Page 35 of His Son's Ex

“Eva,” I say at last, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Her name is Eva Smith.”

“Eva. Hm. I never met her. Showing up to your exes wedding uninvited is a confident move, wouldn’t you agree?”

My brow arches. “You say that like you approve.”

She laughs softly. “I like confident women. I didn’t take her for a wallflower, at least not from the little bit I observed. She seems interesting.”

Interesting is an understatement. My memories flash to Eva pinned against the suite’s wall, her breathy moans, the way her eyes sparked as I drove deep into her.

I clear my throat, banishing the image. “I wouldn’t know,” I lie smoothly, though I’m certain my mother can see right through me.

She tilts her head again, her expression knowing. “Really, Dante? You wouldn’t know anything about why she might havevanished or why she looked so, let’s say, refreshed, when she reappeared?”

I bite back a curse. Sometimes I forget how sharp my mother is. She could run circles around half the men in my organization.

“Perhaps she had someplace else to be.”

A sly smile takes over. “The kind of place that required a private elevator ride with you?”

I know there’s no reason to pretend, but I also don’t want to confirm anything that’ll become gossip.

“I don’t recall specifics,” I say, feigning indifference. “But if she is Luca’s ex, then she’s off-limits.”

She narrows her eyes. “Is she? Because I noticed a certain look on your face when you glanced her way.”

My grip tightens on the mug, but I keep my voice measured. “Mother, let’s not indulge in speculation.”

She laughs, the sound surprisingly merry. “Oh, Dante, don’t be so stiff. I’m old, not senile. I can appreciate a bit of intrigue.” Her tone turns gentle, affectionate. “And if you’ve found someone who stirs something in you, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Being the don can be a lonely place.”

I smile warmly at her. “I’m not sure what I feel yet, aside from curiosity.”

“Curiosity can often be the first step to all sorts of entanglements, but I won’t pry. I was merely intrigued by her nerve. She waltzed into a wedding willing to face an ex who clearly wronged her, and left without a scene—well, not one she created. I admire a woman with steel in her spine.”

“She’s got more than steel,” I murmur.She’s got a fire that draws me like a moth to a flame.But I keep that thought to myself.

My mother pats the arm of her chair. “So, you’ll keep an eye on Lombardi, punish him for his transgressions, and maybe, at some point, you’ll cross paths with this Eva again.”

I shrug. “If it happens, it happens. Right now, I have bigger concerns.”

She seems unconvinced but lets it go. “Very well. When do you plan to set things in motion against Lombardi?”

“Immediately.” I finish the last sip of coffee and place the cup on a side table. “I’ve already ordered my men to start interfering with his supply lines—nothing overt, just enough to hit his pockets. Once he feels the pinch, we’ll see if he comes crawling for a truce when he sees I’m not screwing around.”

“That’s wise. If there’s one thing I learned in the War of the Black Roses, it’s that draining resources does far more damage than an outright bloodbath. Let him bleed money first. Then, if he refuses to learn his lesson…” She lets the implication hang in the air.

“Exactly.” I rise from my seat, crossing to the window overlooking the manicured gardens of our Long Island estate. The morning sun glints off the hedges, the gravel paths, and the ornate fountains. A picturesque scene for a life built from violence and power.

“I’ll keep the war quiet this time. No need to replay old misfortunes.”

“Good,” she says. “We can’t afford the city turning into a battleground again. We lost too many people. Too many of our own.”

I stare at the gardens, painful memories churning. My father taught me everything he knew, but he also died too soon, leaving me to bury my brothers and shoulder the Bellacino legacy alone. If I can handle Lombardi without any escalation, I’ll have done something right.

And yet, a dark part of me yearns to show him that messing with my family is a mistake he won’t live to regret twice.

Isabella stands, smoothing her long black skirt. She’s dressed in colors of mourning ever since my father passed. “Will you join me for lunch in an hour, or are you heading out?”

I turn to face her. “I have a call to make first, some business matters that need to be discussed. Then I’ll be free.”

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