Page 59 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

Tessa visibly rolls her eyes.

“I’m sorry about the theatrics,” Ren says. Salvatore brushes the comment aside.

“They should know better than to serve something like that with children around. My apologies for your dress, Nadia.”

“No, it’s fine. Just a little water.”

A lot of water. It’s seeping into my heels. When I walk out of here, I bet I’ll squeak like a chew toy.

I still can’t look at Ren. Can’t bear the thought of facing him, seeing the angry truth in his face. The shock of it all. That he found out here and now of all places. At this dinner, with these people. This dinner was supposed to beso important. And now neither of us can focus and do what we came here to do, which is charm them into letting uslive.

I am brought a new dish—a fillet already cleaned beyond recognition of the living animal it once was—and the chef’s apologies. Nobody should have to apologize for falling victim to child reasoning, but I take the thanks graciously. The last thing we need at this table is another scene.

A slight tremor shakes my hand as I grasp my cutlery. I clench down on it. I would have never, ever been trembling with nerves when I was a teenager, no matter how bad things got. Maybe I was just young and dumb then. Maybe stupidity and bravery are easily mistaken for each other. I didn’t know then how bad things could go so quickly…but I try to summon some of that old courage anyway.

Tessa smoothly launches into a story about Emma dumping a loose sippy cup all down her cleavage. Somehow, it helps, as we swap our own little disaster stories that have followed us through motherhood.

We’re halfway through dinner when one of the men approaches our table holding a bowl. He places the bowl in the middle, like a centerpiece. A fish swims in circles in a glass that’s too small for it. Harper gasps in delight.

“It’s him!”

She exclaims. It definitely isn’t.

But it’s damn close, too close for her to tell the difference.

I can only imagine the logistics that went into making that fish “reappear” in front of us, and I’m certain Salvatore Mori had something to do with that. I give him a thankful glance. His grin is a rugged, amused slant as he watches Harper’s delight.

“See? What did Ren tell you? He was going to be fine,” I tell her.

Harper beams. “Can we keep him?”

Salvatore gives me a subtle shake of his head. Bad idea. I’m not even sure that type of fish is supposed to be in that type of water.

“No, Harp. He has to go home now that you saved him.”

She watches the fish, transfixed, throughout the rest of the dinner, the food in front of her growing cold.

“Something tells me you have a future vegetarian on your hands,” Salvatore says.

“Oh, you haven’t seen her diva moments. I’m predicting full vegan,” I agree. “Assuming she can break off her love affair with chicken nuggets.”

“I never managed it,” Tessa confesses in a fake whisper.

I glance over. Ren has been quiet. Thoughtful. His gaze is trained on Harper, his expression closed off to the world. He’s eating about as much as she is, lost in some other thought.

I slide my hand over to his, giving it a bold squeeze. His head jerks, looking at me.

“You okay?” I ask him casually, trying to make it seem normal.

“Of course,” he says, not too forceful. “I just—”

He still stares at Harper, then forces his gaze away. His calm, aloof demeanor seems broken somehow. A hairline fracture, barely visible, but there. I know what he wants to say. What he wants to talk about. But we can’t. Not here.

“What do you want, Sal?” Ren finally asks, straight to the point, dropping the pretense of dinner right alongside his cutlery. “Do you want me to beg you? Tell you that you were right? Name what it will take to keep them safe. You know you have the leverage, so use it.”

An awkward hush sweeps the table.

Salvatore looks to me and Harper for a moment.

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