CHAPTER 1 The Don at Her Door #3
“That ended three years ago.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
Close enough that she could smell the familiar trace of cedar and expensive cologne.
Close enough to remember his hands.
His mouth.
That night.
Dante lowered his voice.
“You ran three hours before our wedding.”
“I remember.”
“You disappeared carrying my child.”
“I didn’t know yet.”
“But you learned.”
“Yes.”
“And you stayed gone.”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly.
“So now I have three years of questions.”
“I don’t owe you three years of answers.”
“No.”
Something dangerous entered his eyes.
“You owe me one.”
Sofia frowned.
“What?”
“Why.”
She looked away.
Dante caught the movement.
“What happened the night before our wedding?”
Her heart stopped.
He knew.
Or suspected.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
“You were fine at dinner.”
Sofia remained silent.
“You kissed me goodnight.”
Her cheeks warmed despite everything.
“You told me you would see me at the cathedral.”
“Dante—”
“Twelve hours later, you vanished.”
He moved closer.
“So something happened between the moment I left you and the moment you decided to run.”
Sofia’s mouth went dry.
Dante had always been too intelligent.
“Who came to see you?”
“No one.”
“Who called you?”
“No one.”
“What did you hear?”
Her eyes betrayed her.
Dante saw it.
His expression sharpened instantly.
“You heard something.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I said no.”
“And you just lied.”
Sofia stepped away.
“I need to check on Matteo.”
Dante blocked her path.
“Was it about me?”
She did not answer.
“Was someone threatening you?”
Nothing.
“Threatening your family?”
Silence.
Then his expression changed.
His eyes narrowed.
“Was someone threatening our child?”
Sofia froze.
Dante saw it.
Every wall she had built over three years collapsed in a single second.
He stared at her.
At first, confusion.
Then understanding.
Then fury.
Not at her.
At whoever had frightened her.
“Sofia.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t.”
“Who?”
“I can’t.”
“Who threatened you?”
“Nobody.”
“Stop lying.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
“I was trying to protect you!”
The words burst out before she could stop them.
Silence crashed into the room.
Sofia covered her mouth.
Dante stared at her.
“What?”
She stepped backward.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You were protecting me?”
“Forget it.”
“From whom?”
She shook her head.
Dante approached.
This time there was no arrogance in his expression.
No possessiveness.
Only cold concentration.
“Three years ago, someone made you believe that marrying me would put me in danger.”
Sofia felt tears burn behind her eyes.
She refused to let them fall.
“It wasn’t only you.”
“Who else?”
She looked toward Matteo’s room.
Dante followed her gaze.
His face changed.
“Our son.”
Sofia closed her eyes.
“He wasn’t born yet.”
“But you were pregnant.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Someone else did?”
Her eyes opened.
Dante stared at her.
The question was horrifying.
Because Sofia had never considered it.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I—”
She stopped.
Three years ago, she had assumed the threat had been about the future.
About what would happen once she became Dante’s wife.
But what if it had been about something else?
What if someone had already known?
Dante saw uncertainty enter her face.
“What exactly did you hear that night?”
Sofia shook her head.
“I can’t do this.”
“You can.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
For the first time since he arrived, Dante softened.
Only slightly.
“Sofia.”
She hated the way he said her name.
Like he remembered every version of her.
The stubborn girl.
The reluctant fiancée.
The woman in his bed.
The bride who disappeared.
“You have to leave,” she whispered.
“I’m not leaving.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Dante.”
“I searched for you for three years.”
His voice was almost gentle.
“I found my runaway bride this morning.”
Sofia’s breath caught.
He looked toward the hallway where their son waited.
“And five minutes later, I discovered she gave me a son.”
He returned his gaze to her.
“You can hate me. You can scream at me. You can tell me you never want to see me again.”
His eyes darkened.
“But I am not walking away from Matteo.”
Fear tightened around Sofia’s heart.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m his father.”
“You can’t just enter his life overnight.”
“I know.”
That answer surprised her.
Dante looked at the toys scattered across the apartment.
“I’ve already lost three years.”
His voice lowered.
“I won’t lose another day.”
Sofia stared at him.
She had feared this moment for years.
Yet nothing about it was happening the way she expected.
Then Dante’s phone vibrated.
He removed it from his pocket.
The moment he looked at the screen, his expression changed.
“What?”
He did not answer.
“Dante?”
He opened a message.
His jaw tightened.
Sofia knew that look.
Danger.
“What happened?”
Dante lifted his eyes.
“Pack a bag.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What?”
“You and Matteo are leaving.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
Anger replaced fear.
“You do not get to come into my home and order me around.”
Dante turned the phone toward her.
A photograph filled the screen.
Sofia stared at it.
Her blood went cold.
It was her.
Taken that morning.
She was walking Matteo toward the café.
The image had been captured from across the street.
Beneath it was a message.
**THE brIDE ISN’T DEAD AFTER ALL.**
Sofia could not breathe.
Dante lowered the phone.
“How did you get that?”
“It was sent to one of my private numbers less than a minute ago.”
“No one knows that number?”
“Very few people.”
Sofia looked toward Matteo’s bedroom.
The room seemed suddenly unsafe.
The windows.
The door.
The street below.
Three years of hiding.
Gone.
“Who sent it?”
“I don’t know.”
Her hands began to shake.
Dante noticed.
His voice changed immediately.
“Sofia.”
“No.”
He moved closer.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“We leave now.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“My documents—”
“Bring them.”
“My job—”
“Forget the job.”
“My life is here.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“And someone just photographed my son.”
Those words destroyed every argument.
Sofia looked toward the hallway.
Matteo.
Nothing else mattered.
Dante stepped closer.
“I have an armored car downstairs.”
She stared at him.
“My men can secure this building in minutes. But whoever sent that photograph already knows where you live.”
Sofia swallowed.
“Where would we go?”
Dante did not hesitate.
“Home.”
Her eyes snapped toward him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I am not going back to the Moretti estate.”
“You are today.”
“Dante—”
“You ran from me once because you believed it would keep everyone safe.”
He leaned closer.
His voice became deadly quiet.
“Someone just made the mistake of threatening my family.”
Sofia’s heart stumbled at the word.
Family.
Dante looked toward Matteo’s room.
Then back at the woman who had escaped him three years earlier.
“Pack your things, Sofia.”
She stared into the eyes of the man she had spent three years running from.
And understood the terrible irony.
The first time she had fled, she had run away from Dante Moretti to survive.
This time, Dante Moretti might be the only man powerful enough to keep her alive.