The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the Venetti estate, casting a warm glow across the grand dining table.
Marco sat at the head, sipping his black coffee, watching Matteo swing his little legs under the table as he happily ate his pancakes. Ella sat beside him, cutting Matteo’s food into small pieces, her expression gentle, patient.
“Eat slowly, sweetheart,” she murmured, brushing his curls back. Matteo grinned up at her, his mouth full.
“Okay, Mommy!” he chirped.
Marco froze mid-sip. There it was again. His fingers tightened around the coffee cup. Ella smiled softly but didn’t correct him.
Marco cleared his throat, setting his cup down loudly on the table. “Matteo,” he said carefully.
His son looked up, cheeks puffed with food.
*“Mommy is—” Marco hesitated, his throat tightening. “Mommy is Carmen.”
Matteo’s face fell slightly, and he poked at his pancake with his fork. “But Nanny said—” he started, but Ella gently touched his shoulder.
“Matteo, darling,” she said softly, smiling sweetly, “go finish your bath first, and we’ll talk later, okay?”
Matteo nodded quickly, grabbing his stuffed bunny before jumping off his chair. Ella took his tiny hand, leading him toward the stairs.
“Come on, sweetheart,” she said gently. “Let’s get you all fresh and clean.”
Marco watched them go, his stomach twisting. Something about the way Ella handled the situation bothered him. She hadn’t corrected him. She hadn’t told him that Carmen was still his mother.
Marco leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face.
Why was this bothering him so much? Why did he feel like—like Carmen was right?
He scoffed.
“Carmen,” he muttered under his breath. The woman who had betrayed him. The woman who had fed information to his enemies, leaked his business secrets, and stolen from him.
And yet—
His chest tightened.
She had been right about Ella. At least… it seemed that way.
But how could he trust anything Carmen said when she had gone behind his back for months?
She had played him like a fool—right under his nose. How the hell had he let that happen? Marco let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head.
“I was blind,” he muttered to himself.
He grabbed the stack of papers sitting on the counter—the evidence against Carmen.
The proof that she had betrayed him. He couldn’t let himself forget that. Carmen had chosen to be his enemy.
Marco had no room in his life for traitors.
His jaw tightened.
Shoving the papers under his arm, he stood up and headed for the door.
There was a meeting waiting for him.