Page 70 of Possession

He shuffles behind me, but I remain frozen to the spot. “What are you scared of, Little Doll?” he whispers into my ear, and it sends a chill down my spine. His hand tugs on the strands of my messy hair, then he strokes through the silky locks, bringing with it a comfort I know I shouldn’t feel.

My mouth becomes dry, unable to answer him.

His hand stills, and I feel the loss of his tenderness immediately. “If you have another man in there, I’ll kill him and drown you in his blood while I fuck you in it.” He’s unraveling, so in tune with his feelings I can read him so fluently.

“I would never fuck someone else,” I spit out with spite.

His hand continues the stroking. “Nor would I, Little Doll. Nor would fucking I.”

His response confuses me, but I’ve no time to decipher it as the elevator pings and the doors open, stealing my breath as they do.

Dread bubbles beneath my skin as we walk toward my apartment. “I’m going to tan your ass so bad,” he grits out as he sneers toward each door we pass. “Anything could have happened to you.”

I stop at my door, take a deep breath, and slip the key from my shorts pocket and into the lock. Pushing the door open, the lamp in the corridor illuminates the space. Maggie jumps up from the chair. “You’re home early, honey.”

Plastering on a smile, I tell her what she’d want to hear. “Reece gave me the night off. Paid for.” I tack on the latter so as not to raise suspicion; I don’t miss the flinch of Rafael on my manager’s name.

“Oh, who do we have here?”

Rafael moves to step forward, but I glare at him, causing him to pause. “A friend.” He stills on my words and his jaw sharpens. The way the veins on his tattooed neck pulsate and the heat radiating from him is enough to cause a combustion. There’s a tic in his temple, exposing how angered he is at being referred to as a friend.

“A friend? Oh, I see. I’ll get out of your hair.” She bends and grabs her purse. “Play safe now.” She looks at me pointedly, then gives me a playful wink before slipping past Rafael and closing the door behind her.

“A fucking friend?”

Blowing out a deep breath, I ignore him and his control issues and move toward my bedroom.

“And just what the fuck do you think you’re doing having strangers in your apartment. I’m part of the Mafia, Ellie. She could have been anyone. Do you know people would hurt you to get to me?”

A strangled noise lodges in my throat, and I’m suddenly paralyzed with a fear like no other. So consumed with getting by day to day, that is something I never considered before, and now more than ever, that’s something that absolutely terrifies me.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when the soft gurgling noise beside my bed draws our attention farther into the room. Rafael’s footing wavers, then he freezes beside the bed.

“Please don’t hate me,” I whisper as I shuffle toward the bassinet and lift our son into my arms to cradle him.

Slowly, I raise my eyes toward Rafael, and the fire behind them blazes through me. “You stole my baby.” He speaks so low; I can barely hear him. But I do. I hear the hurt in his tone, the betrayal behind his words, and I hate myself for it and yet, selfishly, I can’t be sorry about my reasons for leaving.

“I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left.” I rock Hudson gently.

“But you didn’t think to fucking call and tell me I was going to be a father!” he bellows, startling Hudson into a loud wail.

Rafael’s face falls, and he drags a hand through his hair. “You didn’t think I was deserving to be a father.” He speaks low this time, and somehow, I hate that more than his shouting, knowing how difficult he finds it to remain controlled.

“I’m sorry.” I cry, the tears slip down my face in a mixture of relief and dread. I knew this day would come, and sometimes I even hoped it would. On those days, when I wanted nothing more than to run back into his arms, I reminded myself of why I was doing this alone. We would become second best, Oliver would grow to hate us, our son the bastard child, while his mother was a whore and we’d always have the target of our betrayal on our backs. While Nikita would stand proudly at his side where she belongs, leaving me and our son open and exposed, leaving us with a life I never wanted. If I couldn’t be his everything, I wanted to be nothing, because I know my worth and my son’s too, and it’s so much more than any of what he was offering.

He bites into his lip and turns his head away, every muscle in his body coiled tight, dangerously so.

Hudson fidgets in my arms, and a soft cooing noise leaves his little lips. “Are you ready for a feed, Hudson?” I try to ignore Rafael and his frozen state as I concentrate on the baby in my arms, so I sit on the bed, placing the pillows behind me while I slide Hudson into position. When I’m working, I pump, but whenever possible, I like us to have skin-to-skin contact. It’s easier to feed this way. I lift the T-shirt and lower my bra to feed him.

“A boy?”

As Hudson latches onto my nipple hungrily, I raise my head, and the pain on Rafael’s face stuns me to silence, so I simply nod.

“What’s his name?” The way his normally strong demeanor looks so defeated as he clings onto the doorframe as if it’s his lifeline has regret flooding me. “His name, Ellie. What the fuck did you decide to call my son?” The harshness of his words is justified, leaving my throat dry as I struggle to respond.

“Hudson. Hudson Oliver Marino.”

His nostrils flare. “And just how in the fuck was my son born and registered without my knowledge?”

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