Chapter 1
The rain was coming down in sheets over downtown Milano City and the coldness felt like fumes.
I hated this city.
I hated the way the streetlights reflected on wet pavement like broken promises.
I hated the Romano Tower that cut through the skyline six blocks away, watching everything. I hated the wetness of this city.
And most of all, I hated that after five years of running, I was back.
Five years.
Five years of cheap apartments and double shifts and lying to my son about why he didn’t have a daddy.
“Refill, ma’am?” I asked, forcing a smile at table four. My voice sounded tired even to me.
The bell above the door jingled. A couple walked in. “Seat yourself. Menu’s on the table.”
I walked to table six.
The bell above the door jingled again.
I didn’t look up. I was too busy counting tips in my head. 43 dollars. Not enough for Leo’s new shoes.
I hear wet footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
The smell hit me next. Cedar and expensive cologne.
The kind of smell that used to make me stupid.
“Table for one,” a deep voice said.
My hand froze on the coffee pot.
I’d know that voice anywhere. In a crowd. In my nightmares. In the dark at 3am when Leo asked about his dad.
No.
It couldn’t be. Not on a Tuesday. Not in _Rosie’s_. Not tonight.
I kept my eyes down. Poured coffee in the mugs at table six. My hands started to shake.
Maybe if I didn’t look, he’d go away.
“Did you hear me?” the voice said again. Closer now. “Table for one.”
I turned.
And the air left my lungs.
Matteo Romano.
Of course it had to be him. On the one day I forget to put on mascara.
He is standing there wearing a black suit. Wet hair pushed back like he’d just come from a board meeting. His Jaws are clenched tight. His eyes looked so cold, it could freeze water.
CEO of Romano Holdings. The man who owned half this city and probably the other half too.
The man who’d called me a mistake, and a gold digger. The man who walked away.
I was staring at him and he wasn’t even looking at me.
He was looking past me.
Right at the corner booth.
Right at Leo.
My four-year-old was swinging his legs, tongue sticking out in concentration as he colored on a paper placemat with a broken blue crayon. His yellow rain boots were two sizes too big. His hoodie said _DINOSAUR SQUAD_ in peeling letters.
Leo looked up. Seeing the man in front of his mother.
Matteo wasn’t seeing the diner.
He wasn’t seeing me.
He was seeing Leo’s face.
Especially his eyes.
Dark. Almost black. Framed by thick lashes that were too long for a boy.
My eyes.
His eyes.
The Romano eyes.
The color drained from Matteo’s face.
“Amber,” he said. My name. I thought he would forget.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t angry.
It was like he’d been punched and was trying to figure out where the pain was coming from.
I dropped the coffee pot.
It shattered. Coffee and ceramic everywhere.
Leo looked startled. “Mommy, are you okay?”
Matteo didn’t blink. Didn’t even look at the mess. He took one step forward. Then another.
His gaze moved like a scanner. Leo’s eyes. His nose. The stubborn little chin.
The Romano chin.
“You’re back,” Matteo said. His voice was low now. The voice he used before he destroyed someone in a meeting.
“In my city.”
My mouth went dry. I wiped my hands on my apron. Stupid. As if that would help.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
“Come to have dinner, apparently,” he said. But he still wasn’t looking at me.
Leo slid off the booth. He was shy with strangers. Always had been. Too smart for his own good.
But he tilted his head at Matteo. Studying him.
Like he was looking at a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
Matteo crouched down. Slow. Like any sudden movement would break something.
Or like he was afraid I’d scream.
“Hey, kid,” he said. His voice cracked. Just once. The great Matteo Romano, and his voice cracked.
Leo clutched Mr. Rex, his beat-up dinosaur. “Are you lost, mister?”
The air in the diner went thick.
Matteo’s jaw ticked. His hands, the ones that signed billion-dollar deals, flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.
He reached out. Stopped himself an inch from Leo’s hair.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think I am.”
Rosie came barreling out from the back, dish towel in hand. “Everything okay, Amber? I heard-”
She saw Matteo. And stopped.
Everyone in Milano City knew Matteo Romano.
I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed up.
Matteo stood up. He is 6`3 tall.
He looked at me. Really looked.
At my worn-out apron. My messy bun that I’d done in the bathroom mirror 10 hours ago. The dark circles I couldn’t hide with drugstore concealer.
“You’re working here,” he said. Not a question. An accusation.
“I need to pay rent,” I shot back. My chin went up. Defiant. Always defiant with him. It was the only armor I had left.
His eyes narrowed. “In my city.”
“Last I checked, the city wasn’t yours.”
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. Gone in a second. “Keep telling yourself that, Cross.”
Cross. He remembered my last name too.
He turned back to Leo. “What’s your name?”
Leo hid behind my leg. Only his eyes showed. “Leo.”
“Leo,” Matteo repeated. Testing it. Like he was trying it on for size. “Leo what?”
I stepped between them. Physically put myself in the way. “That’s enough.”
Matteo’s gaze snapped to me. And for a second, I saw it.
Shock. Hurt. Rage.
All the things he spent millions to keep off his face.
“How old is he?” he asked quietly. Too quietly.
“Don’t.”
“How old?”
I swallowed. The word tasted like ash. “Four years.”
His fist clenched. I heard the leather of his glove creak.
“He is four and I have not seen you in five years. Is he mine?”
“He’s not-”
“Don’t lie to me, Amber.” He took a step closer. Close enough that I could smell the rain on him, the cedar and money and something that was just him. “He has my eyes.”
Leo peeked out from behind me. “I have pretty eyes, Mamma” , Leo says.
Matteo’s expression broke. Just for a second.
And I saw him. Not the CEO. Not the monster.
The 27-year-old who’d laughed with me on a rooftop 5 years ago. Before I knew his last name.
Then the mask slammed back down.
He pulled out his phone. Dialed without looking away from me.
“Gianni,” he said into the phone. Voice like ice. “I need a team at my house. Now. And
my lawyer. And a DNA test kit.”
My blood went cold. “You can’t-”
“I can do anything in this city,” he cut me off. “You came back. You brought him into my territory.”
He hung up. “So now I get to decide what happens next.”
The bell jingled again. Too soon.
Three men in black suits entered. Gianni in front.
Professional. Armed. Scanning the room like we were a threat.
Customers started grabbing their checks and leaving.
One woman dropped a 20 on the table and ran.
Leo looked scared now. He grabbed my hand, small fingers squeezing mine. “Mommy, who’s the scary man?”
Matteo heard it. I watched it hit him.
His face twisted. Just for a second.
“Scary?” he said. He knelt again, forcing himself to be eye level with Leo. “I’m not scary, buddy.”
“Yes you are,” Leo whispered. Honest. Four-year-old honest.
Matteo flinched. Like he’d been slapped across the face.
The most powerful man in the city, and a 4-year-old called him scary.
He stood. Looked at me. At us.
And I saw the decision happen behind his eyes.
“We’re going to my building,” Matteo said. “Tonight.”
“No.” The word came out before I could think.
“Yes.” His voice left no room for argument. “Custody. Tests. Lawyers. You don’t get to hide him anymore, Amber.”
“I wasn’t hiding-”
“You were in another state! You changed your number! You disappeared!”
“Because you would have taken him!” I yelled. The first time I’d raised my voice. “You said you didn’t want-”
“I said a lot of things 5 years ago,” he snapped. “I didn’t know about him.”
The diner was silent except for the rain hitting the windows and Leo’s breathing.
Matteo stared at me. At Leo holding my hand like I was the only thing keeping him safe.
Something shifted in his eyes.
Possession.
Fury.
And something else I didn’t want to name. Something that looked a lot like regret.
“He’s coming with me,” Matteo said finally. Final.
“Over my dead body.”
He stepped closer. Towered over me.
“Then I guess we have a problem, Miss Cross.”
Outside, black SUVs pulled up. Tires hissing on wet pavement.
Gianni opened the door. “Sir. The car is ready.”
Matteo didn’t look away from me.
He reached down. Not for me.
For Leo’s little hand.
Leo looked up at me, panicked. Eyes wide and dark. My eyes. His eyes.
And Matteo Romano, the most powerful man in Milano City,
held out his hand to my son.
“Come on, Leo,” he said softly. So soft it hurt. “Let’s go home.”
Leo didn’t move.
But he didn’t pull away either.
And in that moment, with the rain and the black SUVs and the broken coffee on the floor,
I realized the worst part.
Matteo wasn’t asking.
He was telling.
