“Not necessary,” he answered tersely before turning to other business topics.
“When will you be here?”
“In about thirty-six hours.” There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “So, how was it seeing her again?”
I groaned. “More beautiful than ever. Successful. Cold. But she quickly won Matteo over. And she hates me. Still.”
He laughed. “Good thing you’ll be stuck together twenty-four-seven. That’s plenty of time to charm her.Ifthat’s what you want.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It doesn’t really matter what I want.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “Maybe not, but time and proximity have a way of changing hearts and minds.” I could practically hear his shrug. “I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything, so don’t let fear get in the way of what you want.”
“Something to consider, maybe. For now, I need to focus on the business.” And let Ren focus on Matteo.
Ren was here and Matteo was safe, making the danger feel distant.
For now.
But it was a temporary feeling, and I needed to remember that. Danger never stayed in the distance for long.
Chapter 7
Serenity
By the third morning, Mattie and I had fallen into a comfortable routine. Each morning we gathered at the big kitchen island with sunlight slanting in through the windows. The house was still mostly quiet during those first few minutes except for the hum of the coffeemaker. Over a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast cut into fourths, and bacon, Mattie and I talked about our plans for the day.
Enzo usually joined us with his crisp sleeves rolled up and his ever-present jacket nowhere in sight. He drank his coffee black, standing most of the time, listening more than he spoke. When we talked about plans for the day—lessons, outside time, reading, creative work—he nodded along, occasionally asking a question that proved he’d been paying attention all along.
He was a good dad, something that had become clear very early on. He and Mattie had an easy relationship filled with casual affection, smiles, and an admirable honesty that spoke to a deep level of mutual trust. He listened when Mattie spoke and gently corrected him when necessary. There was nothing performative in Enzo’s style of parenting, and I hated that I noticed anythinggoodabout Enzo, more than I could’vepossibly guessed. There was still good in him, and if I was being honest with myself, he wasn’t some hardened criminal; at least he wasn’tjustthat.
I told myself it meant nothing, that being a decent father didn’t erase who Enzo DeRossi was or what he’d done.
But sometimes when I glanced up, I caught glimpses of the boy I used to love. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners reminded me of just how much fun we’d always had together. The deep laugh that was just a little louder than was polite did too. He never cared when his laugh drew attention; he was always focused on me. Beneath that easygoing smile and those relaxed eyes was an intensity that was easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it.
Noticing that made my chest ache in ways I refused to examine too closely.
My dates with Mattie were wonderful. He was a smart and inquisitive little boy who had a big heart. Just a few days in, he was the perfect reminder of why this job mattered.
But all of my days ended with me sitting across an expansive desk from Enzo in his office with the dark walls closing in on me. His all-seeing green eyes bore into me for exactly one minute before he demanded updates. “How is Matteo?” he asked, using the same cold, businesslike tone each day that made it feel more like a board meeting than a parent-teacher conference.
I inhaled deeply, and the answer always came on the exhale. “Mattie is doing great. He’s smart and kind, well-adjusted, and eager to learn.”
That wasn’t enough for Enzo. “Where is he succeeding?”
“He is above average to varying degrees in all subjects,” I answered, my tone matter-of-fact.
Enzo nodded. “And where does he need more help or guidance?”
“It’s still early, but language structure. That will improve the more we read together.” I had answers for all of his questions and I supplied them in an even tone. I kept my posture upright but calm, all while maintaining a cool, professional distance.
It was painful, being so close to him. Proximity made the past come roaring back in vivid, visceral color. The way he said my name and the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he looked at me were hard to ignore. My days, so far, ended with the same kick to the heart.
But the most annoying and terrifying part of all?
Each day that kick hurt a little less.
Forgetting that pain, no matter the reason, was a direct path back to heartache, and what kind of fool would I be to invite that into my life again?
