Page 80 of His Son's Ex

“Get used to it.”

I lean in and kiss him.

He smirks. “Glad to be of service.” His free hand drifts over my belly, gently resting his palm there. “You’re okay? Really?”

I sit up and take a bite of the tiramisu. I nod, pressing my palm over his. “I’m good. Amazing, actually.” I notice a slight furrow in his brow. “Hey, what’s that look for?”

He sighs, glancing away for a moment. “Nothing. Just got a lot on my mind.”

A mix of curiosity and apprehension flutters through me. “We can talk about it,” I say gently. “I know there’s still a big bombshell hanging over us, but we can talk about anything.”

He hesitates for a second, his thumb absently stroking my skin. “It’s not just that. I’m also dealing with a lot of family shit. Myfather’s old alliances, Linda being a constant nightmare, Luca being Luca.” He forces a small laugh, then shakes his head. “But none of that is your burden. I won’t let it be.”

A pang of guilt slices through me. He’s so determined to shield me, yet I’m still carrying secrets that could destroy everything if he found out how it all connects.

I push the thought away for tonight. We both deserve this moment.

“I appreciate that,” I say softly, leaning in to rest my forehead against his. “But you know, I’m not made of glass. You can talk to me if you need to.”

His arms tighten around me. “I will, eventually,” he murmurs. “Just not now. I don’t want to spoil this.”

My heart twists with a blend of relief and worry. Maybe he’s just anxious about the shifting mob alliances. I wish he’d let me in, but I can’t exactly blame him for being guarded. We both have plenty of scars.

We lapse into a comfortable silence. I finish my dessert and he takes the bowl, returning it to the nightstand. I scoot down and lay my head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat instantly calming my worry.

He presses a kiss to my temple. “I know it’s not simple or expected, but we work, Eva,” he says softly. “I can’t explain it. You bring out the best in me, and I’m not exactly used to that.”

A tired grin curls my lips. “You keep me safe. You make me feel beautiful, even when I’m freaking out about everything, especially my body.”

He tightens his hold, voice low and reassuring. “Youarebeautiful. Never doubt that.”

Warmth flows through me, and I hum in sleepy agreement.

Tomorrow will likely bring more drama: Linda swooping in with another insult, Luca sneering, Isabella revealing something else we’re not ready for. But tonight, it’s just us in this darkened room, the gentle, perfumed breeze coming in from the garden, and the knowledge we share something worth fighting for.

“Good night, Dante,” I mumble, half-asleep.

He kisses the top of my head. “Good night, Eva.”

I drift off, safe in the circle of his arms, grateful for the moment of peace in a world that keeps trying to tear us apart. No matter how complicated things become, we have this moment and we have each other, and right now, that’s enough to keep me going.

CHAPTER 24

DANTE

Idon’t bother hiding how much I hate these dinners.

Old-school bullshit. All ceremony, no teeth. But they still matter just enough that skipping one would send the wrong message.

So I show up and make sure they remember who owns the table.

The restaurant choice tonight is some place in Red Hook calledMangia. It’s gaudy as hell, decked out like it’s 1972 with red and white checkered tablecloths, black and white photos lining the walls, 70s-style candle holders on the tables. Even the silverware, plates, and glasses scream seventies. The whole place has been reserved for the evening—every low-level shark in the city hanging around the edges, waiting for a crumb of power to fall their way.

I walk in late, Eva on my arm. She’s wearing a deep burgundy dress that hugs every curve just right. Simple, yet elegant. Her chin is up, her eyes steady. I know she’s nervous, but she doesn’t show it. That’s what matters. To everyone here, she’s Eva Smith.That’s the name they will be given. The truth’s a weapon, and I’m not willing to hand it to just anyone.

The room quiets when we enter. Eyes track us as we move—some curious, some hostile. I nod once to anyone I make eye contact with. My hand covers hers and I keep her close.

One of Delucci’s rats scurries over to show us to the main table. I don’t look at him. I don’t need to. I can feel the heat coming off the stares from the Russians. They are too interested in her, and it makes me nervous.