Page 50 of Second Chance Daddy
My mind won’t shut up, playing Aria’s question on repeat like the world’s most devastating earworm.
Is Dante my daddy?
I make sure to keep things quiet in the kitchen, careful not to wake anyone.
Baking’s always been my therapy. I’m elbow-deep in cookie dough when I hear him.
“Bit early for baking, isn’t it?”
I jump, spinning, hands half-raised like a caught criminal.
“Jesus! You scared me,” I hiss, and then I notice he’s walking around topless.
Sweet Jesus, take me to hell already. He looks like sin incarnate with abs carved of marble. Why the hell is he glistening at this hour?
“Do you always walk around like that?” I snap, averting my gaze.
He leans against the doorframe, completely unbothered, arms crossed over that ridiculous chest, tattoos flexing like a warning label. His eyes rake over me—messy ponytail, my old tank top hanging off one shoulder—and that smirk only deepens.
“Didn’t realize I needed wardrobe approval to grab a glass of water,” he shrugs.
The man doesn’t know he needs a permit to be walking around like that. Whatever happens around him, I take no responsibility for my actions.
“Why are you up, anyway? Baking at this hour?” He looks incredulous. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Didn’t try hard enough, I guess,” I mutter, going back to my baking. My arms ache. My head aches. Everything aches.
He stays quiet for a beat, but his presence wraps around me anyway—thick, tense, and impossible to ignore.
“You want me to leave?” he offers finally.
“No,” I snap, harsher than I mean to. My throat burns. My hands shake. The words come out before I can think them straight. “I want this—this whole damn situation—to make sense.”
His head tilts, eyes narrowing. “You mean the part where your ex is still out there playing games?”
I swallow hard. My hands curl into fists at my sides. It’s easier to let him believe this is about Gino—the stalking, the threats, the shadows crawling up my walls. The part where I’ve turned my life into a bad Lifetime movie and can’t hit pause.
But the real problem? It’s curled up in her bed right now with blue-gray eyes and Dante’s whole damn face.
“I can handle it,” I lie.
His jaw ticks. “I’m not always gonna be around, Cass.”
The words land like a brick to the chest. My pulse flatlines. Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? Dante always leaves. It’s like his hobby. Brad Pitt divorcing people energy. Classic ghost-and-burn.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I shoot back, anger curdling under my skin.
“It means I’ve got shit to handle in town. Can’t always sit around the house looking out for you. And when I’m not here? Tina needs to know the full truth. Even if you won’t tell me, tell her.”
Panic spikes like a jolt of caffeine straight to my veins. “Absolutely not.”
He looks incredulous. “She’s your best friend.”
“Exactly. And she’s your sister, one you know very well. Which means if you tell her anything, she’ll go full FBI, dig into every corner?—”
“Maybe that’s exactly what needs to happen.”
“No,” I snap, louder now, my chest heaving. “If Tina starts pulling at threads… it’ll get dangerous… for her.”
