Page 35 of Second Chance Daddy
His voice dips lower, colder. Like he could rip the roof off this town if I say yes.
I flinch. Stupid reaction. Stupid truth.
“I’m fine.”
A simple lie I’ve been saying to myself on a goddamn loop.
Dante tilts his head—not buying an ounce of my bullshit. “Cass.” His tone drops like a threat wrapped in concern. “I know that divorce didn’t go down clean.”
“I’m tired.” It slips out before I can cage it. “I’m so—” My voice cracks. “—so tired of carrying all of this alone.”
There it is. Out in the wild. Vulnerability, front and center.
But God… I’ve been holding my whole world together with a schedule and caffeine for too long.
The note still burns in my memory.
You can’t hide forever.
“Someone left a note,” I blurt it before I can stop myself—my mouth running faster than a Real Housewife at a reunion show. “It’s… probably a prank.”
Dante leans forward, his forearms braced on the table, jaw clenching so sharply I could grate cheese off it. “Pranks don’t make your hands shake like that.”
Busted wide open.
“What note?” His voice is low. Dangerous.
I regret saying anything. But there’s no rewinding now. So I fumble through it. “It’s—stupid. Just… words. Someone being an asshole.”
His stare pins me in place. “What. Did. It. Say.”
I should lie. He doesn’t need to be involved in this, because if Dante cares? I’ll find myself an inch away from trouble. But his eyes? They’re not budging.
I drag in a shaky breath. “You can’t hide forever. Gino’s always had trouble letting go.” I try to let out a laugh, but it sounds like I’m being throttled. “But he’s harmless.”
The air between us freezes. His face looks like a ticking bomb, now. I feel it in the floorboards. In my chest.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“You tell anyone?” His eyes narrow over every inch of me. “Cops? Tina?”
I shake my head. “It’s probably just—Gino being dramatic. Or stupid. Or both.”
“Or it’s worse.”
I can’t breathe. Not with him looking at me like that. Not with every nerve ending in my body lit up, screamingrunandstayat the same damn time.
“Dante,” I start, but my voice barely works now. “This isn’t your problem.”
“Helping you isn’t a problem,” he says, sounding furious at me for how I think.
I shove my chair back an inch, pulse thudding against my ribs like a war drum. His protectiveness? It’s not sweet. It’s not some Hallmark bullshit wrapped in a bow. It’s raw, suffocating, a hurricane wrapped in tattoos.
I can’t let this happen.
“You don’t get to waltz in here and—” I gesture wildly between us, nearly knocking over my coffee. “—do this caveman routine. I’ve been surviving just fine.”
