Page 24 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

I leave the house, still looking over my shoulder. Every shadow out of the corner of my eye feels like him, watchful and stifling. I push away the sensation and order my ride into the city, desperate to escape the massive house that suddenly seems too small.

At the last gate before we hit the public road, I see they’ve put Frankie on guard duty. It’s probably a punishment for taking me to the ring, and I feel bad as the car passes by. Frankie fucking hates guard duty.

My thoughts shift toward the mysterious man I’m driving to meet. The one I’m going to actuallymarry. I really don’t want to think about it, to just daydream or make conjectures. I don’t want to walk in there with expectations. I’m focusing on setting up the new phone and making small talk with the driver when the sound of a familiar engine tears through our conversation, ripping apart the momentary peace. My heart rate spikes. I know who it is before I even turn around.

Behind us, Nico’s one-of-one surges up, aggressively tailgating our car. My driver accelerates, but the front of Nico’s bumper inches closer and closer effortlessly, swerving left and right like a snake ready to strike. The bewildered driver curses him in a language I don’t recognize.

“What the fuck does this guy want?” the man asks as the engine behind us snarls again.

Me,the little voice in my head answers. She sounds too happy about that.

One wrong move, and we will veer off the road.

Suddenly, Nico swerves violently around us. His black car barrels boldly into the oncoming lane, inching a little too close to us—a game of chicken threatening to swap paint. We brake hard as Nico nearly bullies us off the road. I jolt forward against the seatbelt as the brakes squeal, tires locking up and burning on the asphalt. We swing toward the edge of the road but straighten out at the last second.

The driver’s curses are furious now. He asks if I know that man. I deny it.

I’m not afraid as we dance around an accident, but my pulse is elevated, my heart pounding behind my teeth. I wonder if Nico really is going to force us off the road. If he’ll tear open my door, drag me out of the back of the car, steal me off for his own games again. . .

Fear and fantasy are all twisted up for me.

Nico overtakes us and cuts sharply back into our lane, where he surges forward again.

Those blazing taillights vanish into the traffic ahead of us.

My poor driver curses under his breath, stunned and confused by what just happened. He’s not the only one. Nico pulls off into the distance, leaving me questioning and confused in the backseat. I swallow a tiny taste of disappointment as Nico leaves. Did he really give up just like that? I shut the thought down before I can finish and look out the window again.

It doesn’t matter. Maybe Nico found better things to do now that he’s getting settled back into the free world. Even though I try to rationalize it, some part of me knows it isn’t true, and I find myself looking for his vehicle on the way to the restaurant. Every black sports car makes my heart skip, but Nico doesn’t reappear.

I reach my destination in one piece, the driver apologizing to me profusely for the rocky trip. I feel bad for the scare it must have given him. I adjust my tip to be a lot more generous for the trouble he didn’t deserve. Maybe it’ll help pay off his medical bills when the heart attack finally catches up to him.

My thoughts are still swirling around Nico when I reach the restaurant and step through the revolving door, where my feetfreeze as if cemented to the ground. The spacious room goes small and narrow, tilting dangerously under my feet. I stare into the restaurant, where the sound of a bustling dinnertime rush catches me like a knife in the ribs. Waiters smoothly weave around the patrons. Cutlery clinks in the air. White, pristine tablecloths are draped across every table.

For a moment, I feel blood on my hands, a raw scream perched just under my tongue, threatening to spill out of my mouth.

This is the kind of place Vinny dreamed of working one day. The future Sal promised him, that he never lived to see. The light from the distant kitchen wavers as the doors swing on their hinges, and for one brief moment, I imagine him there, laughing and yelling with the kitchen staff.

“Ma’am?”

The hostess finally drags my attention to her, her eyes searching my face with concern. All at once, I’m back in the present, the real world, where I’m blocking the doorway. People are trying to get by me. I stumble away, half in this world and half inside myself again.

I manage to rasp the reservation name, which straightens the woman’s spine immediately. She sweeps me graciously toward a table. I sit down alone. My dinner date isn’t here yet, thank God. I ask for an ice water. The moment it arrives, I scoop a piece of ice from the glass and clutch it between my hands, trying to ground myself in the here and now. To not slip back into that dark, hollow place inside my head.

I’m still reeling when a shadow falls over my table, and someone takes a seat across from me. I look up and see a stranger’s face.

My fiancé is not, as Nico so inelegantly put it, “some fat fuck.” Just the opposite. He’s tall and gaunt, with a long, narrow nose slightly offset on an equally long, narrow face. Like most of the Mori family, his hair is jet black. It’s arched into a sharp widow’s peak, parted and combed back. His shoulders are tight, his limbs spidery, and when he sits down across from me, his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“You know, I think Salvatore sold you a little short,” he says in a whispery voice, extending a hand. “Thaddeus Mori.” My palms are wet and freezing, and I desperately try to wipe them off on my dress. We shake hands.

“Ava,” I say, grateful for my single-syllable name. My words are still coming out dry, my head ringing like a marching band just passed through my cerebellum.

“Let me take a look at you.” Thaddeus gestures for me to stand.

Too dazed to object, I push my chair back and stand before him. His eyes roam up and down my body, coming to some kind of silent conclusion.

“Well, that’s a good start,” he jokes, and motions for me to sit again. “I didn’t know they were having to sell women like you.”

“I’m sure Salvatore explained the circumstances,” I manage. “What are yours?”

---