Page 55 of His Son's Ex

When Dante told me, I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. Sure, we’ve been together for a while now, but this is a lot.

A butler opens the massive doors, the warmth of the foyer enveloping us. Marble floors gleam under the soft glow of chandeliers, and somewhere off in the distance, I catch a whiff of roasted garlic and herbs. My stomach grumbles—part hunger, part nerves.

Dante leads me inside, his hand never leaving my back. A staff member appears to take our coats. We step forward into an ornate hallway lined with oil paintings, the muted sound of conversation echoing from the next room.

“Mr. Bellacino, Ms. Smith,” the butler says with a deferential nod. “Madam Isabella is expecting you.”

Ms. Smith.The formality makes me want to laugh—or maybe cry. I’m about to break bread with the Bellacino clan, the city’s most feared and respected family. Calling me Ms. Smith as if I’m a dignitary. I muster a polite nod and let Dante guide me toward the dining room.

The space is grand—vaulted ceilings above a long mahogany table covered in immaculate silken linens, gleaming silver flanking fine China, fresh-cut flowers in crystal vases. The glow of the chandelier overhead highlights every polished surface. I squint as I enter the room, scanning the faces already gathered.

My gaze immediately lands on Luca.

Of course he’s here, sitting stiffly near the far end, Sarah perched meekly beside him. She adjusts her strapless dress, tossing her shiny blonde hair with an air of self-satisfaction. Her eyes flick to me briefly before she glances away, and I catch the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

Standing near them is Luca’s mother, Linda. She’s striking, with meticulously styled honey-brown hair and a face that suggests more than a little help from modern cosmetic procedures. Her dress is chic, clinging to a figure that clearly belongs to someone used to expensive spa treatments and personal trainers.I can’t help but wonder why she’s here. She glances our way, lips tightening in a tilted grin that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Seated at the head of the table is Isabella herself. She sits with a poised regality that could put royalty to shame. Dressed in a flowing dark dress, her silver hair twisted into an elegant chignon, she radiates queenly authority.

The second she sees Dante, her expression warms, and then her gaze shifts to me, keen and assessing.

Dante’s arm wraps gently around my waist, wordlessly reminding me I’m not alone.

“Good evening, everyone,” he says by way of greeting, his voice respectful. “Thank you for having us. Eva, this is my mother, Isabella.”

Isabella tilts her head, her piercing gaze staring into my soul.

“Dante. Eva.” She says my name smoothly, like she’s already tried it out a few times. “Welcome.”

I step forward, nerves strung tight. “Thank you, Mrs. Bellacino. I appreciate the invitation.”

Her eyes narrow slightly though kindly. “Isabella,” she corrects with a smile. “We’refamigliatonight, are we not?”

My cheeks warm. “Of course. Isabella.”

Dante touches my elbow. “Shall we sit?”

We move toward the table. Luca rises halfway, nodding stiffly at me.

“Eva,” he murmurs. His tone is polite enough, though I see the tension in his posture. Sarah plasters on her signature brittle smile, giving me a judgmental once-over before looking away.

Suddenly, Luca’s mother rises from her chair and crosses the room in a swish of expensive perfume, a bright, false grin on her face.

“Dante darling! It’s been ages since we’ve all been under one roof. You look well.” She leans in, air-kissing near his cheek, and I can instantly sense his aversion as he endures it.

He steps back smoothly, clearing his throat. “Linda.”

She turns to me, the fake grin fading. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Eva. I’ve heard… so much.” She doesn’t specify what.

I match her gaze with carefully cultivated politeness. “Lovely to meet you.”

She eyes me for a split second, and I sense the unspoken question lingering:Who is this curvy upstart sharing my ex-husband’s bed?

But instead she says, “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Isabella clears her throat as she waves a hand over the table, signifying for us to sit. “Shall we? The first course should be ready.”

Dante pulls out a chair for me near Isabella, then takes the seat next to mine and we settle in.

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