Page 41 of His Nephew's Ex
“Maybe I’m just tired of being a prisoner in paradise,” I say, deflecting with half-truths wrapped in attitude. “Maybe I miss my real life. Maybe I am homesick.”
“Is that what this is about? You want to go back to your apartment?”
The genuine concern in his voice makes my chest tight with guilt. He’s trying to protect me, to keep me safe from threats I don’t even fully understand, and I’m lying to his face about something that affects both of us.
“I want to feel like myself again,” I admit, which is more honest than anything else I’ve said today. “I want to stop feeling like I’m living someone else’s life.”
“And what would make you feel like yourself again?”
The question catches me off guard because the answer is so simple and so complicated at the same time. I want to tell him the truth. I want to stop carrying this secret alone. I want to know how he’ll react with the news that could change everything between us.
But I’m terrified of his response.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, which is the biggest lie yet.
Simeone’s eyes strip away my defenses with practiced ease. He knows secrets—how to find them, how to use them. Right now, I’m certain he can see mine written across my face in letters I can’t erase.
“Loriana,” he says quietly, and there’s something in his voice that makes my breath catch. “Whatever you’re afraid to tell me—don’t be.”
“It’s not that simple,” I breathe.
“Isn’t it?” He tilts his head to the side. “Tell me what’s wrong,stellina. Let me fix it.”
“You can’t fix this, Simeone. No one can fix this.”
“Try me.”
The challenge in his voice, the absolute confidence that he can handle whatever I throw at him—it almost breaks my resolve completely. Almost makes me confess everything right here in his office.
But what if I’m wrong?
“I need some time,” I say instead. “To figure out how to say what I need to say.”
Frustration flickers across his features, but he doesn’t push. “How much time?”
“A few days. Maybe a week.” I’m stalling, and we both know it, but I need space to think. To plan. To figure out how to tell a mafia don that he’s going to be a father.
“Fine.” The word is clipped, clearly not fine at all. “But Loriana? If this is about someone threatening you, if someone has made contact—”
“It’s not about threats.” That much I can say honestly. “This is about me. About us. About something that changes everything.”
The admission hangs between us like smoke, heavy with implication. Simeone’s dark eyes search mine, and I see theexact moment he starts putting pieces together in ways that terrify me.
“Loriana—”
“A few days,” I repeat, backing toward the door before he can voice whatever conclusion he’s reaching. “That’s all I need.”
I flee his office like a coward, my heart pounding against my ribs as I race up the stairs to our room. Behind me, I can feel his gaze tracking my every movement, can sense the predatory patience of a man who’s decided to let his prey think they’ve escaped.
But as I close the bedroom door behind me and lean against it with shaking hands, I know I can’t run from this forever. The truth has a way of surfacing, no matter how deep you try to bury it.
And this truth—this beautiful, terrifying, life-changing truth—is already growing inside me whether I’m ready for it or not.
Two days later, I’m still no closer to finding the right words. Two days of morning sickness and exhaustion, and Simeonewatching me with increasing intensity, clearly trying to solve the puzzle of my strange behavior.
Two days of carrying this secret alone while it grows heavier with each passing hour.
I’m sitting in the garden again, trying to work up the courage to march into his office and tell him everything, when my phone rings. Dr. Scalise’s number flashes on the screen, and my blood turns to ice. Simeone made me go see her when the vomiting didn’t go away.
