“Stay in the car.”

Elena’s voice came out sharper than she intended.

Mia looked through the windshield at Dante.

“Elena.”

“Please.”

Leo was already unbuckling himself.

“Are we home?”

“For a few days.”

Elena kissed his forehead.

“Mia’s going to show you your grandpa’s house.”

“Is the man coming?”

Her hand froze.

Dante stood twenty feet away.

He had not approached the SUV.

That somehow made it worse.

“No.”

Leo frowned.

The Dante frown.

Elena looked away.

Mia took Leo through the side entrance while Elena stepped onto the sidewalk.

Dante watched until the door closed behind the boy.

Then his eyes returned to her.

“You blocked me.”

“You found my house.”

“It was your father’s house for thirty-two years.”

“Then consider this your reminder that knowing an address isn’t an invitation.”

Dante’s jaw tightened.

Three years had changed him.

There were faint lines beside his eyes now. Something harder in his face. Something tired.

Elena hated that she noticed.

“Ten minutes,” he said.

“No.”

“You read the message.”

“And ignored it.”

“You answered everything except the question.”

She folded her arms.

“What question?”

“Is he mine?”

The words landed between them.

Elena looked toward the house.

Dante took one step closer.

“Elena.”

“Don’t.”

He stopped immediately.

That surprised her.

The old Dante would have kept coming.

The man who controlled half the rooms he entered had never been good at respecting invisible lines.

Apparently three years could teach something.

Or maybe seeing Leo had.

“How old is he?”

“You already did the math.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“No.”

His control slipped.

“Do you have any idea what happened to me at that airport?”

Elena stared at him.

Then she laughed.

“You?”

Dante went still.

“You want to talk about what happened to you?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I watched you marry my sister.”

His expression changed.

“I know.”

“I watched you put a ring on Victoria’s finger three weeks after you stopped sleeping in my bed.”

“Elena—”

“I smiled for photographs. I congratulated both of you. I went home, packed two suitcases, and left the country.”

His eyes closed briefly.

“Then three weeks later, in a hotel bathroom in Zurich, I found out I was pregnant.”

Silence.

Dante looked as if she had struck him.

Elena stepped closer now.

“You want to know why I didn’t call you?”

He said nothing.

“Because when I found out I was carrying your child, you were on your honeymoon with my sister.”

Dante’s face emptied.

For the first time since she had known him, Elena saw the man with no defense prepared.

No order.

No strategy.

Nothing.

“You were pregnant when you left?”

“I didn’t know yet.”

“And when you found out—”

“I remembered every time I asked you to choose me.”

His voice dropped.

“I did choose you.”

“No.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“Then tell me.”

The challenge stopped him.

Elena glanced at her watch.

“You wanted ten minutes. You have seven.”

Dante looked toward the house.

Then back at her.

“I didn’t marry Victoria because I loved her.”

Elena almost smiled.

It was such a useless sentence.

“Congratulations.”

“I never loved her.”

“Do you think that makes it better?”

“No.”

“You married her anyway.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

His silence returned.

Elena felt something old and ugly tear open inside her.

There it was.

The same silence.

Eight years of it.

She had been twenty-two when she first fell in love with Dante Moretti.

At twenty-four, she asked where they were going.

At twenty-six, she asked whether he could ever see them married.

At twenty-eight, she stopped pretending she didn’t care.

Every answer had been the same.

I can’t marry you, Elena.

Never why.

Never what stood between them.

Just a locked door.

Then one ivory envelope arrived at her apartment.

Dante Moretti & Victoria Bennett.

Her older sister’s name beside his.

“You still can’t say it.”

“I can.”

“Then say it.”

Dante looked at her.

“Your father.”

Elena’s anger faltered.

“What?”

“Richard was part of it.”

“My father hated you.”

“Yes.”

“He spent half my life warning me to stay away from your family.”

“I know.”

“So what does he have to do with your marriage?”

“Everything.”

A sound came from the house.

Something small hit the hardwood floor.

Then Leo’s voice:

“Mommy!”

Dante turned instinctively.

The front door opened.

Leo stood there holding one wing of his broken toy airplane.

Mia appeared behind him.

“Sorry. He got away from me.”

Leo ignored her.

He looked directly at Dante.

For the first time, father and son stood only a few feet apart.

Dante didn’t move.

Neither did Leo.

Elena could see Dante trying not to stare.

He failed.

Leo’s gray eyes moved over Dante’s face with the same open curiosity he gave strangers on trains.

“You were at the airport.”

Dante swallowed.

“Yes.”

“You ran.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Dante looked at Elena.

She gave him nothing.

“Because I wanted to talk to your mom.”

Leo considered this.

Then held up the broken airplane.

“It broke.”

Dante crouched.

Slowly.

“Can I see?”

Leo hesitated.

Then walked forward and placed the toy in his hand.

Dante examined the snapped plastic.

“I can fix it.”

“With glue?”

“Probably.”

Leo seemed impressed.

Elena’s chest hurt.

Dante had never held his son.

Never heard his first word.

Never watched him take his first step.

Never knew there was a child in Switzerland who made the exact same face when concentrating.

She had told herself that was Dante’s consequence.

Standing there, she realized Leo had paid part of it too.

Dante handed the airplane back.

“I’ll bring it back fixed.”

Leo hugged it to his chest.

Then looked from Dante to Elena.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Is that my dad?”

No one moved.

Mia quietly stepped backward into the house.

Elena’s mouth went dry.

She had imagined this conversation dozens of times.

Not here.

Not now.

Not with Dante standing on the sidewalk.

Leo waited.

Dante’s eyes stayed on Elena.

He did not answer for her.

That, more than anything, made her look at him.

Finally she crouched beside her son.

“Leo, I need to talk to you about that later.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s important.”

Leo looked at Dante again.

Dante’s face was unreadable, but his eyes were not.

They were wet.

Leo leaned toward Elena and whispered far too loudly:

“He has my eyes.”

Elena nearly broke.

“Yes,” she said.

Dante inhaled sharply.

Leo nodded as though he had solved the entire mystery himself.

Then he walked back inside.

Elena stood.

Dante did too.

“Tell me he’s mine.”

She looked at him.

“Your ten minutes are over.”

“Elena.”

“You said my father was involved. Tomorrow, you can explain what that means.”

“Tomorrow?”

“At the funeral.”

His expression darkened.

“You shouldn’t go there without security.”

“It’s my father’s funeral.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

“You never did.”

The answer stopped her.

Dante stepped backward.

For once, he did not try to win.

He turned toward his car.

Then Elena spoke.

“He’ll be three in thirteen days.”

Dante stopped.

His back remained to her.

Elena’s throat tightened.

“His name is Leo Richard Bennett.”

Dante slowly turned.

“Richard?”

“After my father.”

Something complicated moved across his face.

Then Elena gave him the answer he had chased across Chicago to hear.

“And yes.”

Dante stopped breathing.

“He’s yours.”

For several seconds, the most powerful Moretti in Chicago simply stood on a quiet Lincoln Park sidewalk looking like a man whose entire life had shifted beneath his feet.

Then Elena went inside.

She closed the door.

And on the other side, Dante Moretti remained completely still.