Boisterous laughter hit my ears. It’s coming from the living room. I peek around the corner. Two figures sit on the sofa. Their bodies are facing each other. Her forehead rest on his chest while he whispers something in her ear. A wicked grin lifts Nana’s cheeks. I can’t see the man’s face. She reminds me of a woman my age the way she’s carrying on. Who the hell is this man?
I clear my throat.
“Buon pomeriggio. Good afternoon,” I say in Italian.
He inches back, his blue eyes meeting mine. A devilish grin plays on his thin lips.
What the hell did he say to her?
“Serenity, this is my friend, Mr. Marino.” Nana beams.
“Friend my ass,” I mutter under my breath as I approach.
He rises to his feet and rounds the sofa. His hand stretches out for mine. I shake it.
“Hello Serenity. It’s nice to meet you.”
I grin. “Nice to meet you, too,” I say, releasing his hand.
His custom-fitted tan suit exudes luxury. He’s got swag. Is he in the Mafia?
He peers down at me. “Fia and I go way back. We’ve known each other since we were young.”
I clasp my hands behind my back. “Did you know my grandfather?”
His smile doesn’t waver. “Yes. And Fia knew my wife. She passed away five years ago.”
“My condolences,” I say.
“Thank you.”
He’s a handsome older man. It’s obvious he used to be a lady-killer. He probably had women eating out of the palm of his hand. It seems my grandmother might’ve too.
I want to ask more questions, but I won’t pry. My grandmother deserves happiness.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Marino.” I make my way into the kitchen. Glancing over my shoulder, I notice he sits on the sofa and pulls Nana into his arms. They look good together.
I peek at my watch as I open the refrigerator. Time to indulge in one of my favorite shows on Netflix.
Luckily, I have TV to keep my mind occupied, and working remotely for my family’s company fills my days. It helps me push Nico out of my thoughts; he only visits me in my dreams.
I pull the glass casserole dish from the fridge and set it on the counter. After retrieving a plate from the cabinet, I serve a generous portion and pop it into the microwave. Sitting at the marble countertop, I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll through the adoption agency’s website. I plan to call them in a few days, after my next doctor’s appointment. The prospectiveparents will likely want to see ultrasound images. I avoid bonding with the baby growing inside me—it’s easier this way. Talking to the child would only make giving it up for adoption more difficult.
Chapter Three
NICO
It’s official. Serenity stole my baby.
I stand at the marble kitchen counter, clad only in boxers, my fingers gripping the sink’s edge so tightly my knuckles turn white.
If I don’t stop, I’ll break my fucking fingers.
My gaze drifts over the photos scattered across the countertop.
These are the latest images sent by Devlin, the second bodyguard I assigned to help Nolan in Italy. For six months now, I’ve been receiving his updates and pictures.
The photo that kills me is her poolside, lounging in the sun, a tiny red bikini stretched over her glowing skin.
