Page 24 of Second Chance Daddy
Those eyes—Aria’s eyes—lock onto mine, framed by those little crinkles at the corners that shouldn’t be sexy but are.
Our gazes lock.
Everything else? Static.
The silence screams everything we never said, lingering between us like a gas can about to explode.
Shit.
6
DANTE
Fuck.
All it takes is Cassie fucking Russo on my goddamn porch, and all my careful plans not to seek her out are gone like cheap tequila on Spring Break.
She’s all tight little denim pants, legs for days, and that white shirt unbuttoned low enough to make a saint lust. Her hair’s a mess, sun-streaked, curling at the ends like she just rolled out of bed, and Christ—the things I’d do to her if I could get her in mine.
But it’s not the clothes that get me. Not the legs, or the mouth I still dream about, or the eyes that cut through me like glass.
It’s the little girl gripping her hand.
Blonde curls. Big blue-gray eyes.
My pulse skips. I hide it well. Years of Bratva training kicked in to smother panic.
“Cassie,” I say, like my body isn’t a goddamn war zone right now.
She freezes. It’s almost cute the way her grip tightens on that little girl’s hand like I’m a monster hiding behind the welcome mat.
She’s not wrong.
“Dante,” she replies, voice thin, a breath shorter than her temper probably is. “I didn’t know you’d be… door duty.”
She’s losing words with her train of thought. Looks like I’m not the only one affected around here.
“Yeah, well, being the host means I get to open the door.”
I lean on the doorframe, cool as hell, like I wasn’t five seconds away from pacing this house with nerves myself.
“Tina invited us,” Cassie explains, suddenly fascinated by a spot on the ground. “For the barbecue.”
Christ, I’d forgotten what seeing her does to me. Correction: I forgot nothing. I’ve just been lying to myself for three damn years.
“Good to see you, Cassie,” I offer casually, eyeing her legs like they owe me rent. “You look great.”
The little one tugs at her hand, that curious stare fixed on me, eyes like mirrors.
My stomach knots tighter.
It doesn’t mean anything. Gino claimed her as his.
“Everyone’s out back.” I open the door wider to let them in like it’s no big deal, like the ground under my feet didn’t just tilt sideways. “Food’s ready. Drinks flowing.”
Cassie hesitates, like she’s thinking about turning around. Running. I wouldn’t blame her. But then she squares her shoulders and walks past me, her daughter by her side, and when I turn, I can’t help but notice how juicy her fucking ass looks.
Fate? Luck? Bad decision? Whatever it is, it got us here—her walking through my house.
