Page 101 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

I haven’t cried yet. I didn’t realize it, but I haven’t. I was too shocked, too afraid, to waste any energy on tears. But now, leaning over and pressing my forehead to Marcel’s hand, they start coming—heavy and silent with guilt.

Marcel was right.

The whole time, he was right.

All along, I told myself I was protecting him, but I didn’t protect a goddamn thing.

All I did was nearly get him killed, and with whichever way the numbers on the monitors swing—I still might.

I keep my head down, ignoring the soft conversation that the couple has in the doorway—the warnings and the negotiations, and the quiet kiss before Salvatore finally leaves. I stare down at my brother’s pale hand and wonder if Nico will try to kill Sal, too. If he’ll rip him away from his family. His happy wife, his new daughter. Would Nico do that?

Looking at my brother, I know that if anyone had asked me if he would have done this, I would have saidno.

Salvatore leaves Tessa and me alone in a room steeped in grief and worry, where time is long and meaningless. With my head bowed, I do not see the next person to enter. His voice catchesme by surprise. Thaddeus appears, as if by magic. He brings me coffee and a change of clothes—real clothes—so that I can get out of my pajamas and into something warmer. I didn’t realize until now that the room is freezing, like all hospital rooms. I can’t feel hot or cold. Just grief and worry. I didn’t expect him to show up at all, least of all at four in the morning, here to help. But he stands over me, his hand on my shoulder, and tries to comfort me. I’m more grateful for it than I thought I would be for him being here.

Marcel’s vitals stay steady throughout the night. He is the only one who sleeps.

Eventually, Tessa has to get back to Emma, and Thaddeus goes to get us something to eat, even when I don’t have an appetite. Alone with Marcel and the quiet hum of the machinery making sure he is safe and alive, I lean in and tell him,

“You have to live, Marcel. You have to. I need you. I’m in trouble, and I don’t know what to do, and I need you. I messed up. I swear I’ll listen from now on. Whatever you say, I’ll do it. Please just wake up. I need you to wake up.”

The machines beep softly in the quiet as I add, for the first time that I have admitted it to anyone,

“Marcel, I’m going to have a baby.”

30

Nico

I left the door unlocked, but they kick it down anyway. It’s a little overdramatic if you ask me. The plywood door claps hollowly against the floor as half a dozen familiar men storm into the empty apartment, breaching formation. Their guns are drawn on me as they round into the bedroom where I sit, their boots trailing Marcel’s half-dried blood across the grimy tile floors.

I’ve been waiting for this, just sitting on the edge of the bed and counting the minutes down. I’ve been flipping through some pictures on my phone. Pictures of her. I was never one for hope, but that’s all I’ve got left now. Optimism always seemed like a cop-out, luck with a brand name. If you want something to happen, you make it happen. But now, even my hands are tied.

There’s no use in running from Salvatore, I know. It’ll just make it all worse.

He steps in after the men, the grim reaper in a dark suit and black leather gloves, with a gun in his hand.

There’s no loyal lapdog following him around, the space Marcel usually occupies pointedly empty. I wonder if he’ll even give me a chance to speak. I don’t know if he thinks I’m worthy of last words. I probably wouldn’t give him any, so I shouldn’t expect to be returned the favor.

He stops in front of me. I look up at him and read that cold, decided expression.

It almost makes me grin, the bitterness enough to make my mouth pucker.

Maybe Salvatore really was born for this. A murderer from his first moment. Maybe it was always going to be him, and I was just the thing in his way. Maybe it was never the other way around. I lower my gaze back to my phone and Ava’s grinning, bashful smile. I’ve never seen her smile like that. I don’t know if she has any of those smiles left, and if she does, they’re not for a man like me.

“What happened?” Salvatore asks.

“Does it matter?” I counter, glancing at the gun in grip. “You already know what you’re going to do.”

“It matters. Because I don’t understand what happened here, and if I’m going to shoot you, I’d at least like to knowwhy. Will you give me that, or would you rather we get right to the bullet?”

I cough out a short laugh.

“So, he’s hanging on then. If he were dead, this would be a much different conversation.”

“It wouldn’t be a conversation at all. But for now it is, and you better start talking while that’s still the case.”

I nod, and Salvatore continues, “How does Marcel end up bleeding out inyourapartment, and then wind up in the hospital? I thought maybe he killed you and managed to save himself, but clearly not.”

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