The man who had refused to marry me for eight years stood outside Chicago O’Hare Airport, staring at the little boy I had hidden from him. That man was Dante Moretti,

by

Chapter 8

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"The blue ones are the fastest," Leo informed him with utter authority, nodding his head. He looked closer at Dante's face, squinting his eyes. "You have eyes like me."

"I do," Dante said softly, looking up at me with eyes overflowing with gratitude, before looking back down at our son. "Because you got them from me, little guy."

"Are you Mommy's friend?" Leo asked.

Dante looked at me, waiting for my permission. For the first time in his life, he didn't dictate terms. He waited for my lead.

I took a deep breath. Looking at Dante kneeling there—broken, humbled, holding a plastic toy car with more reverence than he had ever held a billion-dollar merger—I realized that keeping Leo away from his father wouldn't be an act of justice. It would be an act of vengeance. And I refused to let my son carry the baggage of our past.

"Yes, sweetie," I said softly, brushing a dark curl from Leo’s forehead. "He's an old friend. His name is Dante."

"Dan-tay," Leo repeated, testing the syllables in his mouth. He smiled, satisfied, and suddenly climbed directly onto Dante’s knee.

Dante let out a sharp gasp, freezing as if struck by lightning, terrified that moving a muscle might scare the boy away. But when Leo leaned his small head against Dante’s shoulder to watch the toy car, Dante slowly, reverently wrapped his arms around the boy. He buried his face in Leo’s soft curls, closing his eyes tightly as a tear slipped silently down his nose.

For twenty minutes, the suite was quiet save for the soft sound of Leo explaining how cars drive on bridges. Dante listened to every single word as if it were the most critical intelligence briefing on earth. He asked questions, he made engine noises, and he followed Leo’s commands with absolute obedience.

When Leo’s eyelids finally began drooping again, Dante gently lifted him—moving with an instinctual grace I hadn't known he possessed—and carried him into the bedroom. He laid him on the bed, pulled the soft duvet up to his chin, and stood over the crib for a long, quiet minute, just watching the steady rise and fall of our son’s chest.

When he stepped back into the living room, he closed the door with exquisite gentleness.

"Thank you," Dante said, his voice husky. "You had every right to turn me away at the door. You gave me that anyway. I will never forget it."

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Table of Contents
The man who had refused to marry me for eight years stood outside Chicago O’Hare Airport, staring at the little boy I had hidden from him. That man was Dante Moretti,
TABLE OF CONTENTS 12
01 Chapter 1 02 Chapter 2 03 Chapter 3 04 Chapter 4 05 Chapter 5 06 Chapter 6 07 Chapter 7 08 Chapter 8 09 Chapter 9 10 Chapter 10 11 Chapter 11 12 Chapter 12

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