Dangerous Temptation (Dark Dream 1)

“Afterward,” I echoed, not because I hadn’t thought about what happened after I succeeded with my plan, but because for the first time in my life, I was unsure of the answer.

“Do you feed her to the Constantine dogs and see how they might humiliate and ruin Lane’s bastard child? Do you let them fend for themselves?” She paused long enough for the silence to take on a shape, an eloquence all on its own. “You can’t keep them, obviously. Strays don’t make good pets, Tiernan.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I assured her, but my lungs felt twisted up in my chest thinking about turning them over to foster care, seeing them split up between different homes. I wondered if The Gentlemen of Lion Court would stay with me or go with the Belcantes if I did banish them, their loyalty transferred to the orphans. “But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“The Constantines deserve what’s coming to them,” she muttered darkly before draining her martini and getting up to pour another.

I hesitated before asking the question that had gone unanswered my entire life. “Do you hate them because Bryant loved Caroline first? Or does it have something to do with my real father?”

I knew the look of sour disapproval on my mother’s face the way I knew the sky was blue. I’d seen it every single time I had tried to broach the topic of my parentage since I was twelve and first cared enough to ask about it.

“Don’t be silly, Tiernan, Bryant is your father,” she said woodenly, reciting lines from a script.

“Don’t bullshit me, Sarah,” I warned. “You promised you’d tell me one day and I’m of the mind that day is today.”

Her hand shook slightly as she lifted her martini glass to her lips and drained it. “I don’t want to talk about this. It-it’s not good for my nerves. You don’t want to make your mother sick, do you?”

“No,” I agreed. “But in that same vein, you don’t want to make your son upset, do you? All of those maternal instincts must be crying out from keeping me from my real father for so long.”

She scoffed lightly. “He is no better than Bryant, so don’t go crafting some silly fairytale about it.”

“Nothing about my life is a fairytale, why would this be any different? I still want to know the truth.”

Her lips flatlined. “Not now, Tiernan. Perhaps…if you’re successful if ruining those Constantines, I’ll tell you the truth, however sordid it may be.”

“Swear to me,” I demanded, taking her by the shoulder so she was forced to face me, to read the look of brutal assertion in my eyes. “If I succeed, you’ll tell me what blood runs through my veins.”

There was a war in her eyes, fear clashing with resolve and anger, maybe even a little bit of guilt. Finally, she sighed and stared longingly at her empty glass before fixing her glazed eyes on mine. “Fine, Tiernan, if you succeed, I’ll tell you about your father. Though, ruining the Constantines should be reason enough for you. They deserve what’s coming to them.”

My entire life, I’d been raised to believe the same, but for the first time, I noticed a crack in the foundation. Technically Bianca and Brando were Constantines. Lane’s blood ran through their veins, but they had been raised Belcantes. I had no idea who my father was, but I’d been raised a Morelli. It was who I was, regardless of my parentage. Could the same be said for Bianca and Brandon?

The dangerous truth was that I wasn’t entirely certain anymore that they deserved what their father had bought them.

Chapter Nine

Tiernan

The house was dark and quiet when I returned later that night after a full evening at Inequity, handling business. Silence echoed through the cavernous room, moonlight my only guide as I moved through the cluttered house to my office. I hesitated at the door, noticing the sliver of light spilling beneath it into the hall. My heart pulsed hard, then slowed to a steady beat as I reached into my back waistband for the gun I’d tucked there earlier that afternoon.

I doubted an intruder could successfully breach my security, but it paid to be careful in my line of work.

The old door creaked as I pushed it open, gun raised in the other hand.

Bianca blinked at me, a spoonful of Lucky Charms raised halfway to her mouth.

For one interminable moment, we remained locked in place, a poorly constructed tableau in some amateur theatre production. Only a colorful marshmallow falling from her spoon to plop into the bowl in her lap killed the paralysis.

I dropped the gun as she dropped her spoon.

“Do you usually carry a gun?” she asked, more curiosity than fear when I felt certain it was the first time in her life she’d seen a weapon in person.