Page 76 of Second Chance Daddy
That’s what I need.
“Boss?” Viktor’s voice cuts through from Chicago, alert despite the late hour.
“Find Gino Esposito,” I command. “Now. I don’t care what it costs.”
“Already on it, boss.”
For the first time in my life, I understand what my father meant about family. About having someone worth burning the world down for.
I walk to the far wall and punch in the code for the hidden panel behind the bookshelf. The wall slides open, revealing monitors displaying security feeds from every property I own. Most are dark, quiet. Nothing unusual.
I click through them methodically. The house we’re in now. The apartment in Chicago. The warehouse at the docks.
All clear.
Then I reach the cabin footage—a small property tucked away in the woods outside town. No one’s been there in months. It should be empty, the perimeter undisturbed.
But something catches my eye. A glitch in the feed. Just a flash, there and gone. Most people would miss it, write it off as technical interference.
I’m not like most people.
I rewind the footage, frame by frame. The trees sway gently in the wind. The porch is empty. The driveway is clear. Then—there. A shadow where no shadow should be. Movement by the fence line.
I enhance the image, zoom in on the dark shape moving along the edge of the property. It’s a man. Average height. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Face turned away from the camera, but I’d know that walk anywhere. The way he holds himself, cocky even in stealth.
“Hello, Gino,” I mutter, eyes locked on the screen.
What was he looking for? What did he find?
One thing’s clear. The threat looms nearer and nearer with each passing day.
22
CASSIE
Act normal.
The words loop in my skull like some deranged nursery rhyme while I butter toast for Aria with a smile so wide my cheeks hurt. My hands are shaking so bad that the knife clatters against the plate, and the butter lands on the counter instead of the bread.
Great. Nailed it. Totally normal, Cassie. Way to not scare the kid.
“Mommy, you’re being weird.”
Her little voice slices through my panic spiral, and I plaster on the grin again. “Weird? Me? Gee, thanks. You know what Dr. Seuss said? You have to be odd to be number one!”
Might as well distract her with a lesson while I can. I ruffle her curls like I’m not one wrong move away from projectile vomiting all over the breakfast table.
I didn’t sleep last night. Not a wink. Just stared at the ceiling because every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dante’s disappointed face.
God, he’d looked at me like I was a stranger who stole from him. And he’s right. I did. God, what have I done?
But that doesn’t make me any less accepting of the situation at hand. In fact, the guilt grows tendrils and turns into a perpetual state of terror.
Dante’s upstairs. Pacing. Or plotting. Or—I don’t know—sharpening his knives. Whatever men like him do after finding out they’ve had a child for three years, and said child and her mother have been living under his roof, acting like they’re just guests in his life.
What’s Dante going to do? That question loops through my brain on repeat. And what if Gino had found out I’d lied about something this massive? Goodbye bruises. Hello, something worse, thoughts of which make my skin crawl.
But Dante isn’t Gino.
