The kid wiggles himself between us, staring at me as if I’ve hurt his mother.
Fuck.
Tatiana has a kid. A boy.
He can’t be older than four or five. I know he’s mine even before I do the math. Looking into his eyes is like staring at my own in a mirror.
For a moment, I’m dumbstruck as my mind wrestles with the truth. The possibility never occurred to me. I have no idea why not. After all, I knew exactly what I was doing every time I came inside Tatiana instead of using a condom. Putting a baby in her was a very probable outcome, one I even bargained on.
Yet this isn’t how I imagined the moment of finally finding her would be. I thought she’d be living off her family’s money somewhere in a palace on a tropical island. I didn’t expect to find her as a single mother in what can only be described as a shithole instead of a home. No wonder it took me so long to track her down. I’ve been searching in all the wrong places.
“Mommy,” the kid says again, but he’s not looking at her. He’s glaring at me.
Jesus, he’s a carbon copy of me at that age. His T-shirt is faded, and his sneakers have seen better days, but he’s not neglected, not in the way that matters. From the way he behaves toward his mother, they’re close. He acts like a kid who’s wanted and loved and who knows it.
He studies me with the lively eyes of a curious and intelligent child. His curly hair is glossy, and his cheeks are pink with a healthy glow. He’s a sturdy kid, and I can’t help the pride that swells in my chest even as the shock keeps me in its claws. And then, as reality settles, fury over the fact that she hid him from me sets in. But I know how to practice control. I perfected the skill.
Giving the kid some space, I set Tatiana free and step away. I haven’t missed the fear that tightened the lines of her face as she took in my reaction at seeing the kid. Even as I focus on one thing, I’m aware of everything else around me. I always keep one eye on my target and the other on the rest of the room.
She bends down and hugs my kid to her without breaking our eye contact. “It’s okay, baby.” She rubs his back. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”
She’s not okay, but she tells him that again when he buries his face against her legs.
I lay a hand on his shoulder. “Your mom and I were just getting reacquainted. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.”
He shrugs off my touch and burrows himself deeper against his mother.
I cut my gaze to Jasper. The truth is written all over her face. Jasper never did make a good poker player. She looks as if she may bolt, maybe run for help, but a shake of my head discourages her from what would be a very dumb move.
That fact is confirmed when she glances over her shoulder. Reino, the man I had on Tatiana’s tail for the past two days, walks up the path to the flaky porch. Ulysses and Kent, two of my best and most trusted men, flank him.
They stop at the bottom of the steps, far enough to give us privacy but close enough to block the exit. Another two of my soldiers will already be watching the back door and the windows overlooking the yard.
I look at Reino, who never mentioned the kid, for a clue. He only sent me a photo of Jasper. He shrugs with a shake of his head.
Jasper’s cheeks are a shade paler when she faces me again. Deceit and something like disappointment pass through her eyes when she obviously realizes her mistake. Reino told me she’d fallen for his story about fixing leaking pipes. As with wearing her heart on her sleeve, Jasper Everson has always been a tad too trustworthy. In her defense, Reino is thorough when he creates a false identity. He would’ve been convincing.
Tatiana has moved her focus to Reino and the other men too. She stares at them over Jasper’s shoulder. An anxious look passes between the women.
“My men are here for protection. You’ll be fine.” I left the rest unsaid—as long as they do as I say. They’d get that. Crouching down, I smile at the kid. “How old are you?”
Tatiana’s hands still on his back.
He shoots me a frown. He must feel the tension in the air. Or maybe he’s shy with strangers, a fact that hurts even though it shouldn’t. It’s not his fault he doesn’t know who I am.
I hold out a hand. “Dante.”
He glances at my hand but doesn’t take it. Instead, he lifts a palm, showing me four fingers.
Four.
It makes sense. The last time I saw Tatiana was almost five years ago, four years and six months to be exact, and I’m pretty damn sure she never took another man’s cock in her pussy before she disappeared from my life. She wasn’t like that.
Considering matters from her point of view, I can understand why she’d hide the truth from me, but it doesn’t still the rage ravaging my insides. She robbed me of the first years—four fucking years—of my child’s life, time I can never get back.
I’m careful not to let those feelings show. I don’t want to scare my son more than I already have. “What’s your name?”
He considers me before sticking a thumb in his mouth and mumbling around it. “Noah.”