Page 31 of Protected By the Mafia

Todd coughed, reaching up to rub at his jugular. He aimed another glare at Cristiano, then motioned to the front door now beside him. “L-let’s go inside, then.”

Cristiano followed the man, noting the well-lived-in but not thoroughly trashed condition of the home as they made their way to the living room. It wasn’t a massive house by any means, but it wasn’t as small as the one the Garcias had moved to when they’d come to Trenton, either. It was perhaps comparable to the one Felicity had grown up in, at least based on the floorplan and listed square footage. Somehow, that realization only further grated on him.

Felicity had grown up in a family of five. The youngest, the only girl, and horribly mistreated. Their family had spent most of her childhood crammed into a two bedroom. He didn’t know whether she’d shared a room with her volatile brothers or been designated to the couch, or something worse, but it wasn’t right. She deserved better. Meanwhile this man had spent fifteen of those same years sharing custody of his two sons, each of whom had their own room in this space.

Cristiano had to remind himself not to start swinging. Not yet.

Todd dropped into an old, oversized recliner and made a vague motion to the equally stuffed sofa. “Have a seat.” As if they were just chatting.

Cristiano obliged, anyway, and lowered himself onto the couch. He spread out, making his large frame appear larger, and let himself study the man who’d already broken into a sweat.

Patrick Todd was fifty-two, about five-foot, nine-inches tall, and a little chubby. Mostly in his middle. He had dusty brown hair with a small bald patch almost dead-center on the back of his skull, and red-rimmed, light brown eyes. His nose was a little oversized, suggesting he drank too much, which probably also explained the gut. He walked with his shoulders slumped, didn’t associate with his neighbors, and had a tendency to pay his bills a day or three late. He had two sons, both in college, from a failed marriage and according to the records Cristiano had dug up, he’d been shit about paying their child support, too. No real surprise.

On the flip side, he’d made sure he had a roof for them for their visits. Gave each boy a bedroom. Kept food in his fridge—if only barely—and by all accounts generally showed up for their lives. As far as paper records could track, at least. Records that were supported by the framed photographs Cristiano had spotted on their way in.

It was more than the bastard had done for his daughter.

Eyes narrowed, Cristiano said, “Let’s talk about your daughter.”

Todd’s eyes went wide. “My what?” He shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t have a daughter. I have two boys, twenty-one and nineteen. They’re off in—”

“I know about your sons,” Cristiano said. “I’m talking about your first child. The one you conceived with a married woman.”

Todd sputtered, another denial building on his lips.

“If you sit there and tell me Aracely Garcia never told you,” Cristiano said, “I’ll take out a knife and cut off your balls.” Presuming the man still had any.

Todd paled and swallowed so hard it looked like he’d choked down a damn baseball. Finally, in a voice so much weaker than the tone he’d greeted his unannounced visitor with, he said, “You’re here about … that girl?”

That girl.

Cristiano moved before he could think better of it, the words incensing him beyond reason. He sprang forward, knife already in hand, and buried the blade into Todd’s nearest knee. His hand clamped over the man’s mouth just as a scream ripped out and he held his hand there, fingers pressed firmly around the man’s jaw, until the sound ebbed. Then he leaned closer and let his lips curl with his rage as he spoke. “Her name is Felicity.” He stared into the man’s wide, panicked, fucking watery eyes. “I’m going to release your mouth, and you’re going to explain to me why you abandoned your first-born child. Do anything else, and you bleed again.”

Todd did his best to nod, chest heaving.

Cristiano moved his hand and wiped it roughly across the side of his pants. For the time being—and maybe as a test—he left the knife where it was.

The man who didn’t deserve to be Felicity’s father sucked in a ragged breath, licked his lips, and panted out, “A-Aracely … told me she was pregnant. But we’d never been serious. I knew she was married; I knew she was just rebellin’ against her husband because she felt he was ignorin’ her. I was okay with that, ‘cause I was only screwin’ around with her to piss off my own girl. We’d had a fight, broken up, it was what we did back then. I thought if I let her know I already had a new piece, she’d get jealous, you know?”

Todd actually looked at him like he was hoping they could reach an understanding. As if he expected he could talk all that genuine crap and they could have a male bonding experience. It was disgusting.

Cristiano narrowed his eyes in a warning glare. “Don’t stop now, Todd. You’re on a roll.”

“R-right. Well. So, when I heard Aracely was pregnant, I told her to get lost. Said I didn’t want a baby, ‘specially not with her. I wasn’t even sure it was mine! I mean, she was married. They coulda been fuckin’ and I’d never know.” Todd looked away and something like guilt flashed across his eyes. “She came by once, after the girl was born, maybe a few months or so. Showed me the baby. She told me her husband would never accept the girl, and said she’d named her Felicity … to spite me. Then she told me if I wanted to ever see her or anythin’, I’d have to sue for full custody. Then she left, just like that. I think I shouted somethin’ like ‘well fuck you, too’ while she was gettin’ in her car.”

If Cristiano could go back in time, he’d go back to the previous week and find an excuse to kill Aracely himself, too. Everything about Felicity’s life had been fucked from the moment she was conceived. The so-called adults had been thinking about no one but themselves from the start. That’s done.

He let out a low, dissatisfied rumble. “And you never fought for custody.” He didn’t need the answer. He already knew it.

Todd shrugged, then winced. “I was just glad to be rid of that drama. Plus, my plan worked. Soon as Felicia heard my side chick had gotten knocked up, she came stormin’ back to me.” His lips lifted with a stupid grin, like he was proud. “She was always crazy, but that bitch was the love of my life. Probably why my marriage didn’t last.”

“Felicia? Your girlfriend was the woman Aracely named your daughter after?” He was sure Felicity had said she was named after a friend of her mother’s who’d died tragically. But he was equally sure she’d also said that her mother had come to resent her for the association of her name, too. One more fucking lie.

“Yeah,” Todd said. “That was the ‘to spite me’ part.” He dragged in another breath. “Why the fuck do you even care? That whole family’s fucked. I hear the boys are monsters. One’s in prison now, ain’t he? Probably the other’ll be there soon enough. God knows what they turned that girl into.”

Cristiano reached out and curled his hand around the hilt of the knife. “Oh, you hadn’t heard?” He let a wicked smirk tip his lips. “The eldest committed suicide four days ago.” He withdrew the blade, not bothering to silence the man’s strained shout. “Maybe he’d gotten word that his parents died last week. Or maybe it was for some other reason.” He spoke slowly, making sure his words penetrated the resurgence of pain in Todd’s system.

Todd went pale again, his audible breath stuttering as his eyes widened. True fear settled in his gaze. “Th-they’re all … dead?”

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