The Wrong Brother ✏️

Chapter One

© 2020 Jessica Morel THE WRONG BROTHER

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Enjoy!!!

*****

Three Years Earlier.
Alexandria's POV

"Thank you both so much."

"There is no need to thank us Allie." My cousin Christian says with a sigh. "You are family and you are welcome here anytime."

"And we love our gorgeous nephew!" Frankie squeezes my five year-old son Noah who giggles at his Aunt's antics.

We have been in New York with them for the last two months. Christian and Francesca DeLuca and their two daughters Claudia and Ellena live six months of their lives in New York and six months in Sicily, of course, that is easy to do when you are billionaires.

"Do we have to go home mama?" Noah asks in his charming Italian accent.

"Si, il mio amore. Your Nonno needs us back at the restaurant."

I smile down at my gorgeous boy. My happy place. Noah is my everything. He certainly wasn't planned but that doesn't mean I love him any less. I shouldn't make him pay for my shitty decisions. Shitty decisions that included sleeping a sexy guy I met in a club on New Years, a guy of whom I don't even know his name.

I do remember his striking green eyes but walking down the streets of Sicily they are everywhere including on my Noah.

"Why you thinking so hard?" Christian asks concern marring his features.

"Am I doing right by him?" I ask and Christian sighs.

"Of course you are. His father was an idiot looking for a one-off thing-"

"I didn't exactly-"

"Not done. He is an idiot because he didn't realise what a good thing you are. You are amazing Allie, just raising Noah all by yourself proves that."

Two Years Earlier.

After leaving Noah with Christian and Frankie I make my way to the only place I want to be right now. My family restaurant, the pride and joy of the Romano family.

"Oh papa." I sigh into my hands as I rest on the bar. I thought my father would live forever he was stubborn enough and yet here I sit with unshed tears in my eyes after sitting through his funeral.

I look around at the silent empty restaurant, my silent empty restaurant. With a sigh I rest my forehead on the bar.

The front door jingles and I don't even look up.

"Sorry, we're closed." I say in Italian automatically.

"Alexandria Romano?" A male voice asks.

"I said we are-"

"Closed. I heard." He cuts me off and my head snaps up as I turn to face the intruder. "Are you Alexandria Romano?"

"Who is asking?"

"I'm Sylvester Ferraro." He stretches out his hand but I don't move. I have heard of the Ferraros and not because of the multimillion dollar company or their fancy hotels.