to join us, but they all decline. So it’s just the kids and me in the theater room. Dario curls up next to me while Daniella debates between The Polar Express and The Grinch Who Stole Christmas .

They decide on The Polar Express as Dario has a newfound obsession with trains. The familiar opening scenes fill the screen, and I pull my children closer. This isn't how we usually start the holiday season. Back home, we’d be in our place with Nic joining us. Or this year, we’d have been at his place, our family now bigger with Bella and the triplets. But there's something intimate and precious about this moment, just me and my babies snuggled together.

Daniella recites her favorite lines along with the movie while Dario fights sleep, his head growing heavier against my shoulder. Soon, Daniella joins him in sleep. I gently nudge them awake and guide them to their room.

I help them get their jammies on and teeth brushed. Then I tuck them into bed.

Dario's face pinches with worry. "Is Max mad at us? Is that why he didn't come home?"

My heart clenches. "No, baby. Max isn't mad at all. He just had important work to do."

“Why is he making us go?” Daniella’s lower lip trembles. "Because he doesn't want us here anymore?"

Anger flares in my chest. Not at my sweet boy, but at Max. How dare he make my children doubt themselves, doubt their place in his life? After all the breakfasts together, the playground building, the movie nights, to just disappear on Thanksgiving without even stopping by to see them.

"Listen to me." I sit on the edge of Dario's bed, smoothing his dark hair. "Max cares about us very much. Sometimes, grown-ups have complicated jobs that take them away when they don't want to be gone."

"Will we see him before we go home?" Daniella asks from under her covers.

"Of course you will." If I have to drag him kicking and screaming, he’ll give my children a proper goodbye. "Now, both of you need sleep. It's been a long day."

I kiss their foreheads and whisper, "I love you," to each one, then leave them to sleep.

Their concerns about Max twist like a knife in my chest. They're too young to understand the complexities of adult relationships, too innocent to know why a man might pull away just when things start feeling real.

My children shouldn't have to question whether they're wanted. They shouldn't have to wonder if they've done something wrong. That's not the kind of uncertainty I want in their lives. They've had enough of that already.

I wander back to my room. Checking my phone again, I see it's past ten. Still no word from Max since he bailed on Thanksgiving. I text him, although I don’t expect any response. After a few moments with no notifications, I toss my phone aside.

Opening my closet, I start pulling out clothes, folding them in preparation for packing. It isn’t long before fatigue wears at me. As midnight approaches, I admit defeat. Whatever lead Max is following on Benny, whatever duty keeps him away, it's clear he won't be coming home tonight. I climb into bed, my body heavy with disappointment and exhaustion.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying moments with Max like a bittersweet highlight reel. The way he showed up at breakfast each morning, how his eyes lit up when the kids ran to greet him. Those stolen kisses, passionate nights wrapped in his arms.

This little detour from regular life is over. Reality is waiting back in New York. My job, the kids' school, our real life. This Vegas interlude was just that, a temporary escape where I foolishly let myself believe that Max might want more.

But Max made his choice today. Duty and obligation will always come first for him. I knew that going in. I've known it since I was eighteen and dreaming of a different life.

I can’t complain, really. Back home, I have a good life. I’ve got a good position in the legitimate side of Nic’s business. I'm raising two amazing children. I don't need a man at all. To be honest, men have only been sources of pain in my life. Sure, I see what Bella has with Nic and would like that, a man who looks at me like I’m the center of his world. But Max isn’t that man.

Tomorrow, I'll start preparing the kids for our return to New York. They'll be sad at first, but children are resilient. We’ll return to our old routine. I’ll invite their friends over so they can get back into what life for a child should be like.

My eyes grow heavy as acceptance settles over me. This was never meant to last. Time to wake up from this dream and face reality.