Page 105 of His Son's Ex

I lift my chin, wiping the blood with the back of my hand. My entire body trembles in fear and frustration, but my mind is strangely clear.

I whisper to the empty room. “Better luck next time.”

My voice wavers, turning into a half laugh, half sob. I refuse to break. If Linda wants a showdown, she’ll get it. I’ve got nothing to lose but my life and ultimately my baby’s life—and that’s exactly what makes me dangerous.

I limp to the cot and sink onto it, the frame protesting with an eerie creak. My pulse is still racing, mind spinning with possible plans. The next time Gianni or Linda waltzes in, I’ll be more prepared. Maybe I can lure them closer, distract them long enough to grab their weapon. If I can disarm them, perhaps I’ll be able to find another way out.

There has to be another way out.

I rest a shaky hand on my belly again, my baby the only source of comfort. I swallow the knots in my throat. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “We’re going to get through this. One way or another.”

Linda can gloat all she wants, but this isn’t over.

If she wants my blood, she’ll have to fight for it.

CHAPTER 35

DANTE

The restaurant is an upscale Italian joint perched on a quiet street in Midtown.

Dim lights, obedient waiters, scrumptious smells, and a soft piano melody filling the room, courtesy of the pianist sitting at the grand piano near the back. A nice, cozy spot for two lovers to wine and dine. Luca’s go-to place when he wants to impress someone.

Or hide in plain sight.

The staff knows him by name. They know he’s a Bellacino, and they give him privacy—probably thinking it’ll keep them out of trouble.

Tonight, they’re dead wrong.

The maître d’ tries to block my path the second I stride in, a prim little man in a vest and tie. “Sir, do you have a reserva?—”

I brush him aside, being less than gentle about it, eyes locked on the doors leading to the private dining room. A small part of mehopes Luca’s not stupid enough to be here, but I also know my son’s patterns. He’s cocky, thinking he’s always two steps ahead.

He has no idea.

A pair of waiters move to intercept me, concern creasing their brows. “Sir? Is there a problem?”

“There will be if you don’t get the fuck out of my way,” I growl.

They recognize me in an instant and step aside. I march toward the double doors where the word “Private” is scripted in gold letters. The hostess doesn’t dare meet my gaze as I push them open.

Inside, I find Luca at a table set for two, fine silverware glinting, a bottle of red wine at his elbow. He’s leaning back with casual arrogance, swirling his glass of Barolo, a smug grin on his face. Next to him is Sarah, her blonde hair pinned up, a chic designer dress showing off her tiny figure. The perfect little society wife—or so it would seem.

They’re laughing when I enter, but when their heads snap around, the blood drains from Sarah’s face. Luca’s eyes widen, but he stays calm, setting his wine glass down with a slow, deliberate motion. I close the doors behind me, the click reverberating in the hush.

Crushing silence.

Sarah’s the first to speak, her voice trembling. “Mr. Bellacino? I–I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.”

Luca doesn’t say a word, his lips pressed tightly together. He knows I’m not here to make polite conversation. He’s seen this look on me before, years ago, when I put a bullet through a traitor’s kneecap right in front of him. He was only fifteen then.Maybe I was too harsh, but I’d hoped it was a lesson. A man learns from consequences, or he should.

“Sarah.” I acknowledge her with a curt nod, then focus my attention on Luca, letting him feel the full weight of my stare. “You and I have business.”

He leans back, flicking a glance at his wife. “I’m kind of in the middle of dinner, Dad,” he replies, attempting a casual tone, but I can see the fear in his eyes. “Can this wait?”

“No.” My voice is cold and final. “Get up.”

He doesn’t move. Sarah shrinks in her chair, her eyes darting between the two of us. My pulse is a pounding roar in my ears.

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