Before I can say anything that will have Dante worried he’s fighting for equality for the wrong woman, he asks, “What costume was Gabriele’s father wearing the night he was conceived?”
A crinkle creases the middle of my forehead, his line of questioning baffling me. “What?”
“The man.” His voice is low but urgent. “The one from the night Gabriele was conceived. What costume was he wearing?”
Why is he asking me this now? My son is at the mercy of the Wicked Witch of the West. Edoardo’s parenting techniques are the bottom of the barrel, but they’re better than the cruelty Carmela unleashes when she believes she’s been done wrong.
Me walking out of a marriage worth billions because I was pregnant with another man’s child gives her plenty of ammunition.
And don’t get me started on her being sent to do Edoardo’s bidding or I may burst into tears.
Despite my confusion, I answer slowly, “Zorro. He went as Zorro.”
I can hear Dante’s heaving chest from here.
“It’s you,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “It’s fucking you.” A ghost from my past floats between the despair when he adds, “You wore a wig. Your hair was short, a pixie cut, and your eyes were brown.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, too shocked not to respond.
I always wore wigs when in character. Pretending to be excitedabout marrying a man twice my age was an Oscar-worthy performance. Only the night of my hen’s party did I feel myself, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol I consumed to try to forget.
Dante shouldn’t know any of that. I’ve never told anyone about the night my child’s conception shattered a multimillion-dollar alliance.
“Don’t. Please,” I plead to Dante when one step unshadows his polished boots and his belt buckle. Gabriele is still out there, so we have to keep our deception going a little longer.
Dante freezes before asking, “Have you ever seen Gabriele, Lucia?”
Tears prick my eyes as I nod. “We FaceTime?—”
“Not on a screen,” he interrupts, words firing from his mouth. “When he was born. Did you see him then?”
Pain burns through my chest when my mind flashes back to that day. The pain was horrific. I thought my body was tearing apart. Gabriele was breech. I begged for help, but my stepmother told me to stop being so dramatic and push.
I’d never felt pain like that, but it was nothing compared to the hurt that shredded through me when I didn’t even get to hold Gabriele before they took him away from me.
I tried to fight, but I was hemorrhaging badly. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t even lift my head.
“No,” I whisper, choking on a sob. “I never saw him.”
Dante’s balk ripples through the air. Then he speaks words that shatter the ground beneath me. “Gabriele isn’t your son, Lucia.”
I jerk back as my fury rises so fast it burns. “How dare you!”
I’m furious, but then he says something else. Something impossible. Something only one person has ever said to me. “The moon and the sun don’t always get to see each other, but they both need each other in order to properly shine.”
That line was whispered in my ear on the night my life changed forever.
A jolt rockets through my body when Dante uses my shock to his advantage. He steps out of an alcove of an abandoned building. Hisclean-shaven face concealed partially by a mask slams memories of the night Gabriele was conceived into me.
The mask, the heat, and the way the unnamed stranger made me feel seen tumble through me until I suddenly see the truth.
Until I suddenly see him.
“No, it can’t be. Edoardo?—”
“Lied. He lied to you, Lucia.”
I shake my head, too shocked to let the truth settle in my heart. “Why would he do that?”
