“Gwen will soon confirm if Daniel is Carmello’s son and find out if Aurora’s also been in touch with Daniel. Gwen will also know if Aurora arranged a deal with that crime family in Naples. And The League can also talk to Brian Cormac to determine if we were right about Jamie’s involvement in all of this.” I sat upright. “I’m just so damn sorry you’ve been dragged into my world. It’s a place I never wanted you to be.”

At his frown, I realized my shit word choice.

“I mean, I’m glad you’re here with me, I just wish I never had to expose you to this part of my life.”

He shoved away from the door and sat beside me. “Dad?”

“Yeah?” My voice cracked.

He wrung his hands together. “You realize none of this is your fault, don’t you? You didn’t drag me into anything.” He slowly extended his arm, palm up like an invitation to hold his hand, and I sucked in a sharp breath at the gesture. “I saw you forgive your dad tonight. I’m guessing he did some stuff . . . but, um, you don’t owe me any apologies. I’m the one who owes you a few.”

“No, no you don’t.” I took his hand and squeezed it.

“If I hadn’t gone on that app, and if I hadn’t met Lennon because of Daniel . . . well, then I wouldn’t have met you.” His shoulders hunched forward, his head dropping along with them. “So much bad, and yet, out of it has come some good. I don’t know what to think about that.”

I set my free hand on my chest at the sharp pain gathering there with intense force. Please tell me I wasn’t about to have a heart attack in front of my kid? Wouldn’t that be some fucking luck to die on him now?

“Mom used to say, ‘If you want a rainbow, you have to put up with the rain,’ or something like that. I never really understood that until now.” A whistling breath left his mouth as he glanced at me, eyes on the visible scars on my forearm closest to him.

“Well, my life has been one giant never-ending storm,” I confessed in a hoarse voice, doing my damnedest to get through this. “And then you and your mother came along and saved me.”

He was quiet before killing me with his question and sad voice. “Are you sure I’m not a disappointment?”

It hit me that he was hanging on to that thought like I held on to my guilt.

I couldn’t be a hypocrite. I had to do the same if I was expecting him to put his doubts to rest.

“Never say that again,” I murmured, shifting his way to cup his cheek with my free hand. “You’re the furthest thing from a disappointment.”