They might share similar physical characteristics, but personality-wise, they are like night and day. Sierra is warm where Saskia is cold. Sierra is forgiving while Saskia bears grudges like no one I have ever known. Sierra always sees the positives and she delights in the world around her, while Saskia has a bitter outlook and never a kind word to say about anything or anyone.
While Sierra wastes no opportunity to bust my balls, things have been amicable these past three weeks, and we’re settling into a comfortable routine. We spend time with our son together, and then she retreats, while she cooks us a meal, giving me quality time with Rowan alone.
I’m immensely rich, and I have grown to enjoy the finer things in life, but a simple meal shared in a small homey kitchen with my son and the woman I want as my wife has come to mean so much to me—more than anything my money can buy. Sierra has put her feelings aside so I can develop a relationship with my son in a comfortable environment. I’m under no illusions. I know she has done that for Rowan, but I appreciate it, and it only adds to my mounting respect for her.
If things were different, I could see myself falling head over heels for the mother of my child.
“Pull over,” I say when I spot a woman unloading supplies from the back of a small van.
Alessandro parks behind the florist’s van without question.
Ciro curls his hand around the door handle to get out. “Don’t bother,” I say, opening my door. “I won’t be long, and there isn’t a soul on the streets.”
I’m smiling as I approach the woman in my jeans and sweater, hoping she doesn’t notice the bags under my eyes and that my wallet and my legendary charisma will work its charm.
I climb back in the car a few minutes later with a massive bunch of flowers in my arms. Ciro continues looking out the window, and Alessandro says nothing, easing the car back out on the road and heading toward Elm Street.
Leo wakes up just as we round the bend toward Sierra’s house. My heart spikes to coronary-inducing levels when I spot the unfamiliar Lincoln Navigator parked directly outside Sierra’s house.
I know it’s not one of ours.
“Call Ian,” I snap, wondering why my soldier on night duty failed to inform us of a suspicious car parked outside my future wife’s house. “And if he’s asleep on the job, I’ll make it permanent.”
I pull my Glock out as Alessandro parks in front of the Navigator, readying myself to run in there when he turns sheepishly toward me, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s her boyfriend’s car,” he quietly says.
“What is it doing parked outside her house?” My voice is calm, betraying no hint of the storm brewing inside me.
“I don’t know for sure, boss, but it’s been here since last night, so I’m assuming it means—”
“Why wasn’t I told about this?” I snap. There has been no mention of any home visits from the teacher in my email reports, and I assumed it meant Sierra had kicked him to the curb.
“The guy was vetted and passed,” Leo reminds me.
“I still need to know when he’s in the house with my son!” I bark, wringing my hands and wishing it was Dion Stewart’s neck. I warned Sierra I wouldn’t tolerate any man trying to take my place, and I am ready to charge in there and slaughter him in her bed, consequences be damned.
“Oh shit.”
Leo’s tone pulls me from my head, and I watch with rising anger as the front door of Sierra’s house opens and she appears with the douche.
His brown hair is sticking up in every direction, like he was just dragged through a bush. Either that or he hasn’t owned a comb in years. His jeans are hanging loosely off his hips, like he dressed in a hurry. Blood pounds in my skull when he leans in and kisses her. Grabbing her face in his hands, he angles his head and deepens the kiss, and that’s the moment I lose control of the tenuous hold on my emotions.
I’ve seen enough.
That asshole is dead.
24
BEN
Iam out of the car before I’ve processed the movement, racing toward the kissing couple, with my gun in hand. My shoes crunch on the gravel in Sierra’s driveway, and her eyes pop open, widening in horror as she spots me advancing.
She has no time to warn Dion before I grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him back, away from her. Tossing him to the ground, I hover over him, pressing the muzzle of my gun to his brow. The front door closes with a soft snick as Sierra screams. The grinding of gravel underfoot signals my men have arrived, but I don’t look up, keeping my gaze trained on the douche. Sierra is pleading with Alessandro, but she fails to understand they act on my instructions, not hers. Neither of them will intervene unless I give them permission.
I stare into Dion Stewart’s petrified brown eyes, wondering what the hell Sierra sees in this sniveling idiot. “Do you know who I am?” I ask, pressing the gun harder into his brow.
“No. And I don’t know who you think I am or what’s going on, but it’s clearly a case of mistaken identity.”
“Did you fuck her?” I hiss.
