Nico breaks the quiet first, his voice even. "How old is Noah exactly?"
I swallow, forcing the words out. "Six years, three months, fifteen days."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't look away. The math is undeniable.
"I'm sorry," I blurt, tears pricking my eyes. "I should've told you. I was scared, and you were... you. I didn't know how."
He holds up a hand, stopping me. "Don't. Just promise me one thing."
"Anything."
"You tell no one he's mine. Not a word."
The words land like a slap.
For a second I just stare at him, trying to make sense of what I heard. My brain runs through every other possible interpretation before settling on the one that hurts the most.
Of course.
Of course, that’s what he wants.
He’s Niccolò Neri, one of the most powerful men in the city, a man whose life is built on control and secrecy and a thousand dangers I don’t even know the names of. A child is a complication. A woman like me is an even bigger one.
I feel something twist painfully in my chest.
Six years of doing this alone flash through my mind in an instant: late-night fevers, daycare payments, tiny shoes by the door, Noah asking about a father I never knew how to explain.
And now the man who gave him those eyes is sitting across from me asking me to erase him. This is not, at all, how I expected this to go. How did you expect it to go? I thought, blowing out a breath. I had no fancy dreams about this moment, but I just didn’t expect to hear those words from him.
I lean back slightly in my chair without meaning to, like putting a little distance between us might dull the sting.
Fine. I have protected Noah alone this long; I can keep going.
"I promise I won't say a thing."
I force a small shrug, like the whole conversation doesn’t matter nearly as much as it does.
“You’re free,” I add, because if he wants an easy exit I might as well give it to him. “Forget us, if that’s what you want.”
The words taste bitter the second they leave my mouth, but I don’t take them back. If this is where the story ends, I’d rather pretend I’m the one closing the door.
Across the table, Nico’s expression changes.
His eyes flash. He leans forward, voice low and intense. "I haven't forgotten you, Izzy. I could never."
The air between us changes, the tension thickening into something warmer, heavier. His gaze drops to my mouth before lifting again, and the look in his eyes makes my pulse stumble.
Seven years disappear in the space of a heartbeat.
I remember the way his hands felt that night. The way his voice sounded when he warned me away even while pulling me closer. The way I walked out of that room thinking I would never see him again, carrying something of him with me without even knowing it yet.
And now, he’s here.
Looking at me like he never stopped.
My lungs forget how to work.
I can feel the pull between us tightening, invisible but undeniable, the same magnetic tension that filled that private room all those years ago. It stretches between us now, fragile and dangerous at the same time.
