Page 72 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

And at the end of the night, the city bright and the sky dark, Nico walks me out to my car.

“You know, it was really stupid what you did,” I tell him, leaning against the driver’s door. “Burning up the BMW like that. In front ofeveryone. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking. And that flimsy excuse you gave, as if anybody was going to fucking believe it—”

Nico cuts me off with a slow, gentle kiss, and whispers the only question he cares about,

“Do you like it?”

I bow my head under the seriousness of his gaze, sighing helplessly.

“I love it.”

21

Ava

“It’s just because of the hormones” has become my new favorite phrase, and I keep thinking it over and over and over, because ever since Friday night, I have only been able to think about two things: the baby in my belly and the man who put it there.

Nico has slipped into my heart like a blade, straight through my ribs.

But it’s just because of the hormones.

My thoughts begin to turn against themselves, all my agony toward the past slowly shifting into dread for the future. If I had just stayed miserable and numb over Vinny, if I had mourned him like I should have, this wouldn’t have happened. I thought I was getting better, but is this better? Is this worse? I don’t know.

I haven’t made a decision. That’s what I keep telling myself, even when I continue to spend day after day taking care of Emma,frantically trying to learn the little tips and tricks of motherhood. I watch Tessa like a hawk, studying her every move. It always leaves me with the same doubtful question: do I have it in me to be like her?

She makes it look so effortless, but then, she’s hardly alone. Salvatore drifts in and out through the day, shares every sleepless night, and she has me to help with anything extra she might need. She never asks for much, but maybe that she has the option is comfort enough.

Only a few months into motherhood and Tessa is already taking meetings and making visits with the women of the family. Sometimes, it’s as simple as sharing brunch. Other times, I am asked to leave the room—private business.Divorces, abuse, out-of-wedlock children. Whatever troubles the family has, they are all brought to the heads of the household. Police and lawyers are afterthoughts. The highest law in our land is the family.

It would be so easy to tell her my secret. I amsupposedto tell her. More than once, the words are right there on my lips, scratching at the back of my teeth, dying to get out. I don’t let them.

Eventually, deciding and not deciding will be one and the same. There is a line drawn somewhere in time where there will be no going back, and every hour that I wait, the line inches closer.

I’m dazed with inexplicable exhaustion, feeling off, and brewing a much-needed morning coffee when the scent hits my nose. My gag reflex revolts. Nausea comes in waves, wavering in my stomach. I go half-sprinting into the nearest bathroom. I hold myself together for a few seconds, working through panic anddenial. I negotiate with my body, my baby, and God—and end up heaving up last night’s dinner into the toilet anyway.

I have never had the problem of needing to throw updiscreetlybefore. I beg my stomach to stop lurching as I flush the toilet over the sound of my dry heaving. My stomach has nothing left to give, but the nausea doesn’t care. My every breath sounds too loud, as if everyone in the house can hear it. I heave again.

After several long minutes and anxious half-efforts, my stomach settles.

I wait, anxious that the feeling might sneak up and come back stronger. I don’t feel much better, but at least I’m not actively puking. I take a mouthful of cold water and spit the taste of bile into the sink.

I drag my feet to the bathroom door, then lean my head against it for a few long moments, working myself up to facing the day. I feel weak and tired already, and the day has barely started. I want to go whining to Nico. I want to curl up in his arms and have him comfort me and tease me until I fall asleep and not wake up until long after noon, and let him call me lazy as he kisses me awake.

I shake the thought away.

It’s just because of the hormones.

I inch my way out of the bathroom, checking that the coast is clear. I walk quieter now, as if I’ve just committed a crime. I tiptoe past Salvatore’s office, hoping no one heard what just happened a few doors down, but the voices inside are low and unassuming.

And I am almost out of earshot when a familiar, raised voice draws my attention.

Nico?

I veer a little closer to Salvatore’s office. I would have never come down this way if I wasn’t fast-tracking it to a bathroom, but I overhear the voices clearly. Nico doesn’t know how to be quiet, his voice all rough, booming projection, too much confidence for his own good.

I long to see him, to wait him out and surprise him on the other side of the door…but he just caught me eavesdropping on him the other night. And besides…it’s just the hormones. I keep moving, forcing myself to keep walking even if it feels like a tiny piece of me is caught on him, unraveling more and more the farther away I walk.

Hormones, hormones, hormones.

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