Page 15 of Cashmere Ruin

For once, I’m grateful for old white men and their weird fixations on male heirs. It might be the only reason my kid is still breathing after all. Three cheers for misogyny, everyone!

I stash the pen behind my back and pretend to consider the offer a bit more. “What do I get in return?”

“Safety, for one thing,” Carmine starts to list off. “The Groza Bratva will be off your back for good. I’ll also make sure you’re properly compensated.”

“Compensated how?”

“However you need.” He shrugs. “Money. Apartments. New identities to settle far from here. Have you seen school tuitionfees lately? Let me tell you, raising a child has never been more expensive. Especially in this economy.”

“You don’t have to tell methat,” I mumble. It’s not the first time I’ve looked into the yawning chasm of my future as a single mother and shuddered at the horrors waiting for me there.

Carmine looks pleased. “So? Can I count on your support?”

The pen is heavy in my grip. But I can’t turn back now. Not with my baby still in the evil clutches of Smiley McCreepy here. “Shall we shake on it?”

This is it, April.

“Sure, why not?”

Whatever you do, donotmiss.

I start walking. Carmine stays where he is, clearly used to having people come to him. God, I hope he doesn’t expect me to kiss his gazillion rings. I’d die of old age.

Carmine offers me his hand—not to kiss, thank the stars—and I put forth mine. The free one, the one that isn’t about to commit the gravest sin of all.

But is there any sin we wouldn’t commit for our kids?

As soon as his hand is in mine, I strike. I hold the pen like a dagger and descend, aiming for the tender spot between neck and shoulder.

But Carmine doesn’t even flinch. With a flick of his wrist, he twists mine and rids himself of my handshake.

Then he bats the pen away.

I watch my last hope fly through the air, cluttering to the ground on the other side of the room. As soon as it hits the floorboards, it snaps in half.

“Pity,” Carmine sighs. “I quite liked that one.”

I make a grab for my baby, but his grip is steel.

She starts crying then, a loud piercing wail. Honestly, I’m tempted to do the same.

I’m fucked. Completely, royally fucked.

“You should’ve taken my deal, Ms. Flowers,” Carmine tuts, fishing for something behind him. “We could’ve been partners.”

Then he points a gun at my head.

I know without question that I’m about to die.

“Any last words?” he asks.

“Yes,” I blurt out. “Please don’t hurt my baby.”

Something flashes through Carmine’s eyes then. Something that might almost be pity. “I won’t. She’s far too important.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Whatever reasons he may have, whatever plans—he won’t harm her. He won’t harm my daughter.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears rolling fat down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, M?—”

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