Page 86 of His Son's Ex

I watch as the two of them speak for a full minute, exchanging what looks like heated words before the killer stands, slaps some cash on the table, and storms off. Dante remains, his mouth set in a straight line. The footage ends soon after.

My heart feels like it might shatter into a thousand pieces. We always suspected an Italian ordered the hit, but I never considered that Dante could have been involved. Tears burn my eyes. Has he been lying to me all these months, staying bymy side, comforting me, knowing he had a part in my father’s death? No wonder he was so desperate to find out about my background.

I yank the USB from the computer, my hands shaking. A wave of nausea hits me, but I manage to keep it together, stuffing the USB into my purse. I have to get out of here before I lose it in front of everyone.

Outside, night has enveloped Hell’s Kitchen in an eerie glow. I run back through the lingerie store and out the front. The guard gets out of the car and opens the passenger door.

“Ms. Smith? Everything all right? You don’t have any bags.”

Shit.

I force a tight smile. “Yeah, just feeling a little queasy. Let’s head back, please.”

He shrugs as I slide in, heart still pounding, brain on a full-blown spiral. That footage—could it not be what it looks like?

But the pit in my stomach tells me differently.

I press a hand to my belly, trying to ground myself. The man whose child I’m carrying, sleeping beside, trusting with my damn life, might’ve sat down with the guy who murdered my father. Maybe he even ordered it. Or knew it was coming. Or… God, I don’t even know what’s possible anymore. I just know it hurts like hell to even think it.

By the time we pull up to the gates, I’ve got my poker face on. I can’t let anyone see the crack in my armor—not until I’ve figured out what the hell I’m actually dealing with. Because right now, all I’ve got is a USB with possible evidence that the man I’mfalling in love with was involved in my father’s murder, and a heart trying not to break.

The guard drops me near the front steps. I mumble a thanks and head straight for my room.

Inside the suite, I toss my purse on the bed, lock the door, and take a deep breath. One look in the mirror tells me I’m a mess—eyes glassy, face pale, hands trembling.

I feel like I’ve just been hit by grief—the death of a man still alive that IthoughtI knew.

Nausea hits me like a tidal wave. I sit on the bed, head between my knees, until it passes. I cradle my stomach, whispering to the little life inside me.

I can’t let myself spiral. I need answers. Real ones. Maybe there’s context I’m unaware of. Maybe that conversation wasn’t what it looked like.

Or maybe I’ve been sleeping with the villain in my story this entire time.

CHAPTER 27

EVA

Change of plans.

I have to go.

Staying here, pretending everything’s fine while my brain replays that CCTV footage on a loop is not happening. I won’t be able to even look at Dante without the image of him interacting with the man who killed my father burning behind my eyes.

Maybe he knew, maybe he didn’t. But I can’t stay here waiting for answers I’m not even sure he’ll give me.

I start packing.

I toss a few days’ worth of clothes into a duffel along with the USB drive and some personal essentials.

It’s almost midnight, the mansion hushed and still. I crack open my suite door, peering out into the hallway. No guards. No movement. Just the soft glow of a wall sconce and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.

I creep down the hall, constantly looking over my shoulder. There’s a stairwell near the west wing that leads to a sideentrance by the garage. If I can make it there, I’m golden. My plan is to head straight to Halsey’s. She’s out of town, but I’ve got her keypad combo.

At the top of the stairs, I pause. No voices. No footsteps. Just the thrum of adrenaline pumping through my veins.

I press a hand to my stomach.Just hang tight, little one. We’re almost free.

Halfway down the staircase, I hear a muffled sniffling coming from the landing below. My first instinct is to freeze then backtrack. But curiosity—or stupidity—wins out. I crane my neck and peer around the banister. My stomach twists when I see Sarah, of all people, sitting on the steps, hugging her knees, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

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