Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
STEFANO
I paced the floor in my study, head down, eyes on the floor, my hand raised in warning for Tony to shut his fucking mouth for a minute.
My patience hung by one last frayed thread.
We had searched the entire city, checking out alibis, looking for clues, doing more detective work than the entire police force in the state of New York.
Still, my men and I came back with nothing.
Soon I’d have no choice but to act.
I knew better than to do anything without the necessary information first, but the clock was quickly running out.
As I took a seat behind my desk, I pushed my hand through the top of my hair. My mind dropped to an image of Enzo, his hair, those little curls. I pounded the side of my fist on the desk.
“How the fuck is this possible? Everyone knows the lengths I’ll go to when I want something, when I protect what’s mine. And yet, nothing. Not a word.”
I had promised Val that our son would be safe, and I wanted to deliver on that promise right away.
She wanted to get back to Con Amore, and while I would restore her business, I needed her out of my house.
In less than twenty-four hours, I would be a married man. Having the mother of my bastard child—who I couldn’t seem to keep my goddamn hands off—under my roof seemed like a terrible idea.
Benedetta might use it to pitch a fit and give me the cold shoulder, delaying consummating our marriage, but in the end, she would live with whatever I told her to.
Her father would use it to threaten me.
Don Capaldo wouldn’t break our contract this late in the game, with no alternatives lined up. He would fuck with me, though, making threats and interrupting my business with all his bitching while his dead ass sat in my chair.
But then again, I couldn’t underestimate Benedetta. She had listened and learned from her father over the years, and her motivations for our match were less clear.
I never asked her why she’d been so agreeable because I didn’t care what she wanted. Her dowry and the power it gave me were all that mattered.
After giving me a few minutes, Tony cleared his throat.
“We're trying to uncover any new angles, boss, but nothing’s turning up. I checked out Benedetta myself. Nothing suggests it might’ve come from her. Her trusted circle of friends, family, and staff… all accounted for.
“Her security men still belong to her father, and they don’t take orders from her. So all we know at this point is someone wants the marriage contract broken, and that’s it.”
I flicked my wrist at his words.
“Listen, Tony. I want you to take a good, hard look at the Capaldo situation. Ensure I’m not being biased or underestimating Benedict.”
The bitter taste of regret hit my tongue.
Admitting bias meant admitting weakness.
Capaldo had only one option left to ensure the survival of his legacy anyway, and that was me. Under normal circumstances, if the man hadn’t been on his deathbed with no living sons or brothers, I wouldn’t have put much stock in that idea.
And after meeting Enzo, I understood his commitment to our marriage contract.
Benedict Capaldo knew his name wouldn’t live on after his death… he was ensuring the future of his only living child, his beloved princess.
He’d chosen me to lead his family not for my leadership ability or for my intelligence and strategic planning expertise but because I was the only don without illegitimate kids running around the city who might take his empire away from Benedetta’s heirs.
He didn’t know there wouldn’t be heirs. And he didn’t know about my son, not when we executed the contract.
“I suppose it could be him,” Tony said. “We can’t take anything off the table right now. But it makes no sense to me. Capaldo’s soldiers are top marksmen, and even their personal sidearms are more advanced than the shooter’s.
“Even if one of ‘em owned a shitty rifle, any of ‘em would’ve been a much better shot. Besides, the dons don’t miss.”
I released a heavy breath through my nose and nodded.
“Right. That’s true.”
“I hate to say it, Stef, but with that big window, not hitting anyone but you, and only in the arm, no less, it had to be an intentional miss or we're dealing with storm troopers.”
I rolled my eyes at the reference and let it go.
“Who would shoot up a window like that and try to not kill anyone?” I asked.
“Take your pick.” Tony shrugged. “The only thing we know for sure is the guy knew how to get to the boy and his mother. They had to be watching her for a while.”
Thinking out loud, I shook my head.
“Let’s circle back to the Capaldos. I don't think Benedict would be behind this,” I said. “He wouldn't go through all this trouble just for the embarrassment of a broken engagement. He knows that would affect his daughter’s reputation.
“Maybe if he weren't dying, sure, but he and I both know he’ll be gone in a few months. If we broke the contract now, it would destroy his dynasty, leaving Benedetta unprotected. She might get some money, but she would no longer have the protection of his men. They would die before following a woman.”
“Right,” Tony said. “But what if he arranged another match?”
“There isn’t a better one out there. Even if it were the case, he would give the kill order right out the gate to take me out. I wouldn’t have made it out of that café alive.”
“Who else then, boss?”
“Accusing Benedetta still doesn’t sit right with me, even though Val made a good point last night. Benedetta clearly does not like me, and she never had the option to say no to this marriage. Although she agreed to the no children thing, I don’t think she’s crazy about that either.”
Tony shrugged again. One more time, and he’d be picking himself up from the fucking floor.
“I need to talk to her myself,” I snapped.
Something undefined stuck in the back of my mind. I was missing an important piece of information that could lead me straight to the shooter.
Maybe Benedetta could shed some light on it.
I grabbed my phone and sent her a text, telling her to get to the estate as soon as possible.
She immediately replied. From my kitchen.
Not wanting it to be true, I stared at my phone.
“Tony, find out if Val’s still in the kitchen with my son.”
Nothing good could come from the two women meeting without me there, though I had given no thought to what I might say to keep the peace between them anyway.
Tony texted one of Val’s guards and received an instant reply.
“Yeah, she’s in the kitchen with the boy, baking cookies. He says you told him they had the run of the place.”
“Yes, I did. Who else is in the kitchen?”
Tony sent and received another text, then met my gaze with his “oh shit” expression.
“Benedetta’s down there,” he said.
“Fuck!”
I threw my phone. It shattered against the wall.
“Get that replaced… and stay out of my sight until you have a lead. I don’t care how small… just get me something we can use to find this asshole and put him in the fucking ground.”
Then I quickly headed for the door. The second I opened it, the familiar scent of orange spice cookies hit me—the addicting cookies Val used to make every morning at Con Amore.
She had always set aside a handful for me each day.
My mouth watered, and my stomach rumbled.
The sweet smell instantly took me back to those anticipated stops on my way to school in the morning, hoping to see her.
Back to where I’d gone during my breaks to study on that old couch. Back to where, if I leaned the right way, I could see Val in the kitchen with her nonna .
She’d be standing over the counter, her expression relaxed and happy as she rolled out the cookie dough.
That was what she’d been doing when she agreed to go to dinner with me. I had stormed into that kitchen to stand face-to-face with her, my foul-mouthed little barista with powdered sugar on her cheek.
I hadn’t even asked. I told her she would go.
Her grandmother had shouted at me.
“It’s about damn time you got off that couch!”
Others laughed and applauded.
Val’s cheeks had turned the prettiest shade of pink. Then she nodded and gave me her beautiful smile.
Goddamn it, that memory still left a hollow place in my chest. I shook myself out of it and marched downstairs, bracing myself for what waited for me in my kitchen now.
When I got there, I stopped short in the doorway and stared, watching Val hand an espresso to Benedetta.
Benedetta glanced at the child, at my child. A sad smile hit her face, like she knew she was missing a vital part of herself but couldn't hold a grudge against another woman who had it.
Her expression and body language revealed no anger at all.
Val rolled out more dough, and just like in my memory, she had powdered sugar on her cheek. She handed the little balls of orange-and-spice goodness to Enzo.
He tossed them into the sugar, then placed them in neat rows on the baking pan.
What other skills did he have? What other bonding moments between mother and son had I missed observing all those years?
If she had told me about him, would Enzo and I have bonded in our own way? Would my son and I have done special things together too?
We might have gone to the shooting range for target practice. I might have taken him to his first football game, or maybe boxing lessons.
Heat rushed through me, burning up my chest, my neck, my fucking face.
Val had stolen that from me.
Seeing her and the boy doing something together as simple as baking made the whole thing look so normal. Not the normal I knew… the normal my younger self had wished for.
Watching them brought back the painful loss of the future I had planned out as a younger man. The dream I’d given up and locked away inside me.
Now it all flooded back to the surface.
Val had kept more from me than my son. She’d taken the life I wanted with her, the late-night candlelit dinners, the arguments that ended in passionate sex, and even the lazy Sunday mornings in bed.
It wasn’t just about the sex but everything that came with it.
The dates, the intimacy, and the companionship. Having someone there to listen after a rough day, to speak up when things had gone too far, to encourage me to push harder and strive for more, to find a better way.
I’d had none of it.
We could have had that.
Benedetta clacked her cup down on the saucer to get my attention. She’d been watching me watch them.
I jerked my gaze away from Val and my son.
“We need to talk,” Benedetta said, void of emotion.
Then she got up and came toward me, everything about her as unreadable as glass.
We didn’t know each other very well, so there wasn’t much to compare to her stony behavior. I didn’t know if seeing Enzo made her rethink not having my children, or if she was just pissed because I had Val staying in my house.
“In private,” she added.
I searched her face, looking for a clue about what was going through her head and what I should expect.
She gave me nothing.
“Let's go up to my study,” I said.
I led the way to what I fully expected to be an unpleasant conversation. We were supposed to be married in less than a day, but if I didn’t have a handle on who was after my son before then, I couldn’t risk it.
A sharp pain hit me in the gut, and I gritted my teeth.
The mere thought of caving to blackmail made me want to destroy everything and everyone. Once I got my hands on the son of a bitch, I could purge some of that rage.
In the meantime, I had to decide how to handle Benedetta. I wanted her father’s men, her father’s fortune.
But at what cost?
Suddenly, I found the idea of an arranged marriage distasteful. I didn’t want anyone but Val in my bed.
Even if my marriage to Benedetta was a business contract, it would still have to be consummated, and I suspected that would tear Val out of my arms permanently.
Benedetta might refuse to marry me now that she knew I had a son with another woman and wouldn’t give her a child of her own.
Though she had no choice in whom she married, she still had to stand in front of a priest with me. If she rejected me at the altar, things would become very complicated.
So yes, we needed to talk. We needed to understand where the other person stood and how we planned to move forward.
A great deal hinged on what this conversation produced.
If she turned out to be the one coming for Enzo, may God have mercy on her soul. I sure as fuck wouldn’t. Being a woman and my fiancée would not save her.
But if not her, then maybe she had some ideas.
Or maybe she would refuse to help me protect my son.
Maybe she would lie to me.
There were a million ways for the conversation to go wrong.