I THOUGHT I had seen the last of Marcus Salvatore after that wedding event, but it seemed like I saw him everywhere and in everything in my daily life.
I saw his cold, blue eyes in the eyes of the mailman. I saw his bold confident gait in the walk of my next-door neighbor, and I thought I was running mad when I looked for my son in the park and saw him talking with Marcus.
I restrained the urge to walk ahead briskly and snatch my son from Marcus's hold, instead, I stood back and watched them. They looked like how an ideal father and son should look like.
On close inspection, one could see the similarities between the two of them, I felt bad for withholding the information that Jake was Marcus's son, but I felt justified because, after all, it was Marcus's family that threw me out and
