Page 52 of Second Chance Daddy
He doesn’t look worried or scared or uncertain. Doesn’t look like he should call the cops. He just stands there like a man who’s seen such things before, and I feel fear clawing up my throat at the terrible realization that I don’t know Dante Romano at all.
14
DANTE
The cameras don’t lie.
I stand at the counter with my eyes glued to the feed. My pulse moves steadily, but every muscle coils beneath my skin as I watch the figure outside pace the driveway like he’s got all night to fuck with my head. He’s not out there for a stroll. He’s casing us. Watching. Testing how close he can get.
He picked the wrong family to fuck with.
Whoever this asshole is has no idea who he’s playing with. Wrong house. Wrong family. And definitely the wrong man.
I’ve buried threats for less.
Cassie’s behind me, wound so tight I can feel the tension burning off her. But I can’t afford to comfort her right now. Fear’s useful. Fear keeps people alive.
I’ve got people to protect. A kid sleeping down the hall. A woman breaking apart from the weight of secrets she thinks I can’t see.
The guy’s still there with his hoodie drawn low like he fears nothing. He’s cocky. He thinks this is a game. Oh, by the time I’m done with him, he’ll pray for an entry to hell itself. The porch light flickers, casting him in and out of view, just enough for my blood to burn hotter.
The rage builds quietly and lethally under my skin, but I keep it leashed; otherwise, I’ll let it blind me. Can’t let that happen with Cassie, Aria, and Tina under my roof.
I drag open the drawer beside me, fingers curling around the knives tucked in the back. Not my preferred weapons, but they’ll do for now. I sling one into my belt. A blade at my ankle. Another under my shirt. Silent insurance policies I’ve carried half my life. Cassie flinches watching me arm myself, but I see the fear in her eyes—it’s not just for me. It’s for her. For the kid.
“Dante,” Cassie whispers, voice tight with fear, “what are you doing?”
“Don’t worry, Cass,” I tell her, hiding a few knives in my boots as well, just for good measure.
“Stay here,” I tell her as I leave the kitchen.
Cassie Russo doesn’t exactly specialize in obedience, though.
Of course, the second I step toward the living room, I hear her trailing after me, barefoot on the tile like some rebellious angel who never learned fear properly.
I glance back, jaw tight. “Cass, stay.”
She folds her arms, chin tilted high like she’s not scared. But I see the cracks beneath it. She’s afraid.
“I’m not some helpless princess, Dante,” she snaps. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“I’m just going to make sure there’s no trouble outside,” I give her some kind of answer. She deserves that much.
I round the corner into the living room and stop by the painting—abstract bullshit Tina insisted on hanging years ago. It proved to be a good cover, though, so I didn’t mind footing the bill. I drag the painting aside, exposing the hidden compartment in the wall. My fingers click the latch, and I curl around the gun, pulling it into sight.
When I pocket it, Cassie’s eyes widen, fear bleeding into her stubborn expression.
“Why… why the hell do you have a gun?” Her voice is quieter now.
“Self-defense.” I don’t look at her as I lie smoothly. “The world’s not as soft as you want it to be, Cass.”
Cassie doesn’t know the monster I was raised to be. And I’m not ready just yet to tell her. Maybe someday… But right now, trust is a fragile thing we’re still building. Honesty, in my eyes, comes after trust.
“Stay inside,” I tell her sharply now. “Lock the door behind me.”
“What? No!” She grabs my arm, fingers digging into my skin. “Don’t go out there. We should call the police.”
“If we wait, he could enter. If we wait, we might never know who he is. Just let me handle this right, Cass.”
