Page 75 of Luciano

“None of your business,” I retorted dryly.

“Because you are scared to be alone with me? We had a good time yesterday.”

I sat up straight. “Maybe, but you tried to kill me three years ago,” I hissed under my tone. “Don’t think I’d ever forget you’d just as easily kill me as you’d take me to bed.”

We stared at each other, hate and bitterness mixed with flames of lust flowing through my veins.

“Mama,” Matteo’s voice pulled my gaze away from the husband I wished I had never run into again. I couldn’t say that I wished I never met him because unbeknownst to him, he gave me Matteo, my biggest treasure.

“Yes, baby?”

“Benne?”Good?

“Yes,” I told him. “Okay, let’s get out of the bath. We have just enough time to get dressed, brush teeth, and read a quick bedtime story.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Luciano to go, to dismiss him. I didn’t need him around, making me wish for things that could never be.

“Okay, Matteo,” Luciano spoke before I had a chance to open my mouth. “I’ll help you out.”

“You don’t have to,” I objected, hoping he’d get a hint and leave. “I got it.”

But it was too late, Matteo was already under Luciano’s spell. “Both read books.”

I gritted my teeth. We did a quick job of drying him off, getting him dressed, brushing his teeth and then tucking him into bed. Just like my parents used to do it with me. It felt like a real family moment.

Matteo patted a spot next to him at each side of his bed, demanding we both lay next to him.

“Okay, which book?” I asked my son, my throat slightly strained from emotions. The truth was I wanted a real family. A husband that loved me, children running around our home, grandparents that cherished them. I wanted it all, though I was more likely to get to the moon than get any of it.

“Fiaba,” he demanded.Fairy tale.

“Well, buddy. Luciano can read you a fiaba. I’ll read you Green Eggs and Ham.”

I handed Luciano one of the fairy tales in Italian. “You first.”

He started reading without objections, but something in his eyes unsettled me. The burning in his gaze, the intensity. It made my insides melt, made my body react, and it was infuriating.

He read in his deep voice, Italian words rolling off his tongue effortlessly. There was something so damn gut-wrenching in this moment. The clear picture of what could have been and would never be. It made me furious at the destiny that wouldn’t let me have it. It made me furious with this man that took it all away. It made me furious that despite it all, my body still reacted to him.

And most of all, I hated myself for still wanting my own fairy tale.

“Grace,” Luciano’s voice was a soft whisper. I was so deep in my thoughts, his voice startled me. “He’s asleep.”

My gaze traveled to our son in between us and then shifted to my husband. I watched those hazel eyes. God, help me. I wanted him. Even after everything, I wanted him. I couldn’t let him destroy me. I barely pulled through last time. A child growing inside me was my saving grace. What would be if I let him pull me into his charms again?

I broke our eye contact and gently lifted off the bed. Luciano followed suit.

The moment I closed the door of Matteo’s room behind me, Luciano spoke, “The event tomorrow-”

“No,” I cut him off. “I am not going with you.”

Heartbeat of silence.

“Your uncle will be there.”

I whirled around. Chest to chest. Toe to toe.

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?” I watched my husband for any traces of deceit. I couldn’t gauge whether he spoke the truth or not. How in the hell did my uncle end up invited to an event that would fund the survivors of the very atrocities he and Benito King supported! Was it all a fake front? “And why would you have my uncle be part of your event? I thought you hated his guts.”