CHAPTER 1 The Don at Her Door #2
Dante looked at it all with an expression Sofia could not decipher.
Then footsteps sounded in the hallway.
“No.”
Sofia moved quickly.
Too late.
Matteo appeared.
He stopped when he saw the stranger.
Dante stopped breathing.
Sofia knew the exact moment he saw it.
Noticed it.
Understood it.
Matteo stared curiously at the tall man standing inside his home.
Dante stared back.
The resemblance was undeniable.
It had become stronger as Matteo grew.
The same black hair.
The same deep-set dark eyes.
The same brows.
Even the same irritatingly serious expression whenever he encountered something unfamiliar.
Sofia stepped between them.
“Matteo, go back to your room.”
Her son peeked around her leg.
“Who is he?”
Dante’s eyes lifted to Sofia.
She saw the question there.
No.
Not a question anymore.
A calculation.
“When is his birthday?”
Sofia’s mouth went dry.
“Leave.”
“When?”
“You need to leave.”
Dante took one step forward.
Sofia took one backward.
Matteo clung to her leg.
“Don’t come closer.”
Dante stopped.
His gaze dropped to the child gripping Sofia.
Something strange passed across his face.
Pain?
No.
Dante Moretti did not show pain.
But she knew him.
Or she once had.
“When is his birthday, Sofia?”
She remained silent.
Dante’s voice lowered.
“I can obtain his birth certificate within an hour.”
“Then why ask me?”
“Because I want to hear you say it.”
She hated him.
She hated his persistence.
She hated the fact that some small part of her had always known this moment would come.
“January eighteenth.”
Dante’s face emptied of emotion.
The wedding had been scheduled for May.
Matteo had been born eight months later.
Dante calculated.
Of course he calculated.
Sofia watched the truth form behind his eyes.
“How early?”
“What?”
“Was he premature?”
Her silence answered.
Dante looked down at Matteo again.
“Was he?”
“Three weeks.”
The final piece fell into place.
Dante slowly raised his eyes to hers.
“Sofia.”
She knew that tone.
Dangerously quiet.
“Don’t.”
“Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
“Is he mine?”
Matteo glanced between them.
Sofia’s instincts screamed at her to protect him.
“Not in front of him.”
Dante’s expression changed.
That was enough.
She saw him understand.
His face went pale beneath his olive complexion.
For three years, Sofia had imagined Dante learning the truth.
She had imagined rage.
Threats.
Possessiveness.
She had never imagined silence.
Dante simply stared at Matteo.
His son.
Their son.
The little boy became uncomfortable beneath the stranger’s attention and hid behind Sofia.
“Why is he looking at me?”
Sofia crouched immediately.
“It’s okay, baby.”
“Who is he?”
Her throat tightened.
What could she possibly say?
This is your father.
This is the man I ran from.
This is the man whose photograph I kept hidden in a box I prayed you would never find.
This is the man whose eyes you inherited.
Before Sofia could answer, Dante crouched.
The movement startled her.
Dante Moretti did not kneel for anyone.
Yet there he was, lowering himself until he was closer to Matteo’s height.
Matteo looked at him cautiously.
Dante seemed suddenly uncertain.
The sight was so absurd Sofia almost forgot to be afraid.
He commanded killers without hesitation.
He negotiated deals involving millions.
He could terrify politicians with a phone call.
But faced with a two-year-old boy, Dante appeared to have no idea what to do.
“Hello,” he said.
Matteo stared at him.
“Hello.”
“What’s your name?”
“Matteo.”
“I know.”
Sofia shot Dante a warning look.
He ignored her.
Matteo held up his toy car.
“Car.”
Dante looked at it seriously.
“I can see that.”
“It’s fast.”
“How fast?”
Matteo considered.
“Very.”
A tiny sound escaped Sofia before she could stop it.
Almost a laugh.
Dante looked at her.
Their eyes met.
For one second, the apartment changed.
They were not a runaway bride and the Don she had abandoned.
They were simply two people standing beside the child they had created together.
Then Dante rose.
The illusion shattered.
“Bedroom, Matteo,” Sofia said.
“But—”
“Please, sweetheart.”
Matteo looked at Dante once more.
“Bye.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Goodbye, Matteo.”
The boy disappeared down the hallway.
Sofia waited until his door closed.
Then she turned.
Dante was already looking at her.
The uncertainty was gone.
The Don had returned.
“Is he mine?”
Sofia crossed her arms.
“You already know.”
“I want you to say it.”
“Why?”
“Because for three years I thought the worst thing you had done was leave me at the altar.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Dante—”
“Say it.”
She stared at him.
The man she had almost married.
The man she had once believed she might love.
The father of her child.
“Yes.”
One word.
That was all it took.
Dante looked away.
His hand curled slowly into a fist.
Sofia braced herself for the explosion.
It did not come.
Instead, he walked toward the window.
His shoulders were rigid.
“He’s mine.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“I found out after I left.”
“How long after?”
“A few weeks.”
He laughed once.
There was nothing humorous about the sound.
“So while I was tearing apart half of Europe looking for you, you knew you were carrying my child.”
Sofia said nothing.
He turned.
“And you still hid.”
“I had reasons.”
“You always have reasons.”
“They were good ones.”
“You stole three years from me.”
The words struck harder than she expected.
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“No?”
He moved toward her.
“You decided I didn’t deserve to know my son existed.”
“I decided what was necessary to keep him safe.”
Dante stopped.
“Safe from whom?”
Sofia’s blood chilled.
Too much.
She had said too much.
“Forget it.”
“No.”
“Dante.”
“Safe from whom?”
She looked away.
He caught her chin.
Not violently.
But firmly enough that she had to face him.
Every nerve in Sofia’s body came alive.
His fingers were warm.
Familiar.
Three years vanished beneath one touch.
Dante felt it too.
She saw it in his eyes.
His thumb moved almost imperceptibly against her skin.
Then Sofia pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His hand fell.
“Answer the question.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
“If I explain, people could die.”
Dante stared at her.
“People die around me every day.”
“That is exactly the problem.”
Silence.
The words hung between them.
Sofia immediately regretted them.
Dante’s face hardened.
“You ran because of me.”
“I ran because of what marrying you would have caused.”
“What does that mean?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You’re going to.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“Three years ago, you could run because I didn’t know where you were.”
Her pulse accelerated.
“Dante—”
“Now I know.”
“I can disappear again.”
“No.”
The certainty in his voice frightened her.
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can.”
“You don’t own me.”
His eyes darkened.
“I never said I did.”
“You act like it.”
“I came here for answers.”
“You have one. Matteo is your son. Now leave.”
Dante stared at her as though she had spoken another language.
“Leave?”
“Yes.”
“You believe I’m going to walk out that door after discovering I have a son?”
“He has a life here.”
“He has a father.”
“He has never needed one.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Sofia wished she could take them back.
Dante went completely still.
“That,” he said quietly, “was cruel.”
Guilt cut through her.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
“No.”
“You wanted to hurt me.”
She looked away.
Perhaps she had.
Because she was afraid.
Because hurting Dante was easier than admitting that part of her had wondered every day what kind of father he would have been.
Dante walked toward the table.
A photograph sat beside a vase of cheap flowers.
Sofia holding newborn Matteo in a hospital bed.
He picked it up.
“Put that down.”
Dante ignored her.
His eyes remained on the photograph.
“You were alone.”
It was not a question.
Sofia said nothing.
“Were you alone when he was born?”
“Yes.”
“Your family?”
“They didn’t know.”
“Friends?”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“Who held your hand?”
She almost laughed.
“No one.”
Dante closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, something had changed.
The anger remained.
But now it shared space with guilt.
“You should have called me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You should have.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You were carrying my child.”
“And that made calling you even more dangerous.”
His gaze snapped toward her.
There.
Again.
That hint.
That mystery.
Dante put down the photograph.
“You’re going to tell me everything.”
“Not today.”
“Today.”
“No.”
“I didn’t drive six hours to negotiate.”
“And I didn’t spend three years building a life so you could walk through my door and destroy it.”
“I’m not destroying anything.”
“You destroy everything you touch.”
Dante flinched.
Barely.
But Sofia saw it.
She immediately hated herself.
Before she could apologize, Matteo called from the bedroom.
“Mama!”
Sofia turned instinctively.
Dante’s gaze followed.
“Mama!”
“I’m coming.”
She started toward the hallway.
Dante caught her wrist.
Sofia looked down at his hand.
Then at him.
“Let go.”
He did.
Immediately.
That surprised her.
“I’m not taking you away from him,” he said.
Sofia swallowed.
“Then what are you doing?”
Dante looked toward Matteo’s bedroom.
When he answered, his voice was quieter.
“I’m trying to understand how my son grew almost three years without me.”
The anger drained from Sofia.
For the first time, she saw something she had refused to consider.
She had been terrified of Dante finding Matteo.
But Dante had lost something too.
First steps.
First words.
First birthday.
The nights Matteo had been sick.
The morning he first called her Mama.
Dante had missed all of it.
Because of her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His gaze returned to her.
This time, he did not tell her not to apologize.
“You’re going to explain why you ran.”
Sofia said nothing.
“And then we’re going to decide what happens next.”
“We?”
“Yes.”
“There is no we.”
Dante looked at her for a long moment.
Then his eyes dropped briefly to her left hand.
No ring.
When he looked back at her, the expression on his face made her uneasy.
“You’re wrong.”
Her pulse quickened.
“About what?”
“There has always been a we, Sofia.”