Chapter 24 Alessio
ALESSIO
The strip club can run itself tonight. That’s what I pay Starla for.
Instead, I’m at the casino bar. Third scotch down, and I’m staring at the wood grain like it holds the secrets of the universe.
Around me, Vegas does its thing. Winners, losers, cocktail waitresses dodging grabby hands. Slot machines screaming for attention. None of it matters. None of it even registers beyond background noise.
My head’s too full of other shit to care about any of it.
My brain’s too busy running the same loop it’s been stuck on for the past hour: You have a son. You have a fucking son.
“What’s eating you?”
Dario slides onto the stool beside me like he owns the place. Which, technically, he does.
I drain what’s left of my scotch. “Nothing’s eating me. I’m peachy.”
“Bullshit.” He signals the bartender with two fingers. “You’ve been sitting here for an hour looking like someone shot your dog.”
“You keeping tabs on me now?”
“Hard not to notice when my cousin’s brooding like a teenager at my bar.” He accepts his drink without looking away from my face. “What’s going on?”
The words sit heavy on my tongue. Once I say them out loud, they become real. No take-backs. No pretending I dreamed the whole thing.
“I have a son.”
Dario’s glass stops halfway to his mouth. “Come again?”
“A kid. Mine.” I signal for another scotch because three wasn’t nearly enough for this conversation. “Just got the DNA results today.”
“Jesus.” He sets his drink down carefully, like sudden movements might spook me. “One of your recent conquests?”
A laugh escapes, “Try six years ago. One-night stand. She works at my club now.”
“And you’re sure he’s yours?”
“You should see him, D. Kid’s basically my clone. But yeah, I ran the test.” The bartender slides another scotch my way, and I lift it in a mock toast. “Congratulations are in order, right? I’m a daddy.”
It occurs to me that I might be a little drunk. Or a lot.
Dario fixes me with that look he gets when he’s trying to solve a problem. “I’m not sure. This… doesn’t seem like much of a celebration.”
“That’s the thing.” I set the glass down harder than necessary. “The kid part? That’s actually... I’m excited about that. I can’t wait to get to know him.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“His mother.”
“Ah.” Dario shifts to face me fully. “Complicated?”
“You could say that.” I push the scotch away before I do something stupid like drunk-dial Nina and demand answers. “Remember when you and Paige first met? That whole mess?”
“Ah, yeah, when I was ready to put a bullet in her for stealing from me.” His grin is all teeth. “Before I knew she had my kids cooking in the oven.”
The irony hits me, and I laugh. “We’re a real pair,” I tell him. “Both knocked up strangers the first night we met them.”
“Maybe it’s fate.”
I punch his shoulder, but there’s no real force behind it. “Since when do you believe in that shit?”
“Since I became a family man.” He takes a measured sip of his drink. “Changes your perspective.”
“I mean, having a kid is actually pretty damn exciting. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the idea until I got the results today. Never thought I’d have kids because I never thought I’d want to settle down with a woman.”
Dario’s quiet for a moment, studying my face. “This about that shit with your dad?”
He’s one of the few people who knows the whole story. He had a front-row seat to the fallout, watched seven-year-old me try to understand why my father walked out. We’ve always been close as brothers, despite him being a few years younger.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I stare into my glass. “I mean, I like Nina.”
Like. What a pathetic word for what she does to me.
The truth is, she’s already under my skin. In my blood. Messing with my head in ways that terrify me.
“We’ve been fucking around. Keeping it casual.”
“Casual.” Dario’s eyebrow arches. “You seeing anyone else?”
“No.”
“Is she?”
Red floods my vision at the thought. “Absolutely fucking not.”
“Sounds real casual to me.” His tone drips sarcasm. “Face it. You’re already in a relationship. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
I want to argue, but the bastard has a point. We’ve been together every day since this started. She’s all I think about. The way she gets my dark humor. How she looks at me like she sees past all the bullshit to something worth wanting.
But she also lied to my face about Austin. Told me he was her ex's kid when she knew damn well he was mine. Six years I didn't know my son existed because she made that choice for me.
Part of me gets it. She was protecting herself and the kid from some stranger who coerced her into sex that first night. But it still stings. Makes me wonder if I can really trust her not to keep secrets when things get hard.
And that’s not even touching the bigger issue.
“She’s not part of this world,” I say quietly. “What happens when she realizes what being with me really means?”
“You mean like Paige did?” Dario shrugs. “She hated us at first. Now look at us.” He drains his glass. “But honestly, you don’t have to be with the woman to be a dad to the kid.”
“Yeah, but...” I stare into my glass. “That’s the problem. I might want to be with her.”
“Then get over your dad leaving.” His voice turns blunt. “Your father was a pussy who let himself feel inferior because he knew he could never measure up to the men in your mother’s life. That doesn’t mean every woman will bail when things get tough.”
That actually does make sense now that I think about it. Nina’s not some weak-willed woman who’d crumble at the first sign of trouble. She’s been handling shit on her own for years.
Maybe I’ve been so busy protecting myself from getting hurt that I never stopped to think about what I might be missing. A real relationship. A real family.
For the first time, I let myself actually picture it. Coming home to Nina and my son every night. Being the kind of father mine never was. Building something real instead of just fucking around with whatever woman catches my eye.
I should be running from the thought. Instead, it brings this weird sense of relief.
Before I can say anything, though, movement at the casino entrance catches my eye. Five men stroll in like they own the place.
Suits and leather. Bratva and MC.
They know damn well they’re not welcome here.
“Shit,” Dario mutters, already signaling security. We both slide off our stools, moving toward the trouble.
One biker knocks a tray from a waitress’s hands. Glass shatters. The sound echoes through the suddenly quiet casino like a starting gun.
“Hey sweetness,” another biker calls to a different waitress. “How about some beers for me and my friends?”
The Bratva asshole makes eye contact with me across the room. His grin says everything: We’re here to fuck with you. What are you going to do about it?
Security moves in, but these aren’t tourists who got too rowdy. These are killers looking for blood.
The fight explodes like someone lit a match in a room full of gasoline.
I take the nearest Bratva soldier, my fists connecting with his jaw in a satisfying crunch. He’s good, trained, but I’m angry and just drunk enough to be reckless.
His fist catches my ribs—tomorrow’s going to hurt—but I get him on the ground and introduce his ribs to my boot until something cracks.
Chaos erupts around us as security tangles with bikers while Dario destroys the other Russian with methodical precision.
I haul my guy to his feet and shove him toward security. “Get him the fuck out.”
The knife comes from nowhere.
One second I’m turning around, the next there’s a biker two feet away with steel glinting in his hand.
Too close to dodge.
Too fast to block.
So this is how I die. In our own casino, probably bleeding out on some tacky carpet—
Matteo materializes like an avenging angel, snapping the biker’s arm with a wet crack that makes everyone in a ten-foot radius flinch. The knife clatters across the floor.
My heart pounds against my ribs. Not from the fight, but from what almost happened. What it would have meant.
I have a son who’d grow up without knowing his father. Nina would—
Christ. Nina.
“I need to go.” The words come out rough. “Dario, drive me to my woman’s place.”
His grin is all knowing satisfaction. “Finally pulled your head out of your ass?”
“Something like that.”
As we head for the exit, I can’t shake the image of that knife. Four inches of steel that almost robbed me of the chance to get to know my son.
I’m done running from this. From them. From whatever Nina makes me feel.
My father was a coward who ran when things got hard.
I’m not my father.