“He’s not your son?” I ask, doing some math in my head.
A fleeting glimmer of pain races across her face. “Oh my God. No.” She slaps a hand across her chest. “No child of mine would ever be so unruly.” Rowan scowls, and I don’t blame him. Saskia is as brash and rude as she has always been. “He’s Sierra’s bastard,” she volunteers without me having to ask.
While she may not be aware I’m the bastard son of the notorious Angelo Mazzone, she knows I grew up in a single-parent household, with a junkie mom, knowing nothing about my father, so I take huge offense to her words. Pinning her with a lethal look—one I normally reserve for men I’m about to interrogate or murder with my bare hands—I keep my tone deliberately low so the child doesn’t overhear. “Tread carefully, Saskia, before you insultthisbastard son.”
She gulps audibly, her eyes popping wide with a combination of fear and panic. “My comment was in no way directed at you.” Rage filters through my veins, but she blathers on, oblivious. “And look how well you have done for yourself. You should be so proud of how far you have come.”
I shove my hands in my pants pockets before I’m tempted to hit a woman for the first time. “Who is his father?” I ask, ignoring her condescending remarks because I’m fast running out of patience. I want to get the pertinent facts and get the hell away from her.
“No one knows. Not even Sierra.” She makes no attempt to lower her tone, and my jaw pulls taut with the strain involved in holding my tongue. If things are as I’m beginning to suspect, then maintaining a blank face in front of my ex is essential. I won’t give her any reason to start connecting the dots. “The slut came back from Vegas knocked up at twenty-one,” she continues, confirming my suspicions. “Not that I was surprised—"
I tune her poisonous tirade out, focusing on the little boy instead as my mind grapples to process this bombshell. Crouching down, I stare at him up close, and the resemblance almost knocks me flat on my ass. My heart is pounding behind my rib cage. Blood thrums in my ears. “Hey, Rowan. I’m Ben.” My hand is shaking as I offer it to him, and I hope Saskia doesn’t notice. “How old are you?”
Rowan eyes my hand like it’s infected. Wrenching his hand from Saskia’s, he folds his arms again, regarding me warily. “Mommy says I’m not to talk to strangers.” His confident little voice tugs at my heartstrings.
Clearing my throat, I hope my smile looks genuine and that it masks my growing shock. I let my arm drop. “Your mommy is smart. I used to know her when she was a little girl.”
Rowan looks up at his aunt for confirmation. Smart kid. I feel the burn from Saskia’s heated stare, but I refuse to look at her.
“My mommy is smart and beautiful and the bestest mommy in the whole entire universe.” He flashes me a toothy grin.
“The entire universe, huh?” I chuckle, not doubting his statement for a second.
He vigorously bobs his head, and I can hardly speak over the messy ball of emotion clogging the back of my throat. “She sounds amazing.”
“She is. I love her this much.” He extends his arms wide, hitting Saskia’s hip in the process.
“For God’s sake, Rowan. Stop hitting,” she snaps, and I watch the exuberant smile slip from his face. I want to lash out at her. Wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until she turns blue, but I grind my teeth to the molars, caging my rage. For now.
“I didn’t mean it,” Rowan says, his lower lip jutting out.
“Auntie Saskia knows it was an accident,” I say through gritted teeth. If she makes one more snide remark, all bets are off. I will squeeze the life from her pathetic body in broad daylight with zero fucks given.
“We need to go,” she says, her tone clipped as she snatches Rowan’s hand again. Perhaps she has some self-preservation skills after all.
“It was nice meeting you, buddy,” I say, lifting my clenched fist for a knuckle touch.
His skin is soft and warm when his small knuckles brush against mine. “You too, buddy.”
“It was great seeing you again,” Saskia says, as I straighten up, all anger replaced with sultry enthusiasm. “Look me up when you’re next in town.” She slips a business card in the pocket of my suit jacket. Leaning in, she presses her mouth to my ear. “Or call me and we can arrange to meet someplace central for both of us.”
Ignoring her, I grab a twenty from my wallet and hand it to Ben. “Maybe your auntie will let you get candy now.”
His eyes dance with excitement, and he jumps around. “Yay. Thank you!”
Saskia sways a little on her heels, not disguising her frustration, but I couldn’t give two shits about her. “Goodbye, Bennett.” She gives me one last lingering glance before dragging Rowan away.
“Bye, Ben,” he calls out, waggling his fingers at me.
I return his wave as the storm grows to epic proportions inside me. Crumpling the card in my pocket, I remove it and toss it in the nearest trash can. I stare after them, watching Saskia scold Rowan again, and I’m two seconds away from going after her when Leo steps in front of me. “Did that just happen?” His brows climb to his hairline in disbelief.
“You know?”
He nods, still looking shell-shocked, and I can relate. The news hasn’t sunk in yet. “Despite the shit she’s injected in her face, it’s obvious Saskia is Sierra’s sister and then she mentioned Vegas.” Leo drags a hand through his hair, glancing over his shoulder as Saskia and Rowan cross the street. “You don’t need a DNA test to confirm it. Rowan is the fucking image of you. He’s got your dark hair and your eyes. I see little of his mom in him.”
I scrub my hands down my face, blindsided in a way I rarely am.
I have a son.
