Page 73 of Merciful Lies

“Talk to me, Rosebud. I need to hear your sweet voice.”

“What’s going on over there? Are you almost done?”

I hate that I sound so needy. But I am needy. And I miss him.

“I’m afraid things got a little complicated, but it shouldn’t be too long now. We, uh, we found who got to Sammy, Baby.”

“You did?” I whisper, and my heart squeezes.

“Yes. It’s the same group causing trouble in other areas. Seems like your brother borrowed money from one of their guys, and they aren’t the type to take IOUs.”

“Poor Sammy,” I say, and offer a silent prayer for my brother’s soul.

“Yeah. These guys are bad news. You’re staying put, right?”

“Yeah. I’m just plugging away. Growing like a weed, too. You won’t recognize me when you see me,” I mutter.

“I’m sorry I’m missing it. I’ll be back soon as I can. Shit. I gotta go.”

“Okay, love you?—”

But he already hung up, and I frown.

It’s not like him to hang up without saying I love you, but I let it go. Maybe someone walked in or something.

I frown as Mrs. Pirillo comes to say goodnight. She shows me the final pieces we need to put together for the baby’s quilt, and I smile.

“We can start the curtains tomorrow,” I tell her, and she nods.

“Yes, Mrs. Fury.”

I’ve asked her to call me Anna, but she won’t, so I just smile and tell her goodnight.

I turn on another classic film, seems I’m addicted, and Nico has such a wonderful collection to choose from. I lay back and sigh, missing my husband, and I think about how big this bed is without him even as I snuggle my body pillow, wrapping it around me to support my back and belly.

“Love you, Husband,” I whisper, hoping wherever he is, he can feel my love for him.

The next day, I’m crampy and achy, and when I get up to pee, I almost fall down. There’s a red smear in my panties.

That’s when I start to panic.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NICO

My cell phone buzzes, but I’m looking across at the boss from one of the oldest Boston crime families, Liam O’Doyle, and I can’t afford to fucking blink.

His wrinkled face resembles a fucking Shar-pei, and I immediately clench my jaw, so I don’t laugh at the image floating around my brain.

This sonovabitch is behind Sanchez’s sudden power grab, and I know it. I just need him to admit it.

Stupid prick has a daughter he’s been dangling in my face. Fucker thinks I’m interested, and I’m inclined to let him think whatever he wants. As long as I get what I want and that’s info on where Sanchez is hiding out.

The prick vacated his known residences and haunts. My guys have been searching for days.

If O’Doyle is hiding him, I need to know. And if that means lying to the old piece of shit, I can do that with no problem.

Margaret O’Doyle is twenty-two and vapid as fuck. She’s years too young for me, or any man, really. Hell, she doesn’t know her own mind and all her purring and bedroom eyes mean jack shit to me.

But I sit. And I pretend. I fucking lie because I have responsibilities and obligations. People I need to keep safe.

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