Page 16 of Mafia Don's Secret Baby

Even under the most difficult circumstances, he didn’t look even a little ruffled.

His composure seemed unbreakable, no matter what. Even when rushing to a mafia attack where his men were being killed, Matteo never broke a sweat.

“Thank you,” I whispered, taking a seat.

I reached for Callum, but Matteo beat me to him. He grabbed the boy and lifted him into his seat, rustling his dark hair and pushing in the chair.

Callum looked just like Matteo.

Up this close, there was no denying Callum’s parentage, and I found myself holding my breath. Matteo didn’t notice, did he?

Matteo squatted beside our son and gave him a real smile. My heart skipped a beat as a genuine look of fondness entered his eyes. It was so rare to see warmth there, and I couldn’t bring myself to look away. When else had I ever seen the softening of those eyes? The near blackness of them turned brown, as if his emotions were able to sway the color.

“Do you want chicken, or do you like soup?”

Callum looked around, meeting my eyes with a mischievous grin. “Chicken, soup,” he said, reciting both options.

“Which one?” Matteo asked with a small chuckle.

“Chicken, soup.”

“Both?”

Callum nodded excitedly, and I knew he’d only eat the chicken. Maybe he’d dip it in the soup. Matteo nodded and stood, and Callum reached up, grabbing the man’s hand.

Something in my chest burst from the sight. Matteo, with his sleek, dark physique and sinful muscles, held Callum’s hand as if it were natural for him. He tucked his other hand in his pocket and stood there for a moment.

Maybe he would have been a good dad. If he knew that the boy in front of him was his…

I cut the thought short. It was never doubts about Matteo that had made me run from him. I’d always known him to be a decent man, and realistically, I knew he’d one day be a good father. But I also knew that with his career, it would add too much danger to both of our lives. With the Russians closing in, even back then, I couldn’t risk losing my baby because of a careless decision I’d made.

I grabbed my fork and began picking at my salad, pleasantly surprised by the flavor.

A man in a white chef’s uniform came to the table and served a platter for Callum, and my child bounced in his seat excitedly as he reached for it and grabbed a piece of chicken off the plate. He released Matteo’s hand as he began exploring the food in front of him.

“He looks like you,” Matteo said. “His eyes light up the way yours do when you’re excited.”

Did he not notice that Callum had his eyes, not mine?

Then, I realized that his words also meant something else. Had he paid close enough attention to my own excitement to see the similarities?

“I raised him,” I replied. A tinge of anger rested in my chest, no matter how irrational.

I’d been the one to raise Callum because I’d left. I’d never even told Matteo about him, and I couldn’t blame him for my own decisions.

“When he’s done, Sophie is waiting to put him to bed for the evening.”

“I can put him down,” I argued.

“You’re going to sit out here with me.”

He wasn’t asking for permission, and I shrunk from the dominance in his tone; the way he always effortlessly took control of every situation.

“I don’t know if he’ll go to bed with someone other than me,” I told him.

“Let her try.”

It was a matter of minutes before Callum finished his food and began running around the patio, playing with chair legs. Sophie came striding out of the house with a smile, and Callum jumped to his feet.

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