Page 93 of City of Wind and Lies

To my surprise, Corinne is waiting on the porch when we pull into the drive. She orders Sal to take my suitcase to the guest room and practically drags me to a sunroom where tea is waiting. Handing me a gold-rimmed cup, she starts asking me all about my pregnancy.

"They say that morning sickness is more common with girls, but I couldn't keep anything down when I was pregnant with Bowie." She waves her french manicured hand in the air. "But with Nicky, I was never sick. Are you two going to find out the gender?"

Leaning forward, I place my empty cup on the tray. "We haven't talked about it yet. I'd like to, though."

"You do whatever you want, sweetheart, and if Bowie gives you any trouble, you let me know and I'll handle him."

"Okay," I laugh.

She checks her watch. "Are you hungry? Dinner should be about ready?"

As if asked directly, my stomach grumbles in response. "I'll take that as a yes,” she chides, heading toward the door.

I help her bring dinner to a smaller table near a bank of windows off the kitchen as Sal saunters in. He pecks her on the cheek, telling her how good it smells, and I can’t help but admire how sweet they are together. It’s easy to see where Bowie gets some of his swoon-worthy habits from; I can’t help but hope we fall deeper in love as the years go on.

The conversation at dinner is basically rapid fire questions from Corinne, and while it’s all polite, I’m mentally exhausted by the time it's over.

Until now, I'd never understood how having a family could be so taxing.

Excusing myself, I head up to the guest room across the hall from the bathroom Bowie and I christened last time. According to Bowie’s text message, his meeting morphed into dinner and drinks. He promised to call when he and Rocco got back to the hotel, but I don’t know how long that will be. So, I change into my pajamas and slip between the luxurious sheets of the king-sized bed to read until I fall asleep. It's clear that Sal and Corinne spared no expense in their home, even when it came to the guest rooms.

I get lost in the pages of my book, only pausing when I can't ignore my bladder any longer. After I do my business, I pad downstairs for a glass of water since I'm already up. The house is dark save for a the light spilling out of a cracked door off the hall before the kitchen.

"But how do you know it's Wren?" I hear Corinne ask in a hushed tone.

I freeze in place. The quiet conversation I’ve walked into is clearly not for my ears. I feel bad for even listening in on their conversation- eavesdropping isn't normally my thing- but hearing my name has my ears perking up. Maybe this will give me some insight into what Sal's deal is with me.

"Those eyes," Sal's answers, voice missing the hard edge it normally carries. "So big and bright. Filled with innocence and wonder. I'll never forget the way she looked at me that night."

"Sal," she soothes. "No one knew Frankie had a family."

"Yeah," he scoffs. "He kept that secret better than he did those of the outfit."

"I know you feel guilty, but-"

"Damn it, Amore Mio," Sal shouts. "You didn't see the way the girl looked at me as she clung to my neck in terror. The confusion contorting her face as to why I was taking her from her home. If I'd known that piece of shit Mario had a knife to her mother’s throat when I shot him, I would’ve handled it differently. But there's no mistaking that my orders took both her parents that night."

"Salvatore, still. You’ll need more evidence before you take this to Bowie."

"I had Doctor Marino check the sample from the paternity test.”

My throat constricts as I try to swallow the next words that leave Salvatore’s mouth.

“Wren is Frankie Fracassi's daughter."

The glass in my hand shatters against the floor and my heart seizes in my chest.

No, it can't be...

My throat seals shut as I stand there trying to remember how to make my lungs work. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. The walls feel like they’re closing in around me and this once giant house feels entirely too small. I need… I don't know what I need, but I can't be in here right now.

My head swims as heat scorches through my veins. My parents never abandoned me, they were murdered. I force my feet toward the front door, and even though I hear my name being called, I don't stop. This is all too much and I can't, I just can't.

The cold bite of the October night air washes over me as I stumble down the front steps and past the front gate. A wave of nausea rolls through me, stopping me in my tracks. Sweat beads at my temples, and I can’t stop myself from retching, my stomach churning as I empty its contents into the bushes. Blinking the tears from my eyes, I stay bent over, gulping in fresh air and willing my pulse to slow down. But I can’t get a grip on anything; my breathing, my thoughts. It’s all one mesh of shock and disbelief.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and Bowie's name lights up the screen as I pull it out. I'd forgotten I'd even brought it with me, still waiting for his call. I swipe to answer, voice cracking under the latest revelation as I say his name.

"Wren, are you okay?" Panic laces his tone.

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