Chapter 10
Layla
“I need to ask you a favor.” I hated the words even before they’d left my mouth. Hated thinking them. Hated that I’d cornered Marco in the break room of the hospital to ask this of him.
Marco was a nice guy; everybody knew it. He was one of the most well-liked doctors at the hospital, and here I was, taking advantage of his kindness and perpetual willingness to help.
Marco turned from the coffee maker, set a hip against the countertop. “What’s up?”
“I um …” My fingers drummed the counter, and I stared down at them, soft and white against the purple laminate. “This is gonna sound so weird, but I need you to pretend to be Eli’s father.”
“What?” Marco’s brows turned upward in confusion. “Why would—”
“Just for a little bit. To um …” But how could I explain it? That I was trying to throw Eli’s real father off the scent because—surprise!—he was actually the Don of the most feared and powerful Mafia family in New York?
No, pretty sure I couldn’t say that.
“Just need to maintain appearances for a while,” I finished lamely.
“All right.” Marco nodded, and I felt my jaw drop in surprise. Just like that? He’d agreed to it?
“It’ll only be temporary,” I assured him. “I’m not trying to rope you into anything shady.”
He laughed, and that bright and beautiful smile quickly reminded me of the other reason he was the most popular doctor at the hospital. Marco was undeniably attractive. His sunshiney smile and easy laughter had caught the eye of just about every woman—doctor, nurse, or patient—in the hospital.
Aside from being a bit of a playboy, Marco was just about the perfect man. With a strange pang in my chest, I couldn’t help but think that he reminded me of the Vasco I’d known eight years ago.
But compared to the Aldo I’d met last night, this smiling gentleman was his complete opposite.
“You don’t need to explain,” Marco said, his smile fading with his gentle words. “We’re friends. Friends help friends. Whatever you need, I’m there for you.”
My thank you caught in my chest, and my eyes felt strangely damp. Me. I didn’t cry, hadn’t cried for eight damned years, and I wasn’t about to start now.
I was stronger than that.
“In fact,” Marco sipped at his coffee, “I think we’re off at the same time today. If you need my acting skills, I’m free.”
I laughed, driving back any lingering pangs or wayward eye-moisture. “I don’t think—”
“Aw, c’mon.” Marco grinned, showing off straight, white teeth. “It'll be fun.”
Fun? I wasn’t sure I’d go that far, but maybe he was onto something. Marco stopping by the estate to visit Eli would certainly sell the story of his paternity, right?
And it had nothing to do with wanting Vasco—Aldo—to see me with another man.
Nothing.
“Well, all right. You can come by the place where I’m staying after work?”
Marco smiled wider. “I’m all yours, love.”
Marco followed me back to the Marcello estate in his sleek Porsche. As I guided my own Mercedes along the quiet suburban streets of Also’s neighborhood, I wondered if Marco would even be allowed past those imposing front gates.
Had bringing him here been a mistake?
But surprisingly, we were stopped at the end of the driveway for only a handful of minutes before the gates opened and the guard waved us through. Carlo met us at the front door.
“Dr. Bennett.” He opened my door for me, and an unfamiliar man in a suit slid behind the wheel, presumably to park my car in the garage. “Mr. Marcello has permitted a meeting in the guesthouse around back.”
“Oh. Um. Of course.” I tossed an apologetic smile in Marco’s direction, but he was too busy staring at the estate soaring up over our heads to notice. Guess I couldn’t really blame him.
Carlo led the way, Marco following in my wake. The guest house was a two-story brick affair, larger than my townhouse, with impressively wide windows and an oversized front door.
“I’ll get Eli?” Carlo asked as he swung the door open.
“Please.” I stepped into a large, clean foyer. “That would be great.”
Carlo vanished, and Marco appeared in his absence. That wide white smile bloomed across his face again, and he lifted a bouquet of flowers between us. Carnations and roses.
“How … lovely!” Surprise bloomed inside my chest as I accepted the gift, but I played it off with a laugh. “Really selling it here, eh?”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “They suited you.”
“Pink carnations?” I shook my head. He was really going all out for this role, I’d give him that. Anybody looking in would surely think he was the perfect husband.
“They’re pretty. Just like you.” Marco winked.
“Nothing about me is pretty or pink.” I plucked a pink flower from the bunch, then leaned in to tuck it behind his ear. “I think it suits you better.”
Marco’s fingers brushed lightly across my lifted wrist, the touch so soft, so intimate, I froze with my hand still in his hair.
“Mommy!” Eli’s voice shattered our shared moment of … whatever that was. I broke away from Marco, turned to greet my son. The little boy rushed towards me, a grin nearly splitting his face in two.
I crouched, opened my arms for him to rush into my embrace.
But as I nestled my cheek against his hair, my gaze turned towards the open door. There, framed in the dark wood of the doorway, stood Aldo.
I almost didn’t recognize him, behind that cold, expressionless mask. The one I should be used to by now.
Aldo’s face—so like my Vasco’s. So different.
He didn’t meet my gaze. Simply watched Eli rush into the room, then turned and left without a word.
Eli wriggled in my arms, so I released him from my arms. Marco crouched beside us. “Hey, Eli.”
“Marco’s come to visit.” I squeezed Eli’s arm. “Isn’t that exciting?”
Eli nodded. “As long as he wants to play Go Fish!”
Marco stayed for five rounds before I finally, laughingly, sent him on his way.
“You’ve done more than enough,” I assured him at the door. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your night than throw cards at an eight year old.”
He smiled anyway. Marco was always smiling. “I had fun.”
Eli and I watched him climb back into his Porsche and leave the estate behind. Only after the car had vanished did I take Eli’s hand in my own. Lead him back towards the main house.
“I know who that man really is,” Eli said without warning or preamble. “My father.”
His little voice echoed across the grand foyer, halting me in my tracks. He stopped beside me, tilted his little face up. “Right?”
“You mean Marco?” I crouched down beside Eli, confusion and surprise and concern all warring for attention inside my ribcage.
“No.” Eli shook his head, then leaned into my ear. Dropped his voice to a low whisper. “I’ll keep it a secret.”
Aldo? But I couldn’t speak the name out loud. Not in this context. Not in this house. Not when anyone could be listening. But I wanted to ask how did you know?
If it was so obvious to my eight-year-old son that Marco wasn’t his father, surely no one else would believe the farce. Still, I swallowed down my panic. Took Eli’s hand in mine again and led him through the foyer. Down the hall. To his room.
I paused to couch beside him at the door. “Eli, can you do something for me?”
His blue eyes rounded into desperate earnesty as he nodded.
“Stay away from Mr. Marcello, all right?” My words were barely a whisper, but firm. A command, not a suggestion. “If he thinks you could be his son, he will take you away from me.”
Eli’s eyes got impossibly wider, but he nodded. “All right, Mommy.”
“Good boy.” I kissed the top of his head. “Bedtime now, okay?”
He nodded again, and I closed the door behind him. Paced down the hall toward my own room. Reminding myself, over and over, that he was safe, we were safe, and all this would blow over soon.
Please let this all be over soon.
A tall, dark, and handsome figure stood at the door to my room. His room, I supposed. My breath caught at the sight of him.
Because he was beautiful or because he was terrifying? I couldn’t be sure. “Aldo.”
But his only response was, “He doesn’t love you.”
