Page 11 of The Devil's Demise

“Don’t call me by that name!” I roar. “Ever! Do you hear me?”

My body trembles as I register her. Through her black-rimmed glasses, she peers at me. The sympathy there ... it clouds over her, and I fucking hate it.

“Just tell me!” I scream.

Dom sits next to me. His hand is on my knee, and I turn to him. I see it in his eyes—the aching, the bleeding. I shake my head.

“No. Don’t fucking say it.”

My emotions, they consume me. Everything hurts. I ache for that child, for the loss.

“Ms. ... ah ... Chiara. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like shit! Okay? Is everyone happy now?” My pitch rises, my exhales hammering through me. “Is my baby dead? Don’t sugarcoat it. I know I was shot in my stomach. I remember when the bullet hit me and where. So tell me. Is she dead, Doc?”

“I’m so sorry, but the baby didn’t—”

“Get out!” I yell louder.

The tears, they waver like a quiet storm until it hits like thunder.

She stands there, tightening her thin lips.

“I said get out!” I point to the door. “Get the hell out of here!”

She finally nods, scurrying out.

“Baby, I’m sorr—”

“Don’t do that! You knew. You should’ve been here to tell me as soon as I woke up! But you-you-you were gone,” I sob, my control snapping.

The gaping wreckage of my heart ... I can no longer hold on to it. I scream. I cry. I don’t know for how long. But his arms come around me, and I no longer know why I was mad at him at all. Because in this moment, all I want is to hold on to him.

* * *

I swipe the tears from under my eyes, smudging some of my eyeliner, but I can’t seem to care enough to fix it right now. All I want to do is hold on to this baby that’s inside me and keep it safe.

The bathroom door swings open, and Dom is there with a towel wrapped around his hips, the deep V pointing to where I normally would crave him. But right now, all I can think about is how lucky we are to have what we have after everything that’s been taken away.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, concern fitting his face, his cheeks hollowing.

His bicep muscles strain as he uses a smaller towel to dry his hair, and he comes to stand behind me when I don’t answer. I see him through the mirror, and a smile immediately forms on my face.

“Just thinking about how happy you make me.”

“It’s only getting better from here, baby.” A hand twines around my stomach, his palm spreading across my lower abdomen. “I swear it.”

“I hope so.”

* * *

“Uncle Matteo and Aunt Aida are here!” the boys shout, jumping up and down.

The rest of us are gathered in the back, the yard set up with a long table, a white tablecloth draping it. Pink and blue plates and a balloon centerpiece are at the center. We catered some food, so no one had to cook, especially Sonia. We wanted her to have fun with us. And this time, we made sure the catering company was triple-vetted.

“What the hell?” Dante says. “I thought I was your favorite uncle.”

“When Uncle Matteo’s not here.” Gianni giggles, his emerald eyes full of mischief. “He brings the best presents.”

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