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I clench my jaw and speed off. My anger escalates as I change the gears with a crunch. I fucking hate them all. Tomorrow everyone goes, and I start with new staff.
* * *
An hour later, I pull the car up and peer across the road. The impressive house is gated, and I can see a security guard inside. I drove around and around as I tried to resist coming here. In the end, I couldn’t.
I needed to see this for myself.
Pain tightens my chest. His other son is guarded. His other life is guarded.
Was it so well known that even our enemies know?
Or are they guarded from me?
As I sit and watch, I see a woman and a boy walk down the street toward the house. They’re deep in conversation. She punches in the code to the gate and it opens.
That’s them.
She blonde… blonde.
She’s wearing tight denim jeans and a navy puffer jacket. She’s in runners, and has on a New York Yankees cap, with her long, blonde, thick ponytail hanging down her back. She’s laughing. She seems carefree.
She takes the football from the boy and kicks it over the fence to annoy him. He says something, and she laughs out loud.
I stop breathing all together as I watch her. She’s the exact opposite of my mother.
My mother is Italian, with long dark hair. She’s always in designer clothes and high heels. She’s always made up to look exotic—gorgeous. A Ferrara to the bone.
I frown as I watch the enigma across the street. I can’t even imagine my father with someone like her.
My eyes roam to the boy. He would be late teens. He has dark hair with a curl to it, and he looks exactly like I did at that age.
He had a football in his hand before she kicked it away. Maybe he just came from training or something.
I watch them walk in and talk to the man on the gate.
I frown as pain sears my chest. I know him. He’s one of my father’s men.
He works for me.
I drop my head, unable to watch on any longer.
I start the car, and with a million vile visions of my father with her and him, I drive to Milan.
This can’t be happening.
There must be something. I’ve missed something. How didn’t I notice this in the will?
When I arrive at my offices, I head straight in.
“Good morning.” Rosalie smiles.
“Morning,” I say. “No visitors today, please.”
“Yes, Mr. Ferrara.”
I walk into my office, move the light switch and hit the button. The bookcase slides to the side, and I put the code into the safe. The will. I want to look at the will.
