Marco POV
I slammed my phone onto the mahogany desk so hard the glass screen shattered into a web of spiderweb fractures beneath my palm.
A son.
The air in my private study felt thin, suffocating, poisoned. I stood motionless behind the heavy desk, my hands planted flat on the dark wood, my chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged spikes.
Your eyes. Dark curls.
The words echoed in my mind like gunshots in an empty cathedral.
Years ago, when I found her in Enzo's room... when I stood at the end of the corridor and watched her beg, when I let my mother hand her taxi money and drag her mother’s name through the dirt while I said nothing... I believed every single second of it. I had been blinded by betrayal, consumed by a cold, black rage that convinced me the woman I loved had used
