Page 76 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

“What is this place?” I mutter to Thaddeus.

“This is the only place that matters.”

He gestures around the room, pointing out some middling politicians or business owners or real estate moguls. Instead of a happy birthday, I am given a subtle tour of New York’s wannabe elites and their second-rank little social circle club. I sigh under my breath, breathing in the distinct smell of election fraud and insider trading.

Thaddeus offers to get me a drink.

Suddenly, it dawns on me that I am sitting at a bar and I cannot drink.

I should, I think, too fondly,after what the little brat did to me this morning.Of course, I don’t, and I cut that line of thinking off quickly. It’s too personal, too real for a split second. Something about having symptoms has made this far more tangible than a little line on a pregnancy test ever could.

I order a glass of water.

I’m bored and disappointed and this lingerie itches. With one glance around the room, I have identified why we’re here, and my birthday has nothing to do with it. My job is the same as most of the other women here: to sit, smile, and be pleasant, deckedin expensive jewelry and dresses like we are accessories in our own right. Something men can gesture to and say, “Look what I have,” comparing us like their luxury cars and private jets.

I’ve never been much for drinking, but suddenly, I’m mourning alcohol.

Thaddeus introduces me to a revolving door of important somebodies. I am preened over by men more than twice my age. Some hold my hand a little too long or make subtle, suggestive remarks about my looks. A Mr. Godfrey tells me that if Thaddeus ever gets tired of me, he has a private plane he’d like to show me. He and Thaddeus laugh as if it’s all good fun, but what disturbs me most is the woman on his arm with a diamond on her finger, who giggles along too. I force a smile and look longingly for a fire exit or even just an alarm that I can pull to escape.

Thaddeus preoccupies himself with talking business, and it might just be the only language he knows. Romance certainly isn’t. He sits at the bar and faces away from me most of the time. I scroll through my phone, bored and a little bitter that this is how I chose to spend my birthday. Not celebrating was the right choice after all.

My stomach complains loudly about the neglect. I’ve only had water while the men drink and laugh. I sigh and decide to play my hand. There’s no point in holding cards if you’re not going to use them. I slide my fingers into the crook of Thaddeus’s arm, leaning into him until I really have his attention.

“Thaddeus, come on. When are we getting to the dinner part of the evening?” I tease him, nudging my foot against his leg. “I’mstarving.”

“That’s what the alcohol is for,” he says, trying to match my teasing tone. He pushes his own glass of clear liquor toward me and steals my water. “Who needs dinner when you can drink your calories?”

“Me, actually,” I insist, pushing the glass back at him. “You said we were going to dinner. This isn’t dinner.”

“We won’t be able to get in on short notice. You should have told me sooner. Day-of doesn’t work.”

“I don’t need some place with a reservation, I just wantsomething—”

“You’re not even trying to enjoy yourself. You haven’t even given it a chance. We could have some fun; you’re just not playing along.” He slides the drink toward me again, more forward this time as he gets closer. His long fingers skirt up my dress, finding the garter strap hidden under the shimmering fabric.

“You wore your present, so I know you want to.”

Some rational part of me understands that it isn’t his fault—he doesn’t know that I can’t play along and drink myself numb and indifferent until this all becomes tolerable. But the much louder part of my brain just says:fuck this.

I stand, more than happy to take off and find my own meal for the evening. His hand lands on my wrist, holding me there, catching me in an awkward stalemate that he tries to keep hidden from the others in the room. He draws me back down into the seat.

“You’re going to have to get used to this,” he says, speaking low under the clink of glasses and conversations. “And the next time these men compliment you, you smile more and act flattered. They aren’t easily impressed, and the more interested they are in you, the more interested they are in cutting deals with me. This helps us both, Ava. From how Salvatore described you, I thought you were interested in climbing the ladder. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have made this deal.”

I know how to stay quiet and suffer in silence. I have years and years of practice, sucking it up and dealing with whatever inconvenience comes my way. But God, I don’t have it in me tonight. I am one tiny spark away from full nuclear meltdown.

“Just invite someone to dinner with us then! I don’t care, I just want—”

“Keep your voice down!”

I pull away from him and snatch my bag off the chair, my pissed-off exit tirade hovering on my lips, when the door shudders again and the entire room falls into a hush. Those with their backs turned catch on and look toward the exit, quiet recognition running around the room.

I know who it is in my chest before I even look. I recognize the hush, the surprise, the air tinted with the slightest taste of fear. I bite down on my smile as the footsteps creak across the wooden floor. A warm, familiar hand grazes across the bare skin on my back, over the crisscrossed straps of my dress, as he comes to stand beside me.

“Nico,” Thaddeus says, fear bleaching the color straight out of his face, leaving only the ruddiness of the alcohol behind. Theyshake hands, and I watch the lines on his face tense, his smile dissolving into a grimace as those bony fingers are crushed in Nico’s grip.

The sight of Nico has shocked the old-money cretins into a wary, muttering quiet. Seven years behind bars, and every person in this place still knows who he is, his reputation a dark shadow filling up the room and blacking out the friendly chatter. Maybe some of them are ancient enough to remember the old days, when a known mob man walking into a place like this could bring bloodshed with him. For most people, even the mob, those days of outward, unrepentant violence are long behind them, just a story told about the family ancestors and their legacy. But not Nico. Nico has already done it once.

“What brings you here?” Thaddeus asks him.

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