We pay our respects and attend the burial, and a couple hours later, we head back to the car. Frank is outside by the hood, smoking a cigarette as he scans the dispersing crowd.
“Any issues?” I inquire as we come up to him.
“It’s all quiet on the home front, boss.”
We climb into the car, and I’m ready to split for the private airfield, but we’re hungry, so I direct Alessandro to Glencoe. It’s the most affluent city in Chicago and prime real estate, bordering Lake Michigan. The historical village has an abundance of top-class restaurants, which better serve our needs.
The fact it’s Sierra’s hometown doesn’t factor into my planning.
Alessandro whistles as we drive through central downtown. “Wow, this place is nice.”
“Glencoe is the eighth richest town in the US,” I explain as I stare out my window, watching people going about their daily business. “It was developed as a planned community back in eighteen sixty-nine, and nowadays, it has one of the most attractive business districts along the North Shore.”
“You sound like a talking encyclopedia,” Leo says, smirking.
“I dated a girl from here. Spent a lot of time socializing in the village.”
“You sound nostalgic,” Frank says.
“Not in the least.” I grit my teeth. “Most of my memories are not pleasant.” As we round the bend, I spot a familiar blonde head outside the private kindergarten.
Speak of the devil.
“Stop the car.” I’m not sure why I do it, but Alessandro pulls up alongside the curb before I can change my mind. Leo frowns, but he gets out of the car alongside me without asking questions.
“Rowan! Hold my hand,” Saskia says to a little dark-haired boy at her side. He is wearing a school uniform and a sulky grin.
“I want Auntie Serena,” the boy replies, stubbornly folding his arms across his chest. “She always gets me candy on Fridays,” he pouts.
Saskia grabs his hand. “Candy will rot your teeth, and Auntie Serena should know better.”
“Still laying down the law, I see,” I say as we approach my ex and her son.
Saskia stares at me in confusion for a few seconds before her eyes pop wide. “Ben?” Disbelief drips from her tone. “Bennett Carver? Is it really you?” Her appreciative gaze rakes me up and down, and she angles one hip, thrusting her chest forward. Saskia had big tits when I knew her, but it’s like two melons are propped on her chest now. Enhanced lips and a suspiciously smooth brow confirm her tits aren’t the only cosmetic surgery she has indulged in.
It’s fitting that the fake exterior matches her fake personality now. Saskia was always beautiful on the outside—it’s what initially drew me to her—but completely ugly on the inside. By the end of our relationship, I could barely tolerate being in the same room as her.
“It’s me,” I say, glancing at the little boy. His head is tilted to the side, and he’s staring intently at me, studying me with these wide big blue eyes, like I’m a puzzle he wants to figure out.
“I have a bone to pick with you,” she says, licking her lips and batting her eyelashes. Her gaze veers to Leo, and her grin expands as she gives him a brief eye-fuck. Man, is she still using those tired moves? The flashy rock on her ring finger is clearly no deterrent. “You just upped and left, Ben,” she adds, refocusing on me. “Vanished off the face of the Earth. I was so worried.”
Yeah, I’m sure she was. Worried about how it made her look. “We broke up, and I left town. I thought it would’ve been apparent.”
Her lips purse, and a flash of anger glints in her eyes before she disguises it. “It’s water under the bridge now anyway.” She forces a sweet smile on her face. “Life has clearly been good to you. You look great.” Her eyes drift up and down my body again. Her blatant undressing feels like a violation, and I barely contain a shudder. Her little boy tugs on her hand, getting bored, but she ignores him.
I shoot him a pitiful smile. Poor kid. I know what it’s like to be saddled with a shitty mother.
“We should meet for coffee. Catch up.” She reaches out, touching my arm uninvited.
I purposely stare at her hand on my jacket until she removes it. “I’m only passing through town.”
“Auntie Saskia,” the little boy says, peering up at her with pleading eyes. “Can we go for candy now? Puh-leeeze.”
All the hairs on the back of my neck lift at his words. Schooling my features into a neutral line, I examine the child more closely.
“Not now, Rowan,” she hisses, working hard to shield her impatience from Leo and me. “Be quiet. The adults are talking.”
She dismisses him like he’s a nuisance, rolling her eyes as she gives me her undivided attention. “Sorry about that. His manners leave a lot to be desired.”
“He’s not your son?” I ask, doing some math in my head.
A fleeting glimmer of pain races across her face. “Oh my God. No.” She slaps a hand across her chest. “No child of mine would ever be so unruly.” Rowan scowls, and I don’t blame him. Saskia is as brash and rude as she has always been. “He’s Sierra’s bastard,” she volunteers without me having to ask.
While she may not be aware I’m the bastard son of the notorious Angelo Mazzone, she knows I grew up in a single-parent household, with a junkie mom, knowing nothing about my father, so I take huge offense to her words. Pinning her with a lethal look—one I normally reserve for men I’m about to interrogate or murder with my bare hands—I keep my tone deliberately low so the child doesn’t overhear. “Tread carefully, Saskia, before you insult this bastard son.”
She gulps audibly, her eyes popping wide with a combination of fear and panic. “My comment was in no way directed at you.” Rage filters through my veins, but she blathers on, oblivious. “And look how well you have done for yourself. You should be so proud of how far you have come.”
I shove my hands in my pants pockets before I’m tempted to hit a woman for the first time. “Who is his father?” I ask, ignoring her condescending remarks because I’m fast running out of patience. I want to get the pertinent facts and get the hell away from her.
“No one knows. Not even Sierra.” She makes no attempt to lower her tone, and my jaw pulls taut with the strain involved in holding my tongue. If things are as I’m beginning to suspect, then maintaining a blank face in front of my ex is essential. I won’t give her any reason to start connecting the dots. “The slut came back from Vegas knocked up at twenty-one,” she continues, confirming my suspicions. “Not that I was surprised—"
I tune her poisonous tirade out, focusing on the little boy instead as my mind grapples to process this bombshell. Crouching down, I stare at him up close, and the resemblance almost knocks me flat on my ass. My heart is pounding behind my rib cage. Blood thrums in my ears. “Hey, Rowan. I’m Ben.” My hand is shaking as I offer it to him, and I hope Saskia doesn’t notice. “How old are you?”
Rowan eyes my hand like it’s infected. Wrenching his hand from Saskia’s, he folds his arms again, regarding me warily. “Mommy says I’m not to talk to strangers.” His confident little voice tugs at my heartstrings.