Page 50 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

KASI

“Mrs. Moretti?” Maria’s voice carries from the laundry room. “Could you come here, please?”

I find her standing beside the industrial washing machines, holding a piece of paper with trembling hands.

“I found this in your nightgown pocket,” she says quietly. “The blue silk one from last night.”

The note is written in Dante’s precise handwriting: You look beautiful when you sleep, princess. Pregnancy suits you. We have so much to discuss about our future together. Soon.—D

My legs give out. I grab the edge of the washing machine to keep from collapsing as horror crashes over me. He was in our bedroom while I slept, close enough to touch my nightgown, to watch me breathe, to slip notes into my pockets.

“Alaric!” I scream.

He appears within seconds, holding his gun and scanning for immediate threats. When he sees the note, his face goes white with rage.

“Pack a bag,” he orders. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

But before we can organize our escape, Dante appears in the kitchen doorway like he materialized from my nightmares.

He’s changed since yesterday, wearing a clearly expensive suit. His hair is styled exactly the way it was before the crash. The scars on his face catch the morning light, reminders of what should have killed him.

“Going somewhere?” he asks with that same cultured voice that makes the hair on my skin spike up.

“Get out of my house,” Alaric snarls, stepping protectively in front of me.

“Your house?” Dante laughs, the sound exactly as I remember—beautiful and terrible. “Father, surely you remember grandfather’s will. This estate belongs to both of us. Equal shares, equal rights.”

“You’re dead. Legally, officially dead.”

“Legal technicality. Easily corrected with the right paperwork.” Dante’s gaze shifts to me, and I feel like prey being evaluated by a predator. “Hello, princess. You look radiant. Pregnancy agrees with you.”

“Don’t talk to her,” Alaric warns.

“I’ll talk to my fiancée whenever I choose. We have years of history together—much more than your few months of whatever this is.” He gestures dismissively at the space between Alaric and me.

“She’s my wife.”

“She’s carrying your bastard, I’ll grant you that. But marriage certificates can be annulled, pregnancies can be terminated, and confused women can be reminded of where their loyalties should lie.”

The casual way he discusses eliminating my baby makes my blood freeze. This is the Dante I remember from our worst moments—clinical, and utterly devoid of empathy.

“You’re insane,” I whisper.

“I’m focused. There’s a difference.” He approaches slowly, hands visible but somehow threatening anyway. “You left me, Kasimira. Abandoned everything I gave you, everything we built together.”

“You tortured me.”

“I shaped you into perfection. Destroyed the confusion and weakness that held you back from your true potential.” His voice takes on the hypnotic quality I remember, the tone he used to use during his worst manipulations.

“Remember how good it felt when you stopped fighting me? How peaceful life became when you accepted your place?”

“That wasn’t peace. That was prison.”

“It was clarity. And we’re going to find that clarity again.”

Footsteps echo from the hallway. Alaric’s hand moves instinctively toward his weapon as a familiar figure fills the kitchen doorway.

I’m shocked to see Marco after weeks of absence. He looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, stopping short when he sees Dante. “You’re back from the dead just like the rumors.”

“Hello, cousin,” Dante replies with that predatory smile. “Surprised?”

“Where have you been?” Alaric demands. “You disappeared without a word.”

“Business went sideways. Messed with the wrong people, and they wanted my head. Had to lie low until things cooled down.” Marco straightens his jacket. “Came back as soon as I heard there was trouble here.”

“Trouble is an understatement,” I mutter.

“The important thing is we’re all family here,” Marco says, his tone diplomatic. “We can work out arrangements that benefit everyone.”

Dante scowls. “The only arrangement I’m interested in involves my wife returning to her proper place.”

“Touch her and I’ll kill you,” Alaric says through gritted teeth.

“You’ll try. But you forget, Father—I learned everything I know about violence from you.” Dante yawns. “Perhaps we could continue this discussion tomorrow after I’ve rested?”

“Where exactly do you plan to rest?” Alaric asks coldly.

“My childhood bedroom. Unless you’ve converted it into something else during my supposed death?”

“Fine. But you stay in your wing. Away from my wife.”

“Our house has plenty of room for family,” Dante replies with that cruel smile before disappearing up the stairs.

Alaric’s phone buzzes immediately after Dante disappears. His brows furrow as he reads the message on his phone.

“Marco.” Alaric turns to his nephew, pocketing his phone. “Stay with Kasi. Don’t let her out of your sight, and don’t let Dante anywhere near her. Benedetto needs me.”

“Of course.”

After Alaric leaves, I sink into the nearest chair and put my head in my hands. “Everything is fucked up.”

Marco sits beside me, his presence comforting after weeks of his absence. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

“Where have you been, Marco? I was worried sick. You just disappeared without a word.”

“Business. Remember the kind of world we live in, Kasmira. It’s unpredictable.”

His explanation makes sense, but something about his tone feels rehearsed. Too polished.

“I missed having someone to talk to,” I say. “Someone who understands how crazy this family can be.”

“I’m here now. That’s what matters.”

A strange feeling settles in my chest at his response. There’s a cold certainty that something is about to go very wrong. That maybe, just maybe, the person you trust the most is the one most likely to betray you.

I shake off the feeling. This is Marco. Family. The one person in this house who’s never tried to control or manipulate me.

Right?