Page 83 of Mafia King's Surprise Baby

“It’s in the car.”

“Can you get it, please?”

Enzo refuses to come to me when I try to untangle him from Leo’s arms. Leo ends up taking him along to retrieve the computer. I’m holding the USB stick when they return. This isn’t something I want to expose in front of my son, though. How can I get him to give us a moment alone?

Hana comes to the rescue, probably reading the room and also knowing the device I hold has precious information for our entire family.

“Koji, come help me put cheese in this sauce.”

He’s scrambling down and rushing to her in the next instant. We’re making mac & cheese from scratch. Hana will have her hands full keeping him from eating all the grated cheese, but it gives us the respite we need.

“Come,” I tell Leo.

At the last second, I’m hesitant to take his hand. Where are we going, the two of us? I know he wants to be in his son’s life, which means I’ll have a place in there, too. But us? We haven’t spoken of any serious matter since the steamy kisses we exchanged last night, and I’m in limbo now, fully taking in the ramifications of my return.

“Hey,” he says as we enter Mattia’s office and he closes the door softly behind him.

“Hey,” I mutter back, peering up at him from under my lashes.

“What’s wrong?”

I bite my lip so hard, I can taste the coppery tang of blood. When I release my lower lip, Leo’s thumb comes up to brush it softly.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs.

“I…” The words elude me, and I can only blink up at him.

“We’ve got this,” he reassures, his fingers unfurling on my jaw, palm warm and strong.

I burrow into his touch, my eyes closing briefly.

“I made a mess of everything,” I blurt out.

Leo inhales sharply, the sound swift and visceral in the quiet of the room.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says.

I nod. My hand has closed on the memory stick, its sharp lines biting into my palm and reminding me I hold something which could help.

I hand it over to him. “I looked into Ardian before I left.”

His face clouds over. “That fucked up shit he was into?”

“Not just.” My Sorbonne friend had sent me four files—I only looked into the last one while I was planning my escape. “He kept diaries, jotting down notes on everyone he’s ever met.”

“You have those?”

“They’re four years old by now, but some of it might still help you.”

He takes the device from me and plugs it into his laptop.

“File number four,” I tell him. I won’t risk having him opening the photos or videos of those fucked up torture porn things my ex-fiancé was into. One viewing was enough to scar my mind.

I watch him reading the notes jotted on the images, snapshots of diaries probably kept as a security measure in the cloud, too. His eyes flit left to right quickly, and I’m reminded he’s a fast reader—Mattia used to tell me Leo read two to three books a week when they were younger.

“You’ve read all this?” he asks, looking up at me with narrowed eyes.

I nod. “Will it help?”

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