Page 51 of Second Chance Daddy
What I mean to say is, if Tina finds out I’m scared, she’ll dig. And when she digs, she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t know. Dante doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the weight of this lie—the secret that would blow this whole thing sky-high.
And if Tina finds out Aria isn’t Gino’s…
If Dante finds out she’s his…
Everything detonates.
He takes a step closer, the space shrinking, his voice low, lethal. “You’re just scared. You don’t have to protect everyone by killing yourself in the process.”
“Well, maybe I don’t need another guard dog. Maybe I don’t want Tina in my business. Maybe I don’t want?—”
“The truth?” he bites, eyes blazing. “Because that’s coming, Cassie. Whether you hand it over or I drag it out of you.”
Before I can answer, his phone rings.
He answers, listens, eyes darkening, and jaw locking tighter with every word.
“I need to get this,” he says, and walks out the door without explanation.
Who the hell was that calling at three AM? What could be so urgent?
I stand there, heart racing, batter forgotten, pulse hammering under my skin.
Phew.
That was close. He was about to start asking questions again about what it is I’m hiding. But then, relief turns to worry. Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass, and he’s still not back.
I’m about to go looking for him when the door opens and he strides back in, face grim, something clutched in his hand.
A phone. Not his usual sleek smartphone, but an old-school flip phone. A burner.
“What’s going on?” I ask, fear creeping up my spine.
He doesn’t answer, just moves past me to the security panel by the door. I watch as he punches in a code and hear the distinct sound of locks engaging throughout the house. All of them.
“Dante, you’re scaring me.”
“Good,” he says, not looking at me. “You should be scared.” He moves to the windows, checking each one, drawing blinds, his movements quick and efficient. Like he’s done this before many times.
“Who was on the phone?” I press.
My chest tightens. My gut twists when he doesn’t answer.
“Dante?” I ask, the fear running through me like a live wire. “What’s happening?”
A chill runs through me. This isn’t the Dante I know—the rich boy with the mysterious family. This is someone who moves like a predator, who knows danger from a mile away.
“You’re scaring me,” I whisper again.
His face softens, just barely. “I’m sorry.” He reaches out and cups my cheek. “But I need to be alert.”
The harsh buzz of an alert cuts through the tension. Dante’s head snaps toward the tablet on the counter, the screen now lit up with footage from security cameras I didn’t even know existed.
Four AM
A black car idles at the gate. A figure standing beside it, face obscured by a hat pulled low.
“Someone’s watching the house,” he whispers, his eyes locked on the figure.
