Page 81 of Pretty Plaything
There’s no way I’m leaving my wife unprotected and alone.
“Okay,” Sienna says.
I hurry after Mauro. He’s gone down a hallway that leads to an open door. My hand hovers over my gun that’s hidden under my suit jacket.
I don’t know what exactly Mauro’s role in everything is. He may be my father’s old enemy, or I may have just unknowingly violated some deal by showing up here.
When I go through the door, I find myself on a terrace. Mauro is leaning on the railing, his back to me, a cigarette in his hand. The watch from my dreams is on his wrist.
He turns around, his gaze focusing on me.
“You look familiar,” he says. “Who are you?”
“Alessandro Bellini.” I’m ready to pull out my gun if I have to, but Mauro doesn’t move.
“Ah yeah. I know.” A sad smile spreads across his lips. “You look a lot like your mother.”
I blink at him. “You knew my mother?”
“Oh yeah. She was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. We met at a party. I loved talking to her. She had such a brilliant mind.”
“I remember you,” I say, carefully watching his reaction.
“You do?” Surprise flickers across his face. “Well, I didn’t think you would. You were just a kid when your mother called me from a payphone, crying that you were kidnapped and that she was desperate to find you. Your father wanted to find you himself, but she thought it would take too long without anyone else’s help, so she found my number somehow, snuck out, and called me. It’s a good thing that she did. I was the one who found you.”
I stare at him, trying to keep any emotion off my face.
“It’s a shame your mother died so young. We lost contact after I returned you to her. Life just led us in different directions,” he says.
“How did you find me? Where?”
“Your mother took you for a walk, and when the guards looked away for a few moments, a van showed up and some men grabbed you, or at least that was what your mother told me. They were your father’s enemies. The Orsinis, I think. Anyway, your father didn’t believe they had you, but your mother was sure she saw their family crest. I happened to know where they were hiding. I used to have my territory there, but I moved across the country and abandoned it. I still had my contacts there, though. That’s how I found you.”
“What happened to them?”
“My men killed them. Your father took care of those who escaped later. They intended to hold you captive and force your father to strike a deal with them. You were only six then. I’m not surprised you don’t remember much of it. Maybe it’s for the best.”
“No,” I say. “I couldn’t have been six. My mother died when I was five.”
Mauro’s forehead creases. “No, your mother swore you were six. I was never good with figuring out children’s ages as I never had any of my own. But she said you were six.”
I don’t understand why it would matter.
“How old are you now, boy?” he asks.
“Twenty-four. Why?”
Mauro’s eyes widen, his lips parting. “What month were you born in?”
“March.”
“No, it can’t be.” His face is pensive.
“What are you talking about?”
“I think, my boy, that you might be my son.”
