Page 67 of His Son's Ex

A pause. “I’m risking a lot here, Bellacino. If someone finds out?—”

“They won’t.” I drag a hand over my face, forcing a calmer tone. “Do this for me, and I’ll square your debt for good.”

He gasps with surprise. “For good? Okay. I’ll keep looking. I’ll call if I find anything else.”

The line cuts off. I toss my phone aside, staring at it with a mix of triumph and dread.

Eva, who the hell are you?

I sink into my chair, letting the adrenaline settle. My mind churns through the possibilities—she could be part of a rival family, or perhaps she has a criminal past. I can handle criminals, but can I handle it if Eva’s been lying to me about everything?

With a groan, I lean back, massaging the tense muscles in my neck. My day started with Linda’s demands, and it’s ending with the revelation that the woman I’m falling hard for might be animposter. The irony isn’t lost on me. My life has always been about controlling every situation, but now I’m spinning.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. If she’s lied, I’ll handle it. But I won’t jump to conclusions until I see the evidence. If her secrets endanger me—or her—I’ll figure out how to protect us both, even if it means burning a few bridges.

As I gather my things and prepare to head home, I can’t shake the flicker of hope that Eva’s reasons for lying won’t destroy us. Maybe the truth behind her fears is something we can confront together. I just need to know what I’m dealing with.

For now, I’m going to keep this revelation to myself and let her think I’m still giving her space. Because if she is in danger, or if she’s put me in danger, I need the upper hand.

I exit my office, instructing my assistant to cancel any remaining appointments. My footsteps echo through the dim hall as I leave business behind for the night. Outside, the city lights glow brightly, reminding me that wars can be fought anywhere—on the streets, in the boardrooms, even in the hearts of people I love.

I slide into my sedan, telling my driver to head uptown. It’s time to plan the next move.If the Lombardi’s efforts at taking me out and Linda’s attempts at extortion don’t break me, then nothing will—except maybe the truth about Eva Smith.

And I intend to uncover that truth, at any cost.

CHAPTER 19

DANTE

Ican’t remember the last time I felt this close to losing control.

My blood roars in my ears, anger and guilt swirling in equal measure as I step out of the car. The Petrov mansion looms before me, though it’s not Petrov property anymore—the Abramovic family snatched it up after the war.

The gate is locked, though they are expecting me. It wasn’t easy to convince Galina Abramovic to take my call, let alone agree to a meeting. It took more than a few favors and a carefully worded promise that I wasn’t coming to stir up old blood feuds.

The heavy iron gates creak open, the guard on duty leveling me with a hard stare, his fingers twitching near the weapon at his hip. He doesn’t say a word, but his hostility is clear—if it were up to him, I’d still be standing outside.

Fair enough. The people that live in this place have every reason to hate me and my name. But I have to do this. I have to see the place Eva once called home.

Days ago, I discovered the truth. Eva isn’t really Eva Smith. She’s the daughter of a Bratva lieutenant killed in the samewar between the Russians and Italians that took my father and brothers. The knowledge sits like a rock in my gut, reminding me of the role I played in the events that claimed so many lives.

I knew she was hiding something. I just never imagined it would be this.

My footsteps crunch on the gravel drive. The mansion’s facade is grand but marred by signs of neglect. Paint peeling here and there, windows that need attention. The Abramovics probably keep it as a spare property, not their primary residence. Even so, its aura remains heavy, steeped in old blood.

I knock on the front door. A moment later, a slender woman answers, an aging caretaker if I had to guess. Her face pales the second I give her my name.

“I’m here to see the matriarch. I understand she has the Petrov archives.”

The caretaker hesitates. “Yes, but…” She glances over her shoulder, then sighs in resignation. “Fine. Come in.”

I follow her through halls filled with ghosts from the past. Photographs line the walls, none of which are the Petrovs. Still, I sense the echoes of a time when they walked these corridors. Eva’s father. Her mother. Eva herself.A child with bright eyes and a future stolen by bullets in the shadows.

The caretaker leads me into a dimly lit study. Behind a massive desk sits an older woman—poised, regal, and etched with the kind of lines that come from a life of violence and hard-won survival. She looks up, eyes narrowing with immediate recognition.

“I am Galina Abramovic,” she says, her voice low and guarded. “You have nerve, Bellacino. Showing your face here.”

“I’m not here to fight. I just need answers.”

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