Chapter 31 Nina
NINA
“I can’t believe that’s where you’re living,” Keshia says as she takes a bite of her Caesar salad.
I gave her the full tour of the penthouse when she picked me up for lunch, and she spent most of it staring slack-jawed at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Can’t say I blame her. The view still takes my breath away.
“I know. It’s been almost a week, and I still feel like I’m house-sitting for someone who’s going to come back any minute and ask what the hell I’m doing there.”
Austin is home with Alessio right now. It’s their first time alone together, and my stomach has been in knots since I left.
Not because I don’t trust him, but because parenting is full of curveballs that experience teaches you to handle.
What if Austin falls and splits his lip?
What if he has one of his rare meltdowns?
What if he looks Alessio dead in the eye and asks if he’s his father?
The similarities between them are getting harder to ignore. Same way of scrunching their nose when they’re thinking hard, same habit of crossing their arms when they’re being stubborn. If I can see it, who’s to say my observant six-year-old won’t notice eventually?
At least I prepped Alessio for any heart episodes. I walked him through every symptom, gave him the cardiologist’s number, and made him promise to call me the second anything seemed off.
My phone buzzes against the table. I snatch it up, expecting Alessio.
It’s not. Unknown number. I open the message anyway.
This is Richie. We need to talk.
The blood drains from my face so fast I feel dizzy. Richie is Eric’s brother. The same charming specimen who got himself banned from three restaurants in one year for groping waitresses. I haven’t seen him since before my divorce, and that’s exactly how I like it.
I almost type back something sharp about having nothing to say to him, but I catch myself. Engaging with him at all feels like opening the door to a pushy salesman. Give them an inch, and they’ll take over your whole afternoon.
I block his number and shove my phone back in my purse. I assume he’s reaching out because they found Eric’s body, but that doesn’t mean I owe him anything. Not explanations, not shared grief, not my time.
Yet a chill runs down my spine at the thought of Eric’s family becoming a problem now that his body’s been found.
Richie was always unhinged, even when Eric was alive to keep him in check. I shove the thought away. I have Austin and Alessio to think about.
The past needs to stay buried.
Still, guilt gnaws at my chest like a persistent ache.
“What’s wrong?” Keshia’s fork hovers halfway to her mouth. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Close. That text was from Eric’s brother.”
“The one who got thrown out of that steakhouse for grabbing a teenager’s ass?”
“That’s the one. Real class act.”
“What does he want?”
“To talk, apparently. Probably about Eric’s body being found. But if he’s looking for someone to reminisce about what a wonderful person his brother was, he’s got the wrong number.”
Keshia sets down her fork. “How are you handling all of this? I mean, I know he was a bastard, but it’s still got to be weird finding out your ex-husband is dead.”
“I’m fine. I buried that part of my life a long time ago.” I push a cherry tomato around my plate. “I never expected to see him again, anyway.”
“That’s healthy.”
Healthy. Right. Nothing about the complicated knot of relief, guilt, and anger I feel when I think about Eric qualifies as healthy. But some truths aren’t meant for restaurant conversations.
“Subject change,” I say. “How are things with Shawn?”
She groans. “Crashed and burned. He was fun while it lasted, but I’m already back on the apps. What about you? How’s domestic life treating you? You know, with the guy you swore you were keeping things casual with?”
A smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “It’s good.
Really good. And not just because of the apartment, though that doesn’t hurt.
I’m seeing sides of him I never expected.
He’s more thoughtful than I gave him credit for.
He stocks my favorite coffee, lets me control the TV remote, even said I could redecorate if I wanted. ”
“And have you?”
“I added blue throw pillows to the couch.”
She laughs. “Wow. Really going wild there.”
“Baby steps. I’m still figuring this whole thing out. Austin deserves the stability, but I keep worrying about getting too comfortable. What if it doesn’t last? I’d hate to lose...the apartment.”
Keshia raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. The apartment. Not the six-foot-something guy who makes you smile like an idiot.”
I throw a crouton at her. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying. When’s the last time you looked this happy?”
She’s not wrong. I spent so many years in survival mode that I forgot how to hope for anything permanent. For the first time in years, I wake up feeling rested instead of calculating how many hours until the next crisis.
“Okay, but seriously,” Keshia says, leaning forward with a grin. “How is he in bed?”
“Keshia!” I glance around to make sure no one at the neighboring tables is listening.
“What? You work at a strip club. You can’t be that uptight about talking about sex in public.”
“Used to work at a strip club. Remember?”
“Right, I keep forgetting you’re living a real-life Cinderella story,” she grins, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “Plucked from poverty by Prince Charming.”
“Pretty sure Cinderella didn’t have to worry about her prince’s ‘business associates.’”
She snorts with laughter, and we move on to lighter topics as we finish our salads.
When lunch ends, Keshia drops me off at home. She doesn’t notice the bodyguard who tailed us to the restaurant and back, but I give him a small wave before heading inside. Strange how quickly you adapt to having protection.
The apartment smells like flour and something savory. I follow the sounds of laughter to the kitchen, where I find Alessio and Austin wearing matching black aprons.
“We’re making noodles, Mommy!” Austin announces, wielding a rolling pin like it’s a magic wand.
I pull out my phone and start recording as Alessio stands behind our son, guiding his small hands. The domestic sweetness of it disarms me. This is the kind of memory I want to capture. Not just for Austin, but for Alessio, who’s already lost so many years.
When Alessio glances up and catches me watching, his smile is soft and unguarded in a way that makes heat pool in my stomach. This is the man I suspected was hiding beneath all that sarcasm and attitude.
Watching them work together, flour dusting their dark hair, I know it’s time. Austin deserves to know who Alessio really is, and they’ve built enough of a foundation that Alessio won’t feel like a stranger when we reveal the truth.
After dinner—the pasta was surprisingly good for a six-year-old’s handiwork—we gather in the living room. I sit next to Austin on the couch while Alessio perches on the coffee table, close enough to touch but giving us space.
“Austin,” I begin, my heart hammering. “You know how you’ve always wondered about your father?”
He nods, his expression turning serious.
“We have something to tell you.” I reach for Alessio’s hand, offering support and solidarity in one gesture.
My mouth feels dry. I’ve rehearsed this moment a hundred different ways, but none of them prepared me for the gravity of actually saying it. What if this changes how Austin looks at me? What if this breaks something we can’t fix?
Alessio clears his throat. “Austin, it’s me. I’m your father.”
The silence stretches, heavy enough to choke me. My heart pounds as I wait for denial or fear, maybe even anger.
Instead, Austin launches himself off the couch and straight into Alessio’s arms with the kind of wholehearted trust that only children possess.
Alessio catches him, his own surprise evident as small arms wind around his neck. For a moment, neither of them moves, and I have to blink back tears at the sight of them; my son finally in his father’s arms.
Austin pulls back first, his face bright with excitement. “I knew it! I mean, I didn’t know know, but I thought maybe...” He looks between us. “So you’re really my dad? Like, my actual dad?”
“I really am,” Alessio says softly.
“I always wanted a dad like Tommy and Marcus have.” Austin stands and bounces on his toes. “Can we live here with you forever?”
“I want you both to stay,” Alessio says softly, his eyes meeting mine. The certainty in his voice makes my heart skip.
Austin throws his arms around Alessio’s neck again. “Good! Can I tell everyone at school? Can we play catch now? Do you know how to play Tic-Tac-Toe? I’m really good at it. I can teach you!”
Alessio’s smile is huge, genuine in a way I’ve rarely seen. “Yes to all of those.”
“Really? I’ll get paper!”
Austin rockets toward his room, leaving us alone. Alessio looks shell-shocked in the best possible way.
“That went well,” I say, understating things dramatically.
“He’s incredible,” Alessio murmurs. “How did you do this? Raise someone so...”
“Trusting?” I supply. “It wasn’t always easy. But kids are resilient when they feel loved.”
He looks at me then, something shifting in his expression. “I don’t know how to thank you. For him, for this chance—”
“You don’t have to thank me. You’re his father. He’s been waiting his whole life for this.”
Austin comes barreling back with a stack of paper and colored pencils, ready to school his dad in Tic-Tac-Toe strategy. As I watch them settle in for their game, I realize something has fundamentally changed. We’re not just playing house anymore.
We’re a family.
The thought should fill me with nothing but joy, but there’s a whisper of worry threading through my happiness.
In Alessio’s world, having something precious means having something to lose.
But watching Austin high-five him after winning another round, I push that fear aside. Some things are worth the risk.