The Don’s Double Standard: She Vanished with His Child Chapter 03

“Like something off the clearance rack at Walmart.”

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry, that came out wrong.”

Mira caught herself and twisted around in her seat to face me, all wide eyes and apology.

But I saw it, that little flicker behind the sorry. The look that said she knew exactly where she stood and where I didn’t.

Fair enough. Next to my ten-dollar tote, her Hermès might as well have been glowing.

I started to say something, but a laugh cut me off.

Dante reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Mira’s ear, all warmth and indulgence.

“Hey, you didn’t say anything wrong. Don’t apologize.”

Then his eyes found mine in the rearview mirror, his voice pitched just right, casual enough to pass as harmless, pointed enough for me to know it wasn’t.

“People get touchy about money. You keep talking like that, don’t be surprised if someone starts making your life hard at the office.”

He was talking to Mira. The message was meant for me.

Protecting his girlfriend and putting me in my place, all in one breath.

I turned to the window and let it go.

In the three years I spent in Dante’s bed, and that’s the only label I’ll give what we were, I heard versions of this more times than I could count.

Everyone agreed on one thing: I wasn’t good enough for him.

And they weren’t wrong. The gap between us was a canyon.

My family wasn’t poor, but we were nobodies. Just regular people living regular lives.

The Morettis?

They controlled half the ports, casinos, and shipping operations in Chicago, plus a web of companies dressed up as legitimate businesses.

At black-tie galas, the Moretti name meant money.

On the streets, it meant blood, loyalty, and the kind of obedience nobody questioned.

And Dante was the only heir to all of it.

He wasn’t just wealthy. He was the center of gravity in a world most people didn’t even know existed.

He told me early on, in plain words, exactly where I stood.

“You can warm my bed, Clara. But you’ll never take my name.”

I knew. I’d always known.

I kept myself in check, never once crossing the line he’d drawn.

But feelings don’t follow rules. The deeper I fell, the harder it got to stay in my lane.

Just once, I told myself. Take the shot.

What if he said yes?

So right before graduation, I asked him to meet me.

He showed up early.

The car pulled into a quiet corner of campus, and his driver stepped out without being told, wandering a few yards away to wait in the shadows.

It didn’t take long for the windows to completely fog over.

My underwear was pushed aside, my skin slick with sweat, the heat between us unbearable.

He turned me around, and all I could see was sunlight cutting through the trees, the shadows flickering across my face until I had to shut my eyes.

An hour later, Dante fell back against the seat, his white shirt damp, sweat beading along his hairline.

The window was cracked open, cold air rushing in, carrying his breath away in pale clouds.

I looked at him, and the question I’d been holding back finally came out.

“Dante, have you ever loved me?”

I didn’t care about the title. I didn’t care about becoming Donna Moretti. There was only one thing I needed to know.

Had he ever loved me?

He looked at me, and for once, the teasing was gone from his eyes.

“Graduation’s coming up.”

I understood him perfectly.

Graduation was coming, so we were done.

He said no.

While my skin was still warm from him.

…

The car pulled up outside St. Agnes Preschool, and I stepped out.

Talia was waiting by the entrance, holding Ms. Harper’s hand. The second she saw me, her whole face lit up and she waved.

I rushed over, thanked the teacher, and crouched down to Talia’s level.

“I’m sorry, baby. Mommy’s late. Were you waiting long?”

Talia looked up and pointed behind me. “Is that why you’re late? Because of him?”

I blinked and turned around.

Dante was standing right behind me. When had he gotten out of the car?

That careless look he always wore was gone. Something heavier had taken its place.

And underneath it, was that hope?

I went still. My grip on Talia’s hand tightened without me meaning to.

He walked over and crouched down in front of her, studying her face, the round cheeks, the wide, trusting eyes.

When he spoke, his voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “What’s your name, sweetheart? How old are you?”

I didn’t stop him. I didn’t say a word.

Three years together had taught me enough about this man.

If I didn’t let him see for himself, he’d never believe a word out of my mouth.

I looked down at Talia and gave her hand a careful squeeze.

Lie.

Don’t tell him the truth.

Could she read me?