19. Cillian
CILLIAN
I knew Valentina would be waiting for me when I went to pick up more of my things from the apartment.
I’ve been avoiding this conversation for two days, staying at the hotel and telling myself I needed space to think clearly.
But in reality, I’ve been hiding.
Because every time I pick up the phone to call her I think about her face in that clinic hallway—swollen eyes, raw voice, I don’t know if I can do this—and the shame hits so hard my hands actually start to sweat.
That’s what I did. I took the person who trusted me completely, and I lied to her face for a month.
The shame of it is enormous and I am a fucking coward. I have been sitting in this hotel room for two days because looking her in the eye is harder than anything Connor has ever asked me to do.
My phone buzzes. I know who it is without looking at the sender: Come to the apartment today. We need to talk and you are not avoiding this.
But there is no more avoiding it.
On my way, I text back.
Valentina is in the living room when I let myself in and it looks like she’s been pacing.
She’s wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, her dark hair piled high on her head in a messy bun.
She looks so un-Valentina-like that it makes me stop in my tracks.
She turns when she hears the door, and the look in her eyes makes something twist in my chest.
“We need to get a second paternity test,” she says without preamble.
I freeze, my hand still on the doorknob. “What?”
“A second test. From a different lab. Without telling Claire.”
For a moment I can’t process her words.
Then the anger arrives—hot and immediate—because even with scientific proof, with irrefutable DNA evidence, she’s still looking for a way to make this not real.
“The DNA doesn’t lie, Valentina,” I say, and I can hear the edge in my own voice.
Valentina’s cheeks pinken slightly. “I know that—”
“Do you?” I close the door and move further into the apartment. I’m trying to keep my temper and not quite managing it. “Because it sounds like you’re in denial.”
I know it’s the wrong thing to say the moment the words leave my mouth, but I can’t stop myself.
The guilt of the past month has been crushing, knowing I had a son I’d abandoned, knowing Finn has grown up without a father because I’d been too careless, too selfish, too wrapped up in Connor’s world to even remember the woman I’d slept with.
And now Valentina wants to question it?
She wants to pretend there’s some—what?
Some conspiracy instead of accepting the much simpler, much more painful truth that I had fucked up nine years ago and a child has paid the price?
Valentina’s jaw tightens and she crosses her arms tightly across her chest. “I’m not in denial. I’m being cautious. In our world, you don’t just accept things at face value—”
“In our world, when you get scientific proof that you have a son, you accept it and move forward.” I hear myself getting louder, but I can’t seem to stop. This is why she wanted to talk? Is she serious right now? “I know you’re upset, but this is just you grasping at straws.”
You’re upset because I have a child with someone else, I think but don’t say. You’re upset because this complicates your perfect life.
Valentina’s face flushes. “Grasping at straws? Someone with serious resources tried to destroy our marriage, Cillian! Someone hired that woman, paid her to—”
“We don’t know that,” I cut her off, but even as I say it, part of me wonders if she has a point. But admitting it means admitting I’ve been played, and I cannot afford to be that weak. Not now. “The paternity test was done by a reputable lab with proper chain of custody. The science is sound.”
Valentina scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Science can be manipulated if you have enough money.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re being paranoid.”
The words come out harder than I meant and I see her flinch. But instead of backing down she steps closer, hands clenched at her sides.
“And you’re being willfully blind!” The words explode out of her. “You want to believe her because you feel guilty!”
Now it’s my turn for my face to flush. The accusation hits too close to home. I feel my chest tighten.
“That’s not fair,” I say quietly, but I even hear how hollow it sounds.
“Isn’t it?” Valentina is really worked up now, all that Santoro composure stripped away. “You’ve spent the past month beating yourself up over abandoning a child you didn’t even know existed. You’re so consumed with guilt that you’re not thinking clearly.”
Maybe, a traitorous part of my mind whispers. Maybe she’s right.
But I can’t let her be right. Because if she’s right, if I’ve been manipulated this easily, then what does that say about me? That I am Connor’s puppet after all? So desperate for a chance to be something better that I’d believe any story that gave me the opportunity?
“I’m thinking perfectly clearly,” I tell her coldly.
“I have a son. That’s the reality. And I need to figure out how to be a father to him while navigating this disaster of a situation.
What I don’t need is my wife inventing conspiracy theories because she can’t accept that I have a child with someone else. ”
The moment those words leave my lips, I regret them. Especially when I see how much they affect Valentina. Her eyes widen with hurt before they narrow with fury.
“Is that what you think this is?” Her voice is shaking. “Jealousy?”
Yes, part of me thinks. You can’t stand sharing me. You want to be the center of my world and now there’s someone else who needs me.
But even as I think it, I know it’s unfair. Valentina isn’t some trophy wife.
She’s smart and perceptive and has survived our world by trusting her instincts.
But I still hear myself say, “Isn’t it? You can’t stand the idea of sharing me with another child. Of Claire being in our lives forever. So you’re creating doubt where there isn’t any.”
Valentina’s eyes are bright with unshed tears now, but her voice is steady. “How dare you.”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I push forward, even though everything in me is screaming to stop. “Tell me this isn’t about you being the only person in my life anymore.”
“This isn’t about Claire!” Valentina shouts, a tear tracking down her cheek. “I don’t give a fuck that you spent eight weeks together. This is about you lying to me for a month! About you destroying the trust we built because you thought you knew better than to tell me the truth!”
“I was trying to protect you—”
“I don’t need your protection! I need your honesty!”
She’s shaking now, a slight tremor running through her, and something cracks open in my chest because this is all my fault. I’d lied to her, kept secrets, and now we are here, screaming at each other while my pregnant wife trembles with rage and hurt.
But I can’t back down. Not when backing down means admitting I’ve been wrong about everything.
“And now you won’t even consider that something might be wrong because you’re too busy self-flagellating yourself over being a deadbeat father!” she continues.
My face flushes hot and I jerk back as if slapped. “That’s not—”
“It is exactly that,” she snarls, cutting me off. “You’re so desperate to do the right thing, to make up for eight years of absence, that you’re not seeing clearly. That woman shows up out of nowhere with perfect timing and a convenient sob story and you just…accept it. No questions asked.”
“I asked for a paternity test!”
“After she’d already hooked you with the guilt!” Her voice cracks. “God, Cillian, can’t you see? Everything about this situation is designed to manipulate you. The timing, the approach, the way she keeps mentioning money—”
“She’s a single mother who’s been struggling,” I say tightly, but doubt is creeping in now despite my best efforts. “Of course she needs financial support. That doesn’t make her a con artist.”
“It makes her suspicious as hell!”
“Or it makes her desperate!” I drag a hand through my hair, my composure finally fracturing into a million pieces “Jesus Christ, Valentina, what do you want from me? The test came back positive. He’s my son. I can’t just ignore that because you have a bad feeling about it.”
But even as I say it, I’m thinking about Claire’s hand on my arm yesterday, fingers lingering too long. About Finn’s odd questions. About the timeline that doesn’t quite add up if I really think about it.
No, I tell myself firmly. You’re letting her paranoia get to you. The test was positive. The science doesn’t lie.
“I’m not asking you to ignore it,” Valentina says heatedly, strands of her hair falling in her face. “I’m asking you to be smart. To verify. To protect our family the same way you’d protect any other asset in Connor’s organization.”
“Our family.” I repeat bitterly. I know I’m being an asshole, but I can’t stop myself. “You mean your family. The one that doesn’t include the child I apparently abandoned for eight years.”
Shit. Valentina’s face goes pale, and something behind her eyes shutters.
“That’s what you really think,” she says softly, looking like I’ve just destroyed her. “That I’m being selfish. That I’m putting myself above your son.”
No, I want to say. That’s not what I meant.
But my pride won’t let me. Instead I close my eyes and say, “I think you’re scared. And I think that fear is making you see conspiracies where there might not be any.”
“And I think you’re so consumed with guilt that you’re not thinking straight,” Valentina fires back. “I think you want this to be real because it gives you someone to save, someone to protect, a way to prove you’re not like Connor—using and discarding people without a second thought.”
My eyes snap open. The words hit like a punch to the gut because they are true. That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking, even if I haven’t admitted it to myself.
Finn is a chance to be different. To choose family over duty. To prove I’m not just Connor’s trained weapon.
But I can’t let Valentina see that she’s struck a nerve.
“Don’t bring Connor into this,” I say, coldly.