Page 132 of Beauty and the Daddy

The gardens blur. Meatball, Bruno, even Luca's exasperated voice fade into background static.

Because when my father calls after months of silence, it can't be good.

I swipe to answer, my throat already tight. "Dad?"

Silence stretches between us—long enough for my heart to forget its rhythm, for all the old wounds to split open fresh.

"Belle." His voice cracks like he's been practicing my name in empty rooms. "I need to see you.

32

LUCA

The gates open slower than I like. Too slow for my pulse, too slow for the shadow walking up the drive.

Belle's father.

Belle's father looks like a man who's been carrying the weight of his mistakes in his shoulders, his spine bent under regret heavy as concrete.

His gaze sweeps my estate—the guards, the cameras, the visible reminders of what kind of man his daughter married—before settling on me.

I've watched hardened killers approach with more confidence than this broken father shows on my doorstep.

He stands on my doorstep like a man facing execution, sweat beading his upper lip despite the cool autumn air.

His eyes dart past me, searching for Belle, then back to my face like he's trying to read whether I plan to bury him in my garden.

Smart man. I haven't decided yet.

"Mr. Moretti," he says, extending a trembling hand.

I take it, squeezing just hard enough to remind him whose territory he's entering. "Donovan. Come in."

Belle didn't want me to answer the door. Said she needed to face him alone.

But this is my house, and nobody walks into it without me measuring their intentions first—especially not the man who sold his daughter to save his own skin.

He steps inside, his gaze sweeping the marble entrance hall, the crystal chandelier, the armed guards positioned discreetly in the corners.

I watch his Adam's apple bob in fear.

"Quite a place you have here."

"It does the job of keeping the riffraff out," I reply stiffly and he freezes. "Belle's waiting in the living room."

He follows me down the hallway, his footsteps too careful, like he's afraid I might just turn and shoot him dead.

I push open the double doors to the living room and enter first, to stand by Belle's side.

It's petty, but I want to see his face when he sees her.

I'm not disappointed.

Belle turns from where she stands by the window when I gently take her hand.

Her father's gaze lands…

Right on her belly.