Chapter 7

Matteo Rinaldi’s POV

The ride back was deathly quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the car engine as our driver navigated the streets of Italy.

Confusion churned in me as I stared at Alessia and the children. Could they… really be hers? Was there a reality where she was the mother of these kids? And if that was true… then how much of what Giulia had fed me all those years was lies?

Jealousy and disbelief collided in my chest. Alessia had moved on. She and these children belonged to someone else now.

I stayed silent, studying the kids. Their eyes, wide and curious, watched both me and their mother. Then I heard a soft whisper from the boy who had held their backpacks at the airport.

“Does this gentleman not look familiar to you? I see him looking at mummy,” he said to the little girl.

I recognized them now. Renzo and Tiziana, the oldest and the girl. And then Tino and Ruggero, the other two. They nodded subtly, suspicious but quiet, still observing me as we drove.

Suddenly, Tiziana waved shyly. “Excuse me, Mister,” she asked, her voice small but firm. “Do you… by any chance… know who my dad is?”

Her words froze me. Alessia gasped, a quick flash of panic crossing her face before she quickly composed herself.

“Tiziana!” Alessia whispered sharply, as if trying to make her daughter stop. But the little girl recoiled slightly, eyes wide, mouth open, before she calmed herself.

For a moment, silence returned, only to be broken by Ruggero. “Mummy… you promised Dad would come back for us, but…” He glanced at his siblings, “…he hasn’t come yet. Did you lie to us?”

Alessia’s lips parted, a faint gasp escaping, but she quickly regained her composure. “No, Ruggero. Mummy did not lie,” she said, her tone calm and reassuring.

That was it. No more explanation. Her calm demeanor was deliberate. I tried to read her face, to catch any hint of the truth, but she avoided my gaze entirely. Her secrecy was obvious.

Damn it, Alessia! What are you hiding?

The driver’s voice cut through my thoughts. “We’ve just passed the toll gate. Where exactly are we headed, sir?”

I redirected the question to her. “Alessia… are you ready to give us an actual address?”

Her eyes met mine briefly, then she looked away without saying a word. After a few seconds, she silently took a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to me. No words, no explanation. She had made her choice to stay silent.

I passed the paper to our driver, who nodded and continued driving. Alessia remained mute, unwilling to speak.

I turned my attention to the kids. “Hey… do you like ice cream?” I asked, trying to lighten the tension.

“Yes!” they all chorused, their faces lighting up with excitement.

“Are you getting us ice cream, Mister?” Ruggero asked eagerly.

“Yes,” I replied, smiling. “But only if you tell me your favorite flavors.”

“I like chocolate and strawberry!” Tiziana exclaimed.

Renzo remained quiet but now wore a small smile. Alessia’s silence weighed heavily in the car, but I felt a strange warmth toward these children. I wanted to know them, to understand them.

“Where is your best ice cream spot?” I asked Tiziana.

“Me? It’s Mr. Buckin’s Cream, close to our house in the US,” she replied confidently.

“You just came from the US?” I asked, surprised, hoping Alessia might speak—but she didn’t. Her silence was complete.

“Yes, we are,” Tino replied, his small voice calm and confident.

“That’s a beautiful place to live. So… why are you back here?” I asked, curiosity pricking at me.

“My mamma said we are here to meet our father,” Renzo answered finally. His words struck me dumb.

I looked at Alessia, then at the children, my heart tightening at the thought that fate might be giving me another chance—another chance to understand what had really happened all these years.

“That’s good,” I said, smiling faintly, though I stayed quiet as we drove toward the address Alessia had handed me.

“We are here,” the driver announced.

“Okay,” I said and stepped out of the car. Alessia and the kids followed. I signaled to Andrew, who quickly organized the men to help carry Alessia’s luggage into the house.

Alessia took the children’s backpacks and was about to step inside when I stopped her by gently holding her hand.

“I need to speak with you for a moment,” I said.

“Mmm-hmm,” she responded, uninterested, her eyes steady on mine. “Go on,” she added coolly.

The children ran ahead into the house, leaving Alessia and me alone. Her gaze was fixed on me, waiting for whatever I had to say.

“How are you? How have you been? Where have you been all this time? The kids told me you were in the US. How did you manage over there with them?” I asked, words tumbling out in a rush.

“I am fine. I have been good. Yes, we were in the US. I was doing just fine over there,” she replied, answering all my questions in the coldest tone possible, and said nothing further.

Her silence made me uneasy. I had expected at least some conversation, some warmth.

“So… did you hear about the lawsuit against your family company? They were sued for tax fraud,” I tried, hoping a different topic might loosen her tongue.

“Yes, I did,” she retorted, her brown eyes flashing with contained anger.

I knew she was still furious at me—and I couldn’t blame her. Forgiveness would not come easily after all I had done.

“Can I help you settle in?” I asked, my enthusiasm faltering under the weight of her icy demeanor.

“No, I am fine. I can take care of myself… and my children,” she said coldly, turning to walk away.

As she moved, I remembered Ruggero’s question. I called out, “Wait—who is their father?”

Alessia paused. Then rage overtook her like a storm I had never seen before. Her brown eyes darkened with fury as she yelled, “Stay away from me! Stay away from my children! I don’t ever want you around us!” She stormed into the house, leaving me standing there, my chest tight with helplessness.

My heart bled. The sting of her words stayed with me, stubborn and deep.

“Sir…” my driver began to speak, but I cut him off.

“This is none of your business. Just take me home,” I snapped, though his gaze in the rearview mirror made me squirm.

“Forgive my intrusion, sir, but I must say… those children bear an uncanny resemblance to you. It’s almost undeniable,” he said cautiously. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I believe Miss Alessia hid her children as a form of protection—or perhaps… punishment.”

I sighed, unsettled by the truth in his words. Could it be? But my memories of Alessia were blurry—fragments, fleeting and hazy. I couldn’t even confirm the driver’s theory.

Sooner than I realized, we arrived at my house. As I stepped inside, a familiar, tiny voice greeted me.

“Oh no, not again,” I thought, feeling a flash of disdain.

“Hi, welcome Matteo. How was your day today? How was your trip?” Giulia sounded caring, but I wasn’t in the mood for her false sweetness.

“How did you even get in?” I asked coldly, eyes narrowing.

Her gentle act vanished instantly. “Now that’s not how you welcome the mother of your—oh, wait, or is it the mother of your unborn child?” she said, her tone dripping with mockery.

I paused, weighing my responses. A few choices ran through my mind, but only one seemed right.

“Get lost,” I said sharply, brushing past her without waiting for a reply or even a glance. She wasn’t worth it—not today, not ever.