Page 62 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

I think of Fantasia. Of her jade eyes and sharp tongue. Of the way she felt in my arms, the future I thought we could build.

Two years, and the ache hasn't faded.

“I'm used to it,” I say, and turn away before he can see the lie in my eyes.

Chapter 30

Fantasia

Valeria’s breath evens out against my shoulder, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of my nightshirt, the other hand clutching her stuffed bunny. She smells of lavender and milk, and the warmth of her small body against mine is soothing in a way I don’t deserve.

She shifts slightly, letting out a soft sigh before her sleepy voice murmurs against my skin. “Mummy… song.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head, my heart tightening at the request. It comes naturally, rising unbidden to my lips, though I haven’t thought about it until I had her. A lullaby from my own childhood- one my mother used to sing to me. I used to fight the memories of her, fight the warmth of them, because it was easier to be cold than to admit she had ever truly loved me. But she had. In her own way.

She sang to me when I was scared. She stroked my hair when I was sick. And even when she wanted me to be ruthless, to turn against the Warwicks without question, she still held me close and whispered this song in the dark.

So I had clung to it. And now, here I was, passing it down to my daughter.

The familiar melody fills the room as my voice wavers slightly while I hum, but Valeria doesn’t notice. She relaxes against me, her tiny body growing heavier, her breath turning slow and steady. By the time the last note fades into the quiet, she’s completely limp in my arms.

Carefully, I rise from the rocking chair and set her in the crib, brushing a dark curl from her round cheek as she hugs her bunny tighter, snuggling into the soft pillow. I kiss the top of her head, whispering a quiet, “Goodnight, my love,” before gently pulling the blanket up to her chin.

For a long moment, I stay there, just watching her sleep, letting the steady rhythm of her breathing settle something deep inside me. Maybe I hadn’t always understood my mother. Maybe I never would. But in this, at least, we were the same.

I’ve come to treasure these quiet moments, these glimpses of normalcy in a life that often feels anything but.

I close her door softly behind me, moving into my own room with a quiet resignation. The bed is a familiar, comforting sight, but tonight, like so many nights before, it feels too big, too empty. And when I slip beneath the covers, I find no comfort in their embrace.

I don’t bother turning off the lamp on my nightstand. I stare at the ceiling instead, my thoughts a whirlwind I should have conquered by now.

It had been another long day, another step further away from where I came from. Where I belonged.

Or maybe I never belonged there at all.

I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face. My skin is still warm, but as my fingers slide down over my collarbone, it’s not comfort I’m searching for now. It’s distraction.

It’s been months since I let myself do this.

Since I let myself remember.

The lamp casts a faint golden glow across the room. My hand slides lower as I close my eyes.

I see him immediately.

Piers.

I let myself remember him- really remember him- for the first time in so long, letting the ache of his absence settle deep in my bones. The moments we shared flood my mind- his rough, tender touches, the way he made me feel alive. The images consume me. The room fades away, until all that’s left is the heat of him.

A shiver runs through me. My body responds instinctively, the longing too deep to be purely physical.

I’m in his arms again, wrapped in his warmth, my body molded to his as we move in sync beneath the dim, flickering firelight. I tilt my head, my fingers slipping into my hair, tugging lightly- just as he used to when he murmured against my ear. A slow, absent caress, chasing the phantom sensation of his breath, his voice, his lips marking me as his.

His broad shoulders, his back, his arms- every muscle taut with restrained power as he held himself over me.

The way his lips felt against my skin, whispering promises between kisses.

His dark green eyes, watching me with that infuriatingly patient amusement, holding me in a way that made me feel seen- even when I was broken.

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