Page 112 of His Son's Ex

I’m not sure when I drifted off in the SUV, but I wake to the sound of tires driving over gravel, the SUV jerking over the uneven ground. Trees line the road, tall and shadowed, and I see a sign for Chappaqua. Not exactly a mob hideout, but I guess that’s the point. It’s peaceful, picturesque, and calm.

Dante sits beside me, silent and stoic, hands folded tightly in his lap. He hasn’t said a word since we left the house, and I’m too exhausted to get into it.

The SUV rolls to a stop at a private gate. One of Dante’s men punches in a code, and we ease down a long driveway lined with low lights and expensive landscaping. When we finally pull up to a secluded, upscale, log cabin estate, I exhale for what feels like the first time in days.

Dante helps me out, his hand warm and careful. The gesture just about wrecks me.

Inside, the air smells like lavender and wood polish. The place is large yet cozy—dim lighting, plush rugs and furniture, a huge fireplace with flames crackling like it’s been waiting for me. It’s quiet and peaceful. After all the screaming, the shooting, and the chaos, this feels like another planet.

It’s also exactly what I need.

He leads me to a bedroom overlooking a beautifully tranquil garden that looks like it belongs in a luxury magazine. I step inside, the ambiance instantly soothing.

I wrap my arms around myself. “This is mine?”

Dante nods. “As long as you need. No one gets in without me knowing. If you want to see a nurse or anything, I’ll make it happen. If you want space, I’ll make that happen, too.”

My throat tightens with gratitude. “Thank you.”

“I know you have questions. About my mother. About everything.”

I do. But right now they’re tangled up with fear and exhaustion.

“Not tonight,” I whisper.

“Of course.” He gestures to the bed. “You should rest. There’s an ensuite bathroom there to the left.”

I nod, but when I move to sit down, my whole body protests—the bruises, the adrenaline withdrawal, the emotional equivalent of being hit by a truck. I lower myself onto the mattress like I’m eighty years old, curling into the pillows like they’re a lifeline.

Dante hesitates in the doorway. “Do you need anything?”

I almost laugh, but I don’t have the energy. What I need is a total reboot and probably some therapy.

And a long, hot shower.

I settle for, “I just need to breathe.”

He nods gently. “I’ll be in the next room if you change your mind. Kitchen’s stocked and so is the bathroom, whatever you need.” He turns to go, then pauses. “Eva,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

I meet his eyes and damn it, I know he means it. I see it all—guilt, grief, affection. It hurts.

“I know,” I whisper.

He slips out, the door clicking softly behind him.

I sink back into the pillows, the silence wrapping around me like a blanket and a chokehold all at once. I curl into a fetal position, my hands gently tucked against my belly.

It’s really over. Linda’s gone. Gianni’s gone. My father is still dead, but maybe I don’t have to hate Dante anymore.

And that’s enough for tonight.

Tomorrow, I’ll deal with the rest.

Tonight, I sleep.

CHAPTER 38

EVA

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