Five years after a night of forbidden passion, a powerful mafia Don's violent pursuit of a debt leads him back to the enigmatic dancer unaware that she holds a secret that could shatter his empire: his heir.
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Lyric
The thought of tonight hung over me like a suffocating blanket. I had zero experience in... whatever it was Tristian expected me to do. Seduce? Coerce? Intimidate? All I knew was that failure wasn't an option.
Panic clawed at my throat. I needed to focus. I can't freak out, I can't afford to. All I could think about was how hopelessly unprepared I was.
Finding Trevor gone from the bed this morning sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. My mind instantly conjured worst-case scenarios. I had to actively fight the urge to run through the house screaming his name. He was likely with Tristian, Allen or Agatha, but the fear was a hard thing to shake.
The clock read 6:24 AM. Way too early for my paranoia. I yanked on a patterned moo moo - comfort over style today - and loosely tied my hair back. As I stepped out of my room, Alex, ever the silent guardian, materialized.
"Wassup Alex?" I asked, my voice still thick with sleep and laced with anxiety.
"Boss wanted me to tell you when you woke up that he took Trevor. They're in the kitchen."
A wave of relief washed over me. My son was safe, and with his father. Still, a tiny part of me bristled at Tristian's assumption that he could just take Trevor without a word but I tamped it down.
He did say something, Lyric. Calm down.
Cordial. We were trying to be cordial. For Trevor.
I nodded to Alex, managing a weak smile. "Thanks."
The kitchen was a warm, inviting haven, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. The aroma of pancakes and sausages hung in the air, mingling with the rich scent of coffee.
Trevor was perched on Tristian's lap, his little face smeared with syrup, giggling at something Tristian had said. Agatha, her face a picture of motherly contentment, was flipping pancakes with practiced ease. Tristian, despite the early hour, looked impossibly handsome. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and the shadows under his grey eyes only added to his dangerous allure. Even his tattoos seemed less menacing in the domestic setting.
Agatha noticed me first. "Lyric! You're awake. Come, sit. I'll make you a plate."
"Morning, Agatha," I said, forcing a smile. "That smells amazing."
She beamed, already reaching for another plate. "I made Trevor's favorite. He ate everything!" She laughs.
Trevor, hearing his name, turned and grinned at me, holding up a half-eaten sausage. "Mommy, look what I got! Pancakes!"
"Hey, baby," I said, walking over and kissing his forehead. "Those look delicious."
Tristian's gaze met mine, his expression unreadable. "Morning, Lyric."
