Bloody Heart: A Second Chance Mafia Romance (Brutal Birthright Book 4) by Sophie Lark

Author:Sophie Lark [Lark, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-10-27T16:00:00+00:00

“It’s called ‘July,’ ” Dante says.

We met in July. I don’t know if he means to remind me of that, or if he’s just making small-talk because he doesn’t want to say anything else to me.

My chest is burning like I’ve been running miles instead of slowly dancing.

I can smell Dante’s scent, powerfully masculine. He’s not wearing the same cologne he used to, but the smell of his skin is the same—heady and raw. I can see his slabs of muscle shifting beneath his heavy suit jacket. He’s a better dancer now. But there’s no enjoyment in his body, or on his face.

God, that face . . .

The dark shadow all along his jaw, visible even when he’s cleanly shaved. The deep cleft in his chin. His black eyes, the darkest and most fierce I’ve ever seen. His thick, dark hair that looks wet even when it isn’t, combed straight back from his brow.

I want him. Just as badly as ever. Even more . . .

It’s like that desire was growing and spreading inside of me all this time, without me even knowing. All the time that I thought I was getting over him . . . I never let go at all.

I can feel hot tears pricking my eyes. I blink rapidly to get rid of them. I can’t let him see me like this.

Dante clears his throat. Still not looking at me, he says, “I read about your sister. I’m sorry.”

I make a strangled sound that’s supposed to be something like, “Thank you.”

“They said you adopted her son.”

Everything slows down around us. The strings lights are a blur of gold. The wood-paneled walls slide by in slow motion. I can tell the song is about to end, but the last bars seem to be drawing out forever.

I could tell Dante the truth right now.

I could tell him that Henry is his son.

But two things are stopping me:

First, I have no idea if Dante is still embedded in the Italian mafia. I’m guessing he probably is. No matter how his business might have grown in the last nine years, I doubt he’s cut out every trace of his former employment or rid himself of his ties to the criminals of Chicago. He’s as dangerous a man as ever—probably even more so.

And the second, more cowardly reason . . .

Dante will be furious when he finds out.

When I first left, I thought of the baby as mine alone. Mine to protect, mine to care for. I thought it was my right to take my child to another country, to a safer life.

But when Henry was ripped out of my arms at the hospital, I began to think differently. Every time I missed a moment of his life because I was working—a first step or an early word—I realized how much Dante was missing, too.

Hiding my pregnancy was awful.

Hiding my son was unforgivable.

So I can’t tell the truth about Henry, because I’m scared. Scared of Dante.

I find myself nodding stupidly. Behaving as if Henry really is my nephew.

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