Page 62 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

“We’re not two teenagers fucking in the back of a car,” he says. “The way the universe works, that means it probably won’t happen.”

Right.

“But if it did,” I insist.

For a long time, it seems like Nico is just thinking, studying the shadows on the ceiling overhead. Anxiety creeps up in my chest, threatening to close over my mouth and nose and fill up my lungs. He sighs.

“If you get pregnant, Ava, it’ll be a goddamn bloodbath,” he says. And then, less lucid, his voice drifting into the haze of the painkillers, he mutters as if to himself, “Hell, maybe it already is.”

I don’t know what he means, and before I can find out, the exhaustion has already stolen him away.

18

Ava

I’m pregnant.

It’s the first thought that pops into my mind when I wake up, the last thought that slipped away last night when I finally passed out. I wake groggily, trying to find the annoying buzzing that woke me up back into this self-made nightmare. My hand closes around my phone on Nico’s nightstand. A notification illuminates the top of the screen. A short message from Marcel ominously reads:

Salvatore needs to talk to you today.

No context, no further explanation. My thoughts spin through a frantic series of what-ifs. Is it about me? About Nico? I cannot think of a good reason to be called into Salvatore’s office, like a child dragging her feet to the principal’s office.

He can’tknow, can he?

But he is the don, and everyone says the don always knows more than he should and less than he lets on. My hands feel clammy. If Salvatore knows, then…

The thought of Marcel finding out makes me sick with fear.

For the first time since I’ve known him, Nico oversleeps. I sneak out of the room to let him rest. My hands and feet feel numb and clumsy as I get ready for the day, my anxiety a constant cloud. I wonder if that’s bad for the baby and find yet another thing to be anxious about.

I have a general sense of what I need. Vitamins and doctor’s appointments—the earlier the better. I wish I could talk to Tessa about it. She just went through all this, so she would have a hundred resources at her disposal and be more than happy to shower me in them. I stare at my own reflection, wondering if I could trust her to keep my secret. Would she be compelled to tell her husband? My thoughts drift to Cecilia, my second-best option, but she was quite clear about how she thought I should resolve this.

Maybe she’s right.

My thoughts swing like a pendulum between my options.

How long can I keep this from Nico? If it’s even possible. Can I hide the prenatal pills? Can I make it to my doctor’s appointments without him following? He’s been busier lately, but the man has a preternatural sense for where I am and what I’m doing. How long can I realistically get away with it?

My eyes drift down to my belly, knowing that the answer is there in its flat, unremarkable shape. I flirt with the idea of telling Nico when he wakes up, but his words are a whisper at the back of my mind.A bloodbath.

Why?

Because of Thaddeus? Marcel?Salvatore?

I decide not to tell him anything. I need some kind of leverage first, some way to protect Marcel, to stop Nico, and to prevent whatever disaster he thinks is looming on the horizon. And right now, with my toes on the threshold of Salvatore’s office door, I need to manage one crisis at a time. He calls for me to enter.

He smiles at me, but his scarred smiles are seldom reassuring.

“Have a seat,” he says.

I note Marcel isn’t here as I slide into the chair across from him.

“What did you need to talk about?” I ask, desperate to pop the bubble of suspense in my head.

“Thaddeus,” he sighs.

I’ve never felt so much relief hearing that name.

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