Page 42 of Second Chance Daddy
“Nothing important.” I lie through my teeth. “It’s fine.”
Her jaw ticks. “Cass…”
“It’s fine. Seriously.”
I shake my head, forcing the words down because I can’t exactly tell her the text, can I? So I keep it vague, but it’s enough.
She doesn’t believe me. Of course, she doesn’t. But she lets it slide—for now.
“Pack your shit,” Tina snaps, already in crisis mode. “You and Aria are staying at the lake house.”
I open my mouth to argue—maybe say I’ve got it handled, maybe lie through my teeth like I always do—but the words collapse before they form. Because Tina’s right. I’m frayed. Barely holding the stitches of my life together. Aria’s not safe. Not while Gino’s shadow stretches this far.
Tina sees the hesitation, the protest brewing behind my teeth, and steamrolls right through it.
“Don’t even start,” she warns.
“I don’t wanna?—”
“Don’t care.” She shakes her head. “Pack your stuff, Cass. The lake house has locks, cameras, and a staff who’ll cook us dinner. Come on. You need a break.”
I exhale, every nerve ending frayed, but I nod. Defeated. “Okay.”
Tina softens for half a second, brushing my arm like this isn’t rock-bottom on a Tuesday. “It’s gonna be fine.”
But my skin still prickles with the memory of that text. The threat curled behind those words.
Tell him the kid is his or I will.
And deep down… I know this is only the beginning.
Hours later,I’m at the Romano family’s lake house, bags dumped by the door, brain fried with anxiety. It’s quiet out here, that eerie kind of rich-people quiet, with tall windows and fancy furniture that looks expensive enough to apologize to.
I set Aria up with her crayons and tell her to hang out in the living room while I go catch up with Tina and thank her properly.
But when I come back? She’s gone.
Panic spiderwebs through me as I search the hallways. The lake house feels too damn big. I’m used to hearing my kid, no matter which room I go into.
My bare feet slap across the cold floor, heartbeat tripping all over itself as I check every corner. “Aria?”
Shit.
The air here smells like Dante. Polished wood, leather, and expensive cologne—the kind that wraps around your ribs and squeezes. It clings to the walls like a warning, sharp, male, unmistakable. Like that night never left me, like his hands are still ghosting down my skin, his mouth still wrecking my self-control.
I follow it. Through the hall, past towering glass doors, until?—
There. A door’s cracked open, light spilling out through it.
I step in.
And my lungs collapse with relief.
Aria. Curled small on the leather couch, tangled in one of those stupidly soft blankets, a cupcake recipe book splayed over her tiny chest, like she read herself straight to sleep.
My heart plummets out of my throat, knees weak, pulse thundering against my ribs as I cross the room on shaky legs.
The couch smells like him. That dark, musky, male scent that should be illegal. Storm clouds and sin wrapped in aftershave.
