Interesting.
“You said he goes to school,” I continue calmly. “That means he is at least five.”
She stares at the floor of the car.
“Six.”
The word is quiet.
Six.
For a fraction of a second something cold moves through my chest.
Six.
The timing…
No.
I shut the thought down immediately.
It is none of my business. Izzy’s life is hers.
And men in my position do not indulge fantasies about waitress mothers and miracle children.
That is how fools become weak.
Still, information is information.
After that, Izzy goes quiet, speaking only to give me directions to her place. I pretend I need them. That I haven’t been driving this exact same route every night since we met again at Notte Bianca a year ago. Better that she thinks she’s a stranger to me.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him,” she confesses quietly. “He’s my everything.”
“You won’t lose him.”
“How can you promise that?”
“I’m a powerful man, Izzy.” This time, I look her straight in the eye. “When I make a promise, I keep it. Even if I have to bend and break the world for it.”
Her breath hitches. I remember that look on her face from seven years ago, that hint of a fire just waiting for the right spark. If it were any other time—if we weren’t facing the crisis of a missing kid in the dead of night—it’d be that much harder to keep myself from kissing her.
It’s still fucking hell, though.
Finally, we pull up in front of Izzy’s place. The lights are all off except for one window.
Then we see it.
A figure standing near the apartment building entrance.
Another smaller shape bundled up in his arms.
Izzy leans forward suddenly.
“Oh my God.”
Leone is holding a small boy. The kid looks half-asleep, wrapped in a blanket that looks hand-knit, something an old lady might whip up.
Izzy is out of the car before I even stop completely.
