Page 21 of Legacy of Deception

Even though we sat in the third row, the first two having already been filled by various members of the families by the time we’d come in, I was still afforded an excellent view of baby Nicolo.

The top of his head delicately sprinkled with brown hair.

His brown eyes wide and innocent.

A true symbol of purity.

In his angelic state, he was dressed in an heirloom-style white christening gown that had probably been passed down, worn by each new member of the Deluca family.

It was an article of clothing that would never grace my baby’s body. Because as much as it would be perceived as such by the general public, it was not Marco’s. Nor was it any Deluca’s. It was a Lyons. And a Briggs, which would have to be good enough.

Seemingly torturing myself, I diverted my gaze away from the front, trying to ignore the two families and the priest. But it was no use because there was a single striking thread woven throughout everywhere I looked. One too impossible to ignore. One I didn’t know if I wanted to ignore. Not fully anyway.

A majority of the guests had children with them. If not multiple, then at the very least, one. However, that was all it took for me to sink into an abyss of despair like it was quicksand. Only, I didn’t fight it. I allowed it to overtake me, drowning in it.

Even when I had been a child, I had refused the help of floaties, so I didn’t see how this was much different. The only contrast lay in the fact that I had proven to be able to swim on my own and stay above water. While now, the undertow was violently strong, and I doubted my ability to do so again.

Angelo Morelli sat in the first pew, two children, a boy and a girl, on either side of him. They were Maria and Dom’s children. Not close in age but seeming to get along just as well. The girl, Isabella, I believed, wasn’t Dom’s by blood, but he’d adopted her once he’d officially gotten together with Maria. Regardless, I’d heard he had treated her as his own daughter from day one. Isabella had been lucky in that way. In a way I wasn’t so sure my own child would be as lucky.

Then there was Allegra Morelli, both of her hands occupied, one holding a man’s who I assumed was her husband, and the other holding the hand of a little girl dressed in an adorable pink frilly dress.

Bianca Morelli was, of course, with her baby girl, who I’d spotted outside the church. Even now, she looked completely captivated by her daughter, her eyes filled with intrigue, like she was seeing the world for the first time through Vera’s eyes.

A woman sitting beside Lisa Marie had two babies, and she was moving them backward and forward in a double stroller, probably looking to soothe them, so they didn’t cause a scene during the ceremony.

Another couple sat next to Capri, a boy on the man’s lap and a girl on the woman’s lap, bouncing their knees as they didn’t peel their eyes from the front.

One man in particular drew me in, though, in a way none of the others had.

Maybe because he was in the first pew, sitting manspread on the edge, his expression unchanging from its stony one.

But mostly because I had a sense of familiarity when my glance crossed him.

He had brown hair, a confident demeanor.

And he was holding a baby wearing a sky-blue shirt with jeans. He seemed like the youngest in the church, second only to Nicolo, of course.

Honestly, I couldn’t get a clear image on the man, but my stomach involuntarily clenched every time I strained myself to figure out what it was about him that had me on edge. Did I know him? Had we bumped into one another? Talked?

Perhaps it was simply a coincidence. Not that I believed in coincidences. Everything was calculated, planned. And where there was intention, there were strings. Usually, enough to hang yourself with. Something most of these people in this room were probably familiar with. The Morellis were just less obvious in it. Then again, I had heard that the matriarch of the family, Regina, had basically domesticated Angelo with the sweet and wholesome family they created.

As the priest finished the prayer, Marco sat back. “If you’re looking to leave me, you might consider doing it with a man who will actually give you the time of day. The one you seem to have your eyes on happens to be married. They have a son together. You know, the one in his lap.”

My pulse kicked ferociously at Marco’s low, curt tone. I hated his sly sarcasm, but I hated how anything he said echoed in my mind and grabbed hold of me too. “Who is that?” I asked, ignoring the quiet sound of his breathing that would stay with me like a bruise from a fist.

“Reddington Lyons. Jade’s husband.” He clasped his hands together in his lap, cracking his knuckles as the fluorescent lighting hit his gold watch.

I arched a brow, my gaze traveling back to Reddington. “They have a baby?”

“Maximus Lyons. Why?”

“Just curious.”

My child would have a whole other family on their father’s side they would never know. Did I tell him or her about the Lyons family? Their brothers? Did I wait until they asked questions about their father? Who he was? What happened to him?

When silence clung to the space between us like static, I cleared my throat and turned my attention toward the priest, who was saying a prayer.

“No one’s just curious,” he whispered, a rasp at the end of his response as his large, luscious lips skimmed the shell of my ear.