Page 78 of Wicked Rivals

One day, my son would be a lady killer, likely sooner than later at this rate. There was no stopping it.

Like father, like son, damn it.

“Have another espresso with it. That’s the secret,” he added.

Mother of Christ, had he just winked at her?

Then he pushed a button on the espresso machine, waiting patiently for the little cup to fill before handing it to Benedetta.

Stefano’s espresso machine made an excellent cup. If I could get away with it and didn’t have to leave in a hurry when it was time, I would take it along with the robe I planned to steal.

When Benedetta and Enzo’s small talk ended, she finished her drink with another cookie, then made her excuses to leave, hauling out with her a bag filled with a dozen cookies at my son’s insistence.

He and I would have a talk about older women before long.

His reaction to her, and more importantly, her reaction to him, confirmed for me that Benedetta had nothing to do with the threat against us. She showed the same level of sweetness she had years ago, and I could see it was just as genuine now.

Shifting gears, I began preparing myself for Stefano’s impending delivery of the “my fiancée doesn't want you and my bastard son living under my roof” speech.

I knew he had to do it, and I didn’t blame Benedetta. Not after what had happened between Stefano and me in his office.

Knowing that speech would come should have thrilled me.

It would make things much easier when it came time for me to escape with my son, making the likelihood of getting out without being noticed higher. Exactly what I’d been hoping for.

Or was it?

The thought didn’t give me the relief I had expected. No, a strange hollowness gnawed at my stomach instead.

A familiar sensation, the one I had experienced the day I discovered Stefano’s true identity, then again when I realized I could never be with him.

But it didn’t end there.

The feeling had returned when my one and only pregnancy test revealed those two little pink lines. And then again more recently… just the night before when I forced myself to leave Stefano in his office alone.

Maybe five minutes later, he came in wearing black slacks and a dark blue shirt that made his eyes pop. He’d left the top buttons open, revealing some of the ink on his chest.

This man’s presence when he entered a room was powerful.

The small smile dangling at the corner of his mouth made me wonder if he knew that, and if he knew how devastatingly handsome he looked.

I shivered.

He waved the yellow envelope in his hand, and I assumed it contained whatever he’d prepared to give me in exchange for taking Enzo and leaving his house and his life forever.

I didn't want his money, but turning it down might prolong the entire situation.

We both needed out.

As Stefano approached the island, he held my gaze, and his eyes grew darker.

“Let’s talk,” he said.

I smiled, quickly realizing how many times I’d offered the same fake smile to the unpleasant customers at Con Amore. The people I didn’t want to deal with.

“Of course, but privately.” I turned to Enzo. “Hey buddy, why don’t you head to your room and get cleaned up, then watch a little TV?”

My son studied my face for a minute, then hit Stefano with a serious expression that I’d never seen on my baby’s face before.

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