His Ruthless Redemption (Isabella and Dominic) novel Chapter 70

Chapter 70

Isabella’s POV

I woke to the sound of the front door closing.

For one disoriented second, I thought I’d dreamed it. Then, faint footsteps and hushed voices downstairs confirmed that Dominic was home.

It was barely past dawn.

Sunlight was just beginning to brighten the curtains when I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Mateo just yet. It was Sunday, and his school event didn’t start until nine. So he could sleep in a bit today.

As I washed my face and brushed my teeth, my chest felt heavy with the things I hadn’t said, with the way I had walked away from him last night without talking things through.

Once I was done freshening up, I padded downstairs, heart thudding loudly in my chest.

He stood in the kitchen with Maria, sleeves rolled up, shirt rumpled, tie gone. He looked like a storm that had only just remembered to stop raining. His hair was mussed like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. There were faint smudges beneath his eyes, exhaustion clinging to him like a shadow.

“Good morning, tesoro-” Maria began, then noticed where my gaze had landed and quietly excused herself with a knowing little smile.

Suddenly, it was just us.

Dominic turned.

And the world felt small.

“Buongiorno,” he said softly.

His voice shouldn’t have been allowed to sound like that, like gravel and regret and prayers half–swallowed.

“Morning,” I managed, my own voice thin. Too fragile.

He gestured to the table. “I made coffee. And breakfast.”

I blinked. On the counter, there were two plates, simple toast, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit.

Nothing extravagant. But the simplicity of it hurt.

“You didn’t have to,” I murmured.

“I know.” His eyes held mine, steady and unbearably warm. “I wanted to.”

Silence. Soft. Trembling.

II pressed in around us, filled with all the words neither of us had the courage to touch. I took a seat, and he sat across from

ine.

We ate quietly, forks scraping china, breaths catching on unspoken things. Every now and then. I felt his gaze flicker to me. like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words to.

I didn’t dare look back.

Because if I met his eyes, I was afraid I’d break.

Halfway through breakfast, footsteps pattered into the room.

Mateo appeared, hair a mess of curls, pajamas wrinkled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning,” he yawned.

Dominic’s entire body shifted when he saw his son, shoulders softening, gaze brightening, almost as if someone had turned a light on inside him.

“Good morning, topolino,” he said, opening his arms.

Mateo climbed into his lap without hesitation. Dominic pressed a kiss to the crown of his head like it was instinct.

Something sharp and sweet twisted beneath my ribs.

“So,” Mateo mumbled, already half in Dominic’s coffee–scented shoulder, “today is the parent breakfast at school I already told Mamma about. The teacher said we can bring someone we like to eat with us in class.”

I froze, instinctively knowing what was coming next, and realising that this was what Mateo had wanted to talk to me about last night.

Mateo blinked up at Dominic, hopeful. “Can you come, too? We all always eat together.”

My breath wavered. Alessia had meals with us sometimes, too. But he hadn’t asked her. Hadn’t even taken her name. Only

Dominic.

Dominic looked at me before answering, like my yes or no held the key to everything.

“If your mother agrees,” he said carefully, “I’d be honored to go.”

Mateo’s gaze swung to me, eyes shining with expectation.

And there it was, the place where the ground split. Between the past and the present. Between what we used to be and what Mateo needed now.

Between what my heart wanted and what survival demanded.

I swallowed. “Of course he can come, too. We can all go together.”

Dominic’s breath left him like a man exhaling relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding-

Mateo grinned a sunbeam grin that made every terrible thing in the world feel small. He hopped off Dominic’s lap, already running toward the stairs to get ready.

We were alone again.

Dominic rubbed a hand over his jaw, the faintest tremor in his voice when he said, “Thank you. For saying yes.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” I said, eyes fixed on my plate. “He deserves to have this.”

He hesitated. Then, “So do you.”

PO

Chapter 70

Hlooked up.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t hiding.

He looked like a man standing in a doorway he wasn’t sure he was allowed to step through.

He opened his mouth like he might say more.

But Mateo barreled back in, and grabbed my hand to take me with him, already chattering about what to wear and what we were going to do at his school today.

And just like that, the moment scattered.

It wasn’t long before we reached the school.

The classroom smelled like crayons and warm paper. Tiny chairs. Tiny tables. Parents making polite conversation while children buzzed around.

Mateo clung to our hands, one of mine, one of Dominic’s, pulling us inside like he was anchoring us together.

My heart ached.

He introduced Dominic to his friends. Showed him his artwork. Dragged him to the snack table to show him which juice box was the best.

And Dominic? He listened to every word with rapt attention. He bent down to be eye–level with every child that spoke to him, complimented drawings like they were masterpieces and listened like each word mattered.

When he laughed at something the kids said, it was like sunlight breaking through a storm.

I couldn’t look away.

A teacher whispered to me, “Your husband is wonderful with the kids.”

I didn’t correct her.

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