“I hate to interrupt whatever emotionally devastating conversation this is, but Leo needs a nap.”
“I don’t need a nap.”
“You just yawned.”
“I was breathing.”
Mia nodded.
“Very dramatically.”
Leo crossed his arms.
Dante made a strange sound.
I looked at him.
He was trying not to laugh.
Leo noticed.
“What?”
Dante cleared his throat.
“Nothing.”
“You laughed.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Dante glanced at me.
I raised an eyebrow.
He surrendered.
“Maybe a little.”
Leo studied him.
Then, unexpectedly, smiled.
My heart twisted.
Dante looked like someone had handed him the world.
That was when I realized something terrifying.
I had spent three years protecting Leo from Dante.
But I had never considered that one day Leo might want him.
Not the Mafia boss.
Not the man who married my sister.
His father.
I suddenly needed air.
“I’m taking Leo to the apartment.”
Mia nodded.
“I’ll come.”
Dante reached for his coat.
I looked at him.
“You’re not coming.”
He stopped.
Every instinct in him clearly wanted to argue.
But he didn’t.
“Okay.”
The word surprised me.
I turned toward the door.
“Elena.”
I stopped.
Dante stood several feet away.
“I won’t come to the apartment.”
I waited.
“But there will be security outside.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I said no.”
“And I heard you.”
“Dante.”
His eyes moved toward Leo.
“This is the one thing I won’t negotiate.”
My temper rose.
“Excuse me?”
“You can hate me. You can refuse to speak to me. You can go back to Zurich when this is finished.”
His voice lowered.
“But while someone is watching my son, I will protect him.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t get to call him your son whenever it helps your argument.”
Pain flashed across his face.
Good.
Part of me wanted it there.
Then Leo spoke.
“He is my dad?”
The room went silent.
I turned.
Leo stood near Mia.
His cookie forgotten in one hand.
My heart stopped.
“Leo.”
He looked at me.
“Mia said he’s my dad.”
Mia’s eyes widened.
“I absolutely did not.”
Leo frowned.
“You said he has my eyes.”
Mia closed hers.
“Oh.”
Leo looked at Dante.
“Are you?”
Dante froze.
I could see the battle happening inside him.
He wanted to say yes.
Every part of him wanted to say it.
But he looked at me first.
Not Leo.
Me.
For permission.
That nearly broke me more than anything else.
I knelt beside Leo.
My mind raced through every careful explanation I had imagined giving him one day.
None of them belonged here.
None of them started in Mia’s apartment with Victoria’s threat sitting on a table and my dead father possibly alive.
But childhood did not wait for adults to be ready.
I brushed hair from Leo’s forehead.
“Do you remember when you asked me why some children have dads living with them and some don’t?”
“Yes.”
“And I told you families can look different?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“Well… Dante is your father.”
Leo turned immediately.
Dante stopped breathing.
Leo studied him for several long seconds.
Then asked, “Where were you?”
Dante’s face collapsed.
I looked down.
I couldn’t help him.
This answer belonged to him.
He crouched.
“I didn’t know about you.”
Leo tilted his head.
“Mommy didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
Leo looked at me.
I forced myself not to defend the decision.
Not yet.
Dante continued.
“If I had known, I would have wanted to meet you.”
Leo considered this.
Then asked, “Do you like dinosaurs?”
I nearly laughed.
Dante blinked.
“I don’t know very much about dinosaurs.”
Leo’s eyes widened with genuine alarm.
“Nothing?”
“Very little.”
“That’s bad.”
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
“You have to know T. rex.”
“I’ve heard of that one.”
Leo shook his head.
“That’s not enough.”
Dante looked at me.
There was helplessness in his eyes.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Leo took one step closer.
“I can teach you.”
Dante’s voice almost failed him.
“I’d like that.”
Leo nodded.
“Okay.”
And just like that, the moment passed for him.
Children were strange that way.
Adults built walls over years.
Children sometimes walked through the door because nobody had told them it was supposed to be locked.
Leo reached for my hand.
“I still don’t need a nap.”
“You definitely do.”
He sighed dramatically.
I lifted him.
As I carried him toward the door, Dante spoke behind me.
“Elena.”
I turned.
He didn’t smile.
But his face was softer.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For answering him honestly.”
I held his gaze.
“I won’t lie to my son.”
Something passed through his eyes.
“I know.”
We left.
***
The apartment Dante had given us was nothing like I expected.
I had assumed marble.
Gold.
Some absurd view designed to remind visitors they were standing inside the property of a wealthy man.
Instead, the apartment was quiet.
Warm.
Bookshelves covered one wall.
A grand piano sat near the windows.
There were family photographs everywhere.
Not Dante.
His mother.
His grandparents.
People I had never met.
Dante as a boy.
I stopped in front of that one.
He couldn’t have been older than five.
Dark hair falling over his forehead.
Serious gray eyes.
The resemblance to Leo was unbearable.
Mia appeared beside me.
“Okay.”
I didn’t move.
She looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
“Okay,” she repeated.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to say genetics are rude.”
I almost smiled.
Leo ran into the room wearing socks and immediately discovered the piano.
“No.”
I pointed at him.
He froze with both hands raised.
“I didn’t touch it.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was looking.”
“With your fingers.”
He grinned.
Mia took him toward the bedroom.
“Come on, tiny criminal. Nap.”
“I’m not criminal.”
“Then stop planning crimes against expensive instruments.”
Their voices disappeared down the hallway.
I stood alone in the living room.
For the first time since landing in Chicago, there was silence.
Real silence.
It lasted exactly ten seconds.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
My body went cold.
I almost didn’t answer.
Then I remembered Victoria.
My father.
Leo.
I pressed accept.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
“Hello?”
Static.
Then breathing.
Very faint.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Who is this?”
A man spoke.
One word.
“Elena?”
My knees nearly gave way.
The voice was older.
Weaker.
But I knew it.
I knew it before my mind allowed me to.
“Dad?”
Silence.
My vision blurred.
“Dad?”
The line crackled.
Then:
“You came back.”
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
Tears spilled down my face.
“Where are you?”
A pause.
“Are you alone?”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“Mia is here. Leo is here.”
“Leo?”
I closed my eyes.
“My son.”
The silence on the line changed.
Something between shock and grief.
“You have a son?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“Almost three.”
He breathed out.
“Oh, Elena.”
My heart cracked.
“Dad, where are you?”
“Listen to me.”
His voice sharpened.
The father I remembered returned in that tone.
The man who had taught me to ride a bicycle.
Who had worked late and still attended every school recital.
Who had driven through a snowstorm because I called from college with a flat tire.
“Do not tell Dante you spoke to me.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Do not tell him.”
“Why?”
“Promise me.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
I wiped my face angrily.
“You don’t get to disappear for three years and call me out of nowhere demanding promises.”
“I know.”
“You let me think you were dead.”
“I know.”
“I buried you.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
I pressed my forehead against the window.
Chicago stretched below me.
Cold.
Bright.
Unchanged.
“I stood beside your grave.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I came home from Europe for the funeral.”
“Elena—”
“I cried for months.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Silence.
I straightened.
“How do you know?”
He said nothing.
My heart started pounding.
“You’ve been watching me.”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“I had people making sure you were safe.”
The room tilted.
“Who?”
“I can’t explain this over the phone.”
“You’ve had three years.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that!”
My voice rose.
From the hallway, I heard Mia’s footsteps.
I lowered my voice immediately.
“Where are you?”
“Not somewhere safe.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you being held?”
A pause.
“No.”
That answer frightened me more.
“Then why haven’t you come home?”
“Because if I had, you would have become a target.”
“I already am.”
He went silent.
I looked toward the envelope we had carried from Mia’s apartment.
“Victoria knows Leo exists.”
My father inhaled sharply.
“What?”
“She had someone follow us.”
“Elena.”
“She sent a photograph of him.”
“Listen to me very carefully.”
His tone changed again.
Urgent now.
“You need to leave Chicago.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that?”
“Take your son and leave tonight.”
“Dad.”
“Do not tell Dante where you’re going.”
I stared at the city.
“Why are you afraid of Dante?”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“Then what?”
My father’s next words came slowly.
“Because Dante doesn’t know what really happened three years ago.”
My blood chilled.
“What happened?”
Before he could answer, a sound came through the phone.
A door.
Then another voice.
Distant.
I couldn’t understand the words.
My father whispered, “I have to go.”
“No.”
“Elena—”
“Tell me where you are.”
“I love you.”
“Dad.”
“I always have.”
“Don’t hang up.”
“Protect Leo.”
“Dad!”
The line died.
I stared at my phone.
Mia entered the room.
One look at my face stopped her.
“What happened?”
I couldn’t speak.
“Elena?”
I held out the phone.
“My father called me.”
Her face drained.
“What?”
“He’s alive.”
Mia sank onto the nearest chair.
“Oh my God.”
I started pacing.
“He knew about Switzerland.”
“What?”
“He knew I was there. He had people watching me.”
Mia frowned.
“Watching you how?”
“I don’t know.”
She stood.
“What did he say?”
“That I need to leave Chicago.”
“That’s excellent advice.”
“He told me not to trust Dante.”
Mia went still.
“That is less excellent.”
I turned.
“He said Dante doesn’t know what really happened three years ago.”
Mia stared at me.
“Three years ago when?”
I looked at her.
