Chapter 3

Aria's POV

The echo of his footsteps hadn't even faded before Jasmine was moving.

She threw herself out of the nursery and into the hallway, catching up to him before he reached the top of the stairs.

"Dom, wait," she called out. The venom from a moment ago vanished, replaced instantly by a breathless, sugary whine.

I stood in the doorway, Luca resting against my chest, and watched my sister go to his daddy.

Jasmine reached out, wrapping her manicured fingers around his bicep. "I was thinking, since I've been so stressed with the baby... maybe we could go shopping downtown today? Just the two of us?"

Dominic stopped. He didn't look at her face. He looked at her hand on his arm.

The shift was microscopic, but I saw it. He withdrew his arm with a chilling, utter detachment, leaving Jasmine's hands grasping at empty air.

"I have business," he said. The tone wasn't that of a bloodthirsty monster. It was the tone of a man addressing a minor, inconvenient employee.

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a sleek black titanium card, and held it out. "Take the car. Take some guards with you."

He didn't wait for her to take it and just slid it onto the hallway console table and walked down the stairs without a backward glance.

Jasmine stared after him, her jaw tight, before snatching the card. She glanced back and caught me watching. I raised an eyebrow.

If he finds out I lied, he'll kill me. I tightened my hold on Luca.

Dominic Valentino might be a ruthless mob boss to the rest of the world, but to Jasmine? He wasn't some terrifying, abusive tyrant holding her hostage. He was just a deep pocket who barely tolerated her presence.

Another lie. Another manipulation to keep me playing her game.

The estate settled into a suffocating silence around two in the morning.

I was dozing in the armchair next to the crib when the first whimper broke the quiet. By the time I was on my feet, Luca was letting out a sharp, agonizing wail.

I scooped him up, immediately feeling the heat radiating through his soft onesie. A fever. Not dangerously high, but enough to make a four-month-old miserable.

"Shh, I know, I know," I whispered, pressing his flushed cheek to my neck.

I went into the adjoining bathroom, wet a soft washcloth with tepid water, and began pacing the dim nursery.

I wiped the back of his neck, his little wrists, gently bouncing him with a rhythmic sway that my body seemed to remember on a cellular level.

The crying wouldn't stop. He was frustrated, hot, and exhausted.

Without thinking, I closed my eyes and let a melody slip past my lips.

It was an old, quiet lullaby I had hummed to the concrete walls of my cell in Lockwood Correctional. I used to press my hands to my swollen belly in the dark, singing it until the baby stopped kicking and went to sleep.

"Hush now, little one, the storm is passing by..." I sang softly, letting the vibration of my chest soothe him. "Rest your head, the dawn is in the sky..."

It worked like magic. Within minutes, the frantic wailing dissolved into small, sleepy hiccups. Luca's tiny fists uncurled, his breathing evening out against my collarbone as he drifted back to sleep.

"He likes that song."

I gasped, spinning around.

Dominic was leaning against the doorframe, a shadow detached from the darker hallway. He had stripped off his suit jacket and tie, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. In his hand was a glass of warm water.

How long had he been standing there?

He pushed off the frame and walked silently into the room. The sheer size of him made the spacious nursery feel suddenly small. He stopped a foot away and held out the glass.

"Drink," he ordered softly. "You've been pacing for twenty minutes."

I took the glass with my free hand, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Thank you."

He didn't step back. He stood there, watching me take a sip, his dark eyes missing nothing in the dim moonlight.

"Fourteen months in Lockwood Correctional Facility," he said.

It was a statement of fact. My blood ran cold, but I forced my face to remain completely blank. Of course he ran a background check for his son. He was the head of the Valentino family.

"You do your homework, Mr. Valentino," I said, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Luca.

"I don't let strangers sleep fifty feet from my son without knowing exactly what they are capable of," Dominic replied, his gaze locking onto mine. "Aggravated assault. You put a man in the hospital."

I met his stare evenly. I knew exactly what the police report said. "I hit a scumbag who was putting his hands on his girlfriend. He pressed charges. I'd do it again."

I left out Daniel's name. I left out Jasmine. And I prayed to God that the prison records his men pulled were the redacted ones that didn't mention the prison infirmary. Or the birth.

Dominic stared at me. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. He was looking for a crack, a tell, a lie.

Then, he took a half-step closer. The scent of bergamot, expensive scotch, and gun oil wrapped around me. I stopped breathing.

He reached out.

I braced myself, but his hand didn't go to my throat.

His thumb gently brushed a stray curl of hair away from my collarbone. His skin was rough, calloused, and the contact sent an electric shock straight down my spine.

His fingers lingered for a fraction of a second, hovering just millimeters above the fabric of my shirt, right over the spot where my birthmark lay hidden.

His dark eyes dropped to my lips, then slowly drifted back up to hold my gaze.

"You don't hold him like a beginner," Dominic murmured, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with a dangerous, quiet intensity. "Tell me, Aria... have you ever had a child?"