Page 48 of The Don's Hidden Heir

“Marcus told me you became a made man at nine. What was it like?”

I lean on the kitchen island and regard her shrewdly. The last time Elena showed any interest in my personal life was when we dated years ago. I’m stunned because she wouldn’t ask if she wasn’t really curious.

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

She thinks for a moment. “Well, he said most boys are happy to become made men. He told me he was one of those boys. Were you happy?”

My mind drifts back to that moment twenty-one years ago. It’s a memory that has stuck in my head like glue. “I was nine and Marcus was five. Our parents were out for a party and I’d been asleep when I heard Marcus cry.”

Elbow on the counter, she rests her head on her hand. All her attention is focused on me.

“My father taught me never to leave my room unarmed. I took gun he’d given me from under my pillow and ran to Marcus’s room, but he wasn’t there. I ran downstairs and saw a man in a black cloak trying to sneak him out through the back door despite Marcus’s struggles. I pointed my gun at him, pulled the trigger and fired.”

I pause. “To my surprise, my shot hit the man. I don’t know what exactly it is you want to know, princess, but I saved my brother and I would do it over again.”

Somethings shifts in her eyes and she swallows. “You did a good job,” she says softly. “I shouldn’t have judged you before I heard the full story.”

I try not to smile. “I’m not a knight in shining armor, Elena. If anything, pulling the trigger that night awakened my thirst for blood. I’m a cold-hearted bastard, so don’t expect anything different. This is who I am.”

“I know, but you’re also a good father.”

My blood freezes because it’s the last thing I’d expected her to say to me.

She doesn’t take back her compliment, instead a warm smile spreads on her face. “I’ve seen you with Lucas. I’ve seen how gentle and kind you are with him. I think you underestimate your own ability to be good.”

“I’m not good.”

“No, you’re not. Not in a conventional way at least, but you’re not all bad.”

My muscles twitch. “Damn, Elena. How am I supposed to stay away from you when you make me waver so much?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

She finishes her food and sets the plate into the dishwasher. I pour us each a glass of red wine and add soft music to the quiet space.

“How did you manage on your own?”

She twists her head to gape at me. “What?”

“You were so young and you didn’t have anyone else. How did you raise Lucas on your own?”

She sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t know. I had the will to not give up and I had Moira. It wasn’t a walk in the park, but it was worth it.”

My stomach twists. “I’m sorry.” Those are two words I’ve detested all my life. Two words I don’t think I’ve ever said to anyone. And they feel like dust in my mouth. I take a sip of wine to moisten my tongue. “I should have been there with you. I’m sorry I wasn’t.”

Elena’s eyes well with tears. She tips her head back and one of her delicate fingers dabs at the corners of her eyes before she brings her gaze back to me. “It wasn’t your fault, Dominic. I had a choice, but I didn’t give you any.”

I can't help but feel a pang of guilt. Her words echo in my mind, a constant reminder of the past, of the mistakes we both made. It has been seven long years since we were last together, and the wounds are still fresh, still painful.

What hurts the most is that I hated her all those years, and while I wallowed in my hate, she lived through hell.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the kitchen island, my gaze never leaving her. "Elena," I say, my voice gentle, "I know you didn’t make the decision you did because you wanted to. I can only imagine how hard it was for you. I should've been honest with you from the very beginning.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes searching mine. "Dominic, even if you'd come clean, I don’t think I would have done anything differently. I did what I thought was best at the time. I don't regret it, and I don't blame you either. I want us to move past this. For Lucas's sake.”

Her words seep through my defenses, chipping away at the bitterness that’s eaten at me all these years. But there's longing in her eyes when she looks at me.

Her breath hitches. She’s trying to rebuild her barriers against me. She’s trying not to get hurt again.

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