Page 40 of Third Degree

“What?” Alex exclaimed, realization beginning to sink in, his mind connecting the dots. “No way in hell are you dragging me into this while I’m knee-deep in a damn campaign. What if the press catches wind of it?”

“They won’t. They won’t know it’s you, either. We’ll tell them a Marchetti is marrying her. She’s younger, and her family won’t approve of me,” I explained, aware of the need for discretion.

“So you’re lying? To marry someone… you love?” Julian’s voice was tinged with a mix of disbelief and concern.

“Yes. I love her, but she’s younger, and her family isn’t exactly fond of me. They’ll assume it’s Alex, the perfect eligible bachelor. They need this deal to succeed, as they depend on my clubs to continue laundering. They’ll agree to it.”

“Do you swear the press won’t get wind of this?” Alex demanded.

“Not a single word,” I assured him, holding his gaze with utmost conviction.

“When is the wedding?” Julian asked.

“A couple months.”

“And you’re happy?” Alex probed once more.

“Very,” I affirmed with a smile.

“And you’re not going to tell us who she is?” Julian questioned.

“Not yet,” I replied, maintaining an air of mystery. “But I need you guys to be at the wedding. Fully loaded. It’s bound to be a fight,” I instructed, my gaze fixed on the rim of my cup.

“Papa.” Julian rose from his chair, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “We may be your sons, but you’ve been everything to us. You took care of us, and we wouldn’t be where we are today without you.”

“It’s our turn to take care of you, Papa,” Alex chimed in. “We’ll do whatever you need. Just let us know when.”

“Well, can it at least wait until I come back from the honeymoon?” Julian quipped, his playful nature shining through.

Alex and I exchanged a knowing look before bursting into laughter.

“I told you he’s gone soft,” Alex retorted while Julian rolled his eyes and returned to the kitchen.

“Ask Papa. He apparently knows a thing or two about being in love,” the boys teased, more boisterous laughter filling the room.

“Thank you both,” I said, touched by their genuine care and support. “I’m proud to have raised such compassionate sons.” Now that this conversation was finished, all I needed to do was get Ricardo on board, which wasn’t going to be difficult.

But first, I needed to get ready for a date.

15

Daphne

30 years old

Last night stirred memories of that transformative summer when I turned eighteen. I accidentally dozed off in Elio’s car, only to wake up with a cozy blanket draped over me and his strong, warm hand resting on my thigh.

My damn insomnia never stood a chance when I was sitting in his car, in his presence. It was as if, somehow, he made me feel safe and my thoughts quieted.

Waking up with his touch on my thigh evoked a familiar longing from my youth. A yearning for his touch to venture farther, for the feel of his tongue upon me once again. But I had to snap out of it. To regain my composure and check on my friend, who was drunkenly sleeping it off inside.

Rushing in the house, I found Chelsea still sleeping, but she woke shortly after I left Elio. She was taken aback by my presence because she, too, held a world of secrets, one of them being where she lived.

She confessed immediately that she was born into a wealthy family and when her parents died was left with a large trust fund. Although she never told any of us because she didn’t want us to see her differently. I understood where she was coming from because I also had secrets I was not ready to share.

Admittedly, when she confessed, I felt the crushing guilt on my chest for keeping my own secrets tightly bound.

After spending the morning engaged in conversation about her life, I left her and drove home to prepare for the dinner I’d foolishly agreed to with Elio.

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