“Does he have drawings on his arms too?” Rowan inquires.
Alessandro’s brow puckers, and I smile. “He means your tattoos.”
“Eh, no. Frank doesn’t have any ink on his arms.”
“I have ink!” Rowan says, excitement bubbling in his tone. He strains against the straps of his car seat as he leans forward. “My mommy and me have lots and lots of ink and paints and clay and playdough in our art studio. You wanna see my art studio, Alesso?”
“His name is Alessandro,” I explain, grinning.
“I know, Mom.” Rowan rolls his eyes before eyeballing Alessandro. “But I like Alesso better. I’m gonna call you Alesso, Alesso.”
I glance sideways at Alessandro, watching him fight a smile. I peer at my son in the mirror, smiling. “Alesso it is.”
* * *
“Let me get this straight,” Esme says later that night from her sprawled position on my couch. She gulps a mouthful of her red wine. “In less than twenty-four hours, Bennett Carver—”
“Mazzone,” I correct, topping up Pen’s nearly-empty glass.
“Whatever.” Esme flaps her hands around. “In less than a day, he has managed to completely turn your world upside down. Bodyguards. Security cameras. Child support, new car on the way, and he’s even got his men shacked up in the house across the street. He’s an asshole, but I’ve got to hand it to him—he’s a fucking fast worker. It’s impressive.”
“It’s annoying.” I slurp my wine as I flop down on the second couch alongside Pen.
“As usual, you’re missing the point, Esme.” Pen drills her with a look. Those two still fight like cats and dogs, but they would go to the ends of the Earth for one another if the chips were down. “Ben can’t just show up here and railroad Sierra into doing what he wants.”
“To be fair, he’s trying to protect us, and he backed down on the New York plan pretty fast.” I tuck my knees underneath me.
“Now you’re defending him?” Pen says, her tone dripping with incredulity.
“No. I’m…” I rub a tense spot between my brows. “I’m mad and confused and guilt-stricken and relieved and impressed and hurt and a million different things.” I tilt my head to the side, eyeballing Pen. “It’s a complicated situation. One part of me feels guilty that I kept Rowan from him. Especially when I see the lengths Ben is going to, to keep us safe. That part of my brain is questioning everything I’ve done.”
“You did what you felt was right,” Esme says, sitting up against the arm of the couch. “And you shouldn’t feel guilty for that. You were protecting your son.”
“You were terrified after what you discovered in New York, and you were right to be afraid. If I was in your shoes, I would have done exactly the same thing,” Pen says.
“Everything is going to change now.” I take another sip of my wine. “And I’m scared.”
“Ben won’t let anything happen to you or Rowan,” Esme reassures me. “At least, in that regard, he hasn’t let you down. Imagine how it would’ve felt if he had wanted nothing to do with Rowan?”
“That might have been better,” Pen murmurs.
“I thought so at first,” I agree. “But Ben is right. It wouldn’t change the facts. Rowan is always going to be at risk because of the blood that flows through his veins.”
“What’s your new bodyguard like? Is he hot?” Esme waggles her brows.
“What has that got to do with anything?” Pen asks, rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath.
“She’s virtually married to him now,” Esme quips, and I almost choke on my wine. “It helps if he’s easy on the eyes.”
“He’s definitely easy on the eyes.”
“Oh my God.” Esme spills some of her wine on the floor as she swings her legs around. “I know what you should do! You should seduce him! Imagine how fucking pissed Ben would be if you screwed one of his employees.”
“Number one: I’m in a relationship and I don’t cheat. Number two: Ben would probably murder Alesso and me if we had sex. Number three: Alesso is loyal to Ben and fairly aloof. I would have zero success seducing him. And number four: We’re not in high school anymore. Doing something so juvenile is beneath me.”
Esme pouts, lifting her legs back onto the couch. “Well, that’s no fun. I was hoping to live vicariously through you.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going through a dry spell?” Pen inquires, crossing her feet at the ankles.
