He Ransomed His Secret Son and Left Our Daughter novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: The Carriage House

Lily was asleep by ten, in a purple room that smelled of new paint, with her grandfather in the armchair beside her.

He had told me to go.

He had said it twice, the second time with his eyes closed, so he wouldn't have to see my face.

"Go to him," Giacomo had said. "I'm not a stupid man, Marlena. Just be kind."

I crossed the lawn in the dress and bare feet, carrying my shoes.

It had stopped raining, and the grass was cold and soaked.

The carriage house sat at the back of the property, a small stone building with one lit window.

I didn't knock.

The door opened before I reached it.

Dario stood there in his shirtsleeves with the tuxedo jacket gone and his tie hanging open.

His hair was wild.

"You should be inside," he said.

"I should."

"Sartori knows about the church."

"I know."

"We'll find out how. Tomorrow. I'll have men at every door, and..."

"Dario."

He stopped.

"Not tonight," I said.

I stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind me.

The room was one big space with a bed, a desk, a shelf of paperbacks and nothing on the walls.

It looked like a place where a man waited to be told to leave.

I dropped my shoes.

"You don't know what you're doing," he said.

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

"I'm her son, Marlena."

"I know whose son you are." I walked toward him. "I looked at a man tonight who stood on a stage with his own child on his arm and told a room he loved his family. I know the difference."

"You've had a terrible week."

"I've had the worst week of my life." I put my palms flat on his chest. "And you were the only thing in it I wanted."

He closed his eyes.

His heart was pounding under my hands.

"I'm not a good bet," he said, thickly.

"I'm not looking for a bet."

I went up on my toes and kissed him.

He held out for the length of a breath.

Then he made a low sound, almost pain, and his arms locked around me, and he lifted me off the floor.

My back met the wall.

His mouth was on mine, hot and open, and he tasted of whiskey he must have poured and not drunk.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, and the silk slit let them.

"Fuck," he muttered, into my throat. "You have no idea."

"Then show me."

He carried me across the room with easy strength, and laid me gently on the bed.

Then he stood there, breathing hard, looking down at me.

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