Forbidden Temptation My Mafia Fiance's Alpha Father

Chapter 78

Chapter 78

Brooklyn

Instead, I move to the opposite side of the room, to where the photo albums are.

Some of them are very old-a hundred years or more, even.

The academic in me wants to explore those early photographs, but instead I reach for the newer bindings farther down, hoping for some information about Hudson and his upbringing.

I take a few volumes over to the little chair, flipping through.

I smile, recognizing Hudson's face in a few of the first photos, but then frown when I realize that they're too old-grainy old photos, with fashion from the 1980s...

I blink, shocked, realizing that these must be pictures of Aden when he was a child.

Fascinated, I flip through, looking at the people who must have been his mother and father, his family. His original pack.

I quickly flip to the front of the book where I find a picture of a beautiful, dark-haired woman, who is happily caressing her pregnant belly.

This, I'm sure, must be Aden's mother. I study her face for a resemblance to her but frown when I can't find it.

Aden's looks, like Hudson's, must likewise come from his father.

Hoping for pictures of Hudson as a child, I put this album down and pick up the next one. I'm shocked, when I flip it open, to see that it's actually Aden's wedding album.

Slowly, I flip through the photos and take in all the details of their beautiful Italian wedding.

It looks terribly romantic, situated at a beautiful vineyard, the couple's private table set up under a wide- branching olive tree.

There is a photograph, right at the beginning, of the beautiful bride, her stunning face quite serious as she looks directly into the camera.

I had chosen for my own

passingly, if it was an intentional choice, remembering that none of

face again, her hair tightly pulled back so as not to distract from her severe expression as she raises her chin and looks proudly at

her, curious about this noble-and am I imagining it? A

by a single word that makes

"Brooklyn."

standing at the door, his feet set wide apart, hands in his pockets as he frowns at me. "I told you not to

photo album languidly, holding

wouldn't take me to the stable. I got bored." I shrug. "You can't expect

me, and a little smile tugs at my lips as I hear a rumble growing in his

do love to

closed after he utters my name, apparently needing a

little smile grow. "You're not

pout, seeing

say, turning my attention back to the wedding album. "For instance," I say, my voice light,

QUMS

photo album out of my hand, glaring at

he stares at the album. "I haven't looked at this in years..." he says quietly, surprised into a moment

reverence.

to have a moment to study his tall,

most men his age. He carries a lot, I

come down here to yell at me for looking through photo albums? What harm, really, was I

to balance out all of the worry, the constant need for control, that consumes his

for control that,

flick back to the photo album, wondering if there is

"Did you love her?"

when I hear myself ask it. Again, my mouth has run away with me-speaking my thoughts

raises his eyes suddenly, that glare focused on

the album back onto the shelf as if it doesn't matter to