A son
1104 Words
Dante POV
Dante’s fingers skimmed over his lips—as if he could still feel the ghost of Gia’s kiss. It had been—like coming home.
Gia… he had never stopped loving her. And now that he knew she was the mother of his son… he didn’t think he could ever let her go.
He sat in a chair near the bedroom window, one leg crossed over the other, a tumbler of untouched whiskey in hand. The city lights stretched beyond the glass, endless and cold. He stared at them, seeing none of it.
He’d only hired the investigator to make sure she was happy. To see her smile one last time from afar and confirm the life he’d lost was one she’d chosen. But this—this had unraveled him. A son. His son.
And Leo Costa had been raising him.
That knowledge settled like iron in his stomach, heavy and sickening. Dante gritted his teeth, remembering the photos. Remembering the way Gia had tried to walk away again. But she’d kissed him. She had kissed him. That wasn’t nothing. That wasn’t a goodbye.
His jaw tensed as he replayed the moment over and over. Her trembling breath. Her trembling hands. The heartbreak still so clear in her eyes.
“Dante,” Isabella mumbled from the bed, her voice thick with sleep. Her hand reached for him instinctively, settling on the cold space where he used to sleep. “Come back to bed.”
Dante didn’t move.
“I’ll be there soon,” he murmured, his voice low.
He waited until her breathing steadied again before he stood, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t sleep. Not with his chest this tight. Not with this war inside his head.
He had a family now. Aria was everything. The best part of his soul lived in that little girl’s laugh, in the way she ran into his arms every morning like he was the center of her world. And Isabella—well, she didn’t deserve betrayal. She loved him, and he had tried to be a good husband. He’d tried to make it work.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about Gia.
Or his son.
He walked to the bathroom and poured the whiskey down the sink, before slipping out of the bedroom and grabbing his coat.
He didn’t know where he was going—not yet—but he knew he couldn’t sit still. Not tonight.
The mansion was quiet when he returned. The staff had all gone home, the halls dimly lit and silent. He slipped into Aria’s room like he always did—every night before bed.
Memories of their nighttime feedings entered his mind and he smiled. When Aria was born, Isabella was struggling to be a mother, but Dante didn’t mind. He did all the late night feedings and diaper changes, enjoying the stolen moment he had with his little girl. Just the two of them, in their little cocoon.
She was curled up in a mountain of pink blankets, her stuffed giraffe tucked under one arm. Her soft breaths filled the space, even and content.
Dante knelt beside the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“I love you, bug,” he whispered.
And then… as if his heart couldn’t take one more secret… he spoke into the silence.
“You might have a brother,” he said, his voice breaking for the first time in years.
He rested his head on her mattress and closed his eyes, swallowing back everything that threatened to undo him.
Dante headed in to work at the crack of dawn, having slept all of an hour, if it was even that much. But he needed to clear his mind…and he needed to tell someone. To talk this through.
The knock on the office door was quiet, but firm.
Dante looked up as Dario stepped in, jacket slung over one shoulder, expression tight.
“You look like hell,” Dario said, setting a coffee down in front of him.
“I feel like it too,” Dante muttered, his fingers rubbing at his temple. The file with the photos was still on the desk, half-open.
Dario leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed. “You called me here this early, and you haven’t said a word.”
Dante exhaled, then pushed the file across the table.
Dario didn’t speak for a while. He just looked—photo after photo, until he hit the one that mattered. The one with the boy. His eyes lifted slowly.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“I’m not guessing,” Dante said hoarsely. “He’s mine.”
Dario shut the file. “Jesus, Dante.”
“I know.”
They sat in silence for a beat before Dario finally muttered, “What are you going to do?”
Dante stood and paced behind his desk, agitation in every line of his body.
“I don’t know. I want to see him. I want to be part of his life. But… I have Aria. Isabella. And Gia—” He stopped. “She didn’t tell me, Dario.”
“You don’t know why,” Dario said quietly. “Maybe there was a reason.”
“There isn’t a good enough reason to keep a child from their father,” Dante snapped, his voice breaking before he could catch it.
Dario stared at him for a moment.
Then, quietly: “What would Dad say about all this?”
Dante looked away, jaw flexing.
“You know how much honor means to him. You married Isabella. You gave her a name, a home. Aria.” Dario paused. “And now you’re talking about tearing that apart.”
“I’m not trying to destroy anything,” Dante said. “But I won’t live a lie, either.”
Dario let out a slow breath. “You love her. Still.”
Dante didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Finally, Dario nodded, picking up the file again and staring at the picture, before looking at Dante.
“Do what you have to do. But don’t take it too far.” He met Dante’s eyes. “Leonardo Costa is not someone to mess with.”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“You should be,” Dario said. “He’s dangerous. Not just in the boardroom. Watch your back. And hers.”
Dante sat back down as Dario walked to the door.
“Just promise me one thing,” his brother added, glancing back. “If this ends in blood… make damn sure it’s worth it.”
- Writer
