11. Cassie
CASSIE
I t’s still dark when the bed dips.
Tiny feet. Little sigh. Warm, sleepy weight tucking itself under my arm like we do nearly every morning.
“Hey, nugget,” I mumble, voice scratchy with sleep, eyes still closed. Aria’s a good kid. Always has been. Never had to wrestle her out of bed like some grumpy, foot-dragging toddler. She’s up before the sun most days, bright-eyed and ready to cause trouble.
Aria nestles in, her cheek pressing against my chest, one of her hands worming its way under my shirt to lay flat over my ribs. My heart damn near melts into a puddle right there.
I should probably tell her to go back to her room. Be a responsible parent about boundaries. But it’s five AM and the bakery’s calling, and my bones are tired.
So instead, I wrap my arm around her small, warm body and soak it in.
These moments, when the world’s still quiet and my kid’s all loving up on me? They’re what makes life worth living.
Her breath evens out, her lashes fluttering against my skin, and I press a kiss to her messy curls.
God, I love her so much it makes my chest hurt.
But we’ve got bills to pay. The bakery waits for no one.
I ease out from under her, careful not to wake her completely, already bracing for the caffeine and chaos.
The kitchen’s quiet except for the hum of the old coffee machine sputtering to life. I lean against the counter, still half-dreaming, breathing in the smell of my little pick-me-up.
I hear Aria fumbling around upstairs. Oh good, she’s up. I should probably make us pancakes or oatmeal.
I pour the coffee first—priorities—and grab my phone off the counter to scroll through the usual morning nonsense.
That’s when I see it.
A message: Tell him the kid is his or I will.
That’s it. No name. No number saved. But I know exactly who it is. The cup nearly slips from my hand, hot coffee burning on my fingers. I set the cup down with trembling hands.
My pulse bottoms out. My stomach follows. The walls tilt, and not just a little.
I delete it fast—like that’ll erase the weight of those words—but my hands won’t stop trembling, no matter how hard I squeeze them into fists.
“Mommy?” I hear Aria’s voice behind me as she takes her seat. I’m too afraid to turn and look at her. If I see her, I see those eyes. I see the truth that Gino now suspects.
She’s not his. And I lied to the devil that she was.
Fantastic life choices, Cass. Gold fucking star.
“Mommy?” she asks again.
I choke down the panic, force my breathing to level out, and plaster on the fakest mom smile in history as I turn to her and ask what she’d like for breakfast.
The bell above the door jingles, and I’m already running on fumes.
I just tucked Aria down for her nap in the back—the little cot tucked in the corner of our large pantry. She was out cold in two minutes flat, lucky little thing.
The espresso machine hisses, the low hum of chatter buzzes around me, but it’s all static—background noise under the one, poisonous line still flashing in my skull like a goddamn neon sign from hell.
Tell him the kid is his…
My fingers twitch on the notepad as I scribble the next order down. Some smiling tourist rattles on about how she’d like her coffee.
I nod along, smile plastered on my face like I’m not one breakdown away from peeling my skin off.
“You got that, hun?” she asks, chipper.
“Yeah,” I reply automatically, spinning toward the counter, brain fog thick enough to swim through. “Iced cappuccino and blueberry scone.”
Her face scrunches. “Uh, no… iced latte and two cinnamon rolls?”
Oh, shit.
“Sorry,” I croak, throat tight. “My mistake.”
My eyes are burning, and my brain is foggy with exhaustion and panic, the text replaying in my skull like a siren.
Tell him the kid is his…
He knows. Maybe not everything, but enough to start playing this sick little game.
I manage to get the order right at last. Drag myself through the next three.
I’m still behind the counter at Honey & Hearth, pretending to function somehow when the bell above the door jingles and Tina walks in like on six-inch heels, without a goddamn hair out of place.
“Morning, sunshine,” she chirps, reaching out to grab a cookie from the jar. “You look like shit.”
“Wow. Thanks. You should moonlight as a therapist,” I mutter, sliding over a coffee. I still don’t know how she does it. Eat all that sugar, and still look that thin? There must be something about those Russian-Italian genes.
“Guess who I saw strutting around town this morning?” She purrs, already giddy. “Lauren freaking Simms—ring a bell? You know, Miss ‘I’m better than you’ with that smug little bob haircut and the personality of stale bread?”
I snort. “Yeah, I remember Lauren. She made varsity snob team by, what, eighth grade?”
Tina grins like Christmas came early. “Mmhmm. Well, apparently karma’s been busy. Saw her waddling out of Roscoe’s this morning, very pregnant, and guess who knocked her up?”
I raise a brow, my brain still mush from panic, but curiosity sharpens the edges. “Let me guess… not her husband?”
Tina’s eyes practically sparkle. “Bingo. Husband’s best friend. The town’s losing its damn mind already. You know what they say—small towns, big scandals.”
I half-laugh, rubbing my temples, but the siren’s still screaming in my skull. Tell him the kid is his.
Tina’s grin falters. She tilts her head, studying me. “Okay, your face just did the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you pretend to be listening, but are miles away in your head. What’s up?”
“It’s nothing,” I say sharply. Tina doesn’t know about the things I’ve done with her brother. Dirty, nasty, toe-curling sexy things that have now put me in a conundrum I have no way out of.
“Cass.” Her voice drops, sharp as a blade, just like her brother’s. It must run in the family. “What’s going on?”
My throat tightens. I can lie to the town, to Dante, to myself—but Tina? She’s been my ride-or-die since braces and bad decisions. She’ll peel it out of me eventually, and I’ve learned it’s best to rip the band-aid off quickly.
I glance toward the back room where Aria naps, my heart squeezing.
“It’s Gino,” I whisper. “I think he found me. It’s starting again.”
She narrows her eyes. “What the hell did that asshole do now?”
“Nothing. He just texted. The usual.”
“What’d he say?”
“Nothing important.” I lie through my teeth. “It’s fine.”
Her jaw ticks. “Cass…”
“It’s fine. Seriously.”
I shake my head, forcing the words down because I can’t exactly tell her the text, can I? So I keep it vague, but it’s enough.
She doesn’t believe me. Of course, she doesn’t. But she lets it slide—for now.
“Pack your shit,” Tina snaps, already in crisis mode. “You and Aria are staying at the lake house.”
I open my mouth to argue—maybe say I’ve got it handled, maybe lie through my teeth like I always do—but the words collapse before they form. Because Tina’s right. I’m frayed. Barely holding the stitches of my life together. Aria’s not safe. Not while Gino’s shadow stretches this far.
Tina sees the hesitation, the protest brewing behind my teeth, and steamrolls right through it.
“Don’t even start,” she warns.
“I don’t wanna?—”
“Don’t care.” She shakes her head. “Pack your stuff, Cass. The lake house has locks, cameras, and a staff who’ll cook us dinner. Come on. You need a break.”
I exhale, every nerve ending frayed, but I nod. Defeated. “Okay.”
Tina softens for half a second, brushing my arm like this isn’t rock-bottom on a Tuesday. “It’s gonna be fine.”
But my skin still prickles with the memory of that text. The threat curled behind those words.
Tell him the kid is his or I will.
And deep down… I know this is only the beginning.
Hours later, I’m at the Romano family’s lake house, bags dumped by the door, brain fried with anxiety. It’s quiet out here, that eerie kind of rich-people quiet, with tall windows and fancy furniture that looks expensive enough to apologize to.
I set Aria up with her crayons and tell her to hang out in the living room while I go catch up with Tina and thank her properly.
But when I come back? She’s gone.
Panic spiderwebs through me as I search the hallways. The lake house feels too damn big. I’m used to hearing my kid, no matter which room I go into.
My bare feet slap across the cold floor, heartbeat tripping all over itself as I check every corner. “Aria?”
Shit.
The air here smells like Dante. Polished wood, leather, and expensive cologne—the kind that wraps around your ribs and squeezes.
It clings to the walls like a warning, sharp, male, unmistakable.
Like that night never left me, like his hands are still ghosting down my skin, his mouth still wrecking my self-control.
I follow it. Through the hall, past towering glass doors, until?—
There. A door’s cracked open, light spilling out through it.
I step in.
And my lungs collapse with relief.
Aria. Curled small on the leather couch, tangled in one of those stupidly soft blankets, a cupcake recipe book splayed over her tiny chest, like she read herself straight to sleep.
My heart plummets out of my throat, knees weak, pulse thundering against my ribs as I cross the room on shaky legs.
The couch smells like him. That dark, musky, male scent that should be illegal. Storm clouds and sin wrapped in aftershave.
Of course, even his damn furniture’s intimidating.
I ease down beside her, brush her curls back from her face, and press a kiss to her warm temple. Her breath’s soft and even. Out cold.
I could stay here, watch her sleep, crawl into the quiet. But the air shifts behind me—a ripple of heat and danger.
I turn, and there he is.
Dante.
Leaning in the doorway to his office, arms crossed, eyes shadowed and sharp, cutting through me like glass under bare feet.
His stare? Loaded. Knowing. Wary.
It drills into me, low and slow, pinning me to the moment until my pulse’s doing somersaults I can’t recover from. Slowly, I walk towards him, closing the door to let Aria sleep. Whatever this is, I don’t want her listening.
His voice drops low and lethal as it curls through the room.
He crowds me against the wall, his hands on either side of my head, his body towering over me, and my knees nearly crumble.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
And just like that—the floor’s gone. My lie teeters on the edge. And I’m standing in the wreckage of everything I’ve tried to keep buried.