Page 18 of Auctioned Innocence
Stella comes to me willingly, her tiny body warm and trusting against my chest.
These moments of normalcy have become precious in our world—dinner with friends, a beautiful baby, the best wine that money can buy.
For a few hours, I can pretend I’m just a man enjoying an evening rather than what I really am: a weapon pointed at enemies.
Mario watches from across the table, his protective stance never quite relaxed, even with Stella’s biological father, AnthonyCalabrese, safely behind bars. “Who would believe the feared Dante Moretti is such a sucker for my daughter?”
“Watch it, old man,” I warn, but there’s no heat in it.
Not while I’ve got an armful of warm baby.
Stella immediately grabs for my tie, stuffing the silk into her mouth with single-minded determination. “That’s Armani, little star.”
Elena’s laugh holds a new lightness these days, the shadow of Anthony’s threats finally lifted. “She’s already developing expensive taste.”
She refills my wine glass before settling back in her chair. “Speaking of which, did you see Dominic Calabrese is back from Europe?”
The name sends a chill through me, but I keep my expression neutral for Stella’s sake.
The baby is sensitive to mood shifts—another trait she shares with her mother.
Mario’s expression darkens across the table. “Anthony’s younger brother. Always was the more volatile one.”
“He’s been making noise about the family’s ‘lost honor’ since Anthony’s conviction,” I say, adjusting Stella as she squirms in my arms.
The word “honor” tastes bitter on my tongue.
Nothing honorable about how Anthony had stalked Elena, tried to take her and the baby, until Siobhan’s forces and the DeLuca mob came together to finally take him down.
The Renaldis were also instrumental in that.
Sofia played a main part in thwarting Anthony and helping Elena and Mario escape his clutches.
Sofia.
It’s been three weeks since I’ve allowed myself near her.
Three weeks of torture, knowing I let her see too much of what I feel that night on the terrace.
Three weeks of doing the right thing, keeping my distance like Marco would want.
Like she deserves.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I ignore it, trying to hold onto this moment of peace. Stella has snuggled against my chest, her tiny fist still clutching my tie, her breath warm against my neck.
It buzzes again.
And again.
Elena’s expression tightens, her blue eyes narrowing.
She knows what multiple calls mean in our world. “Dante, you should probably answer your phone.”
With a growing sense of dread, I shift the baby carefully back to her mother.
The screen shows three missed calls from Marco.
