Page 4 of Surprise Baby for the Don

I glance back through the glass, at the girl who’s still standing there, oblivious to the bargain being struck around her. She has no idea what her father’s selling, no idea that she’s become the pawn in his pathetic game. I wonder if she even knows how pathetic her father is, period.

“Here’s the problem, Rex,” I say, my tone icy. “I don’t make deals that aren’t worth my while. And a debt this large and this past due isn’t something I’m going to overlook because you’ve brought a pretty face into the room.”

He squirms, a flicker of panic crossing his features. “I’m begging you, Mr. Rossi,” he cries, all false bravado gone in the wake of his panic. “Please just give me one more week. It’s just seven days! I swear, I’ll have it by then. And if I don’t…” he trails off, his eyes darting to the door. “Ginny’s a hard worker. She’d be an asset. And, I’m not sure if I mentioned, she’s single.”

I give him a long, hard stare, considering his words. The Rossi family didn’t get to where it is by taking favors lightly. We deal in strength, loyalty, and fear, and I’ve worked too damn hard to let people like Rex try to squirm out of their obligations. But as much as I despise the man, the girl outside intrigues me. She doesn’t belong here, doesn’t look like she’s part of this world at all. Yet here she is, dragged into her father’s mess. I almostwanted to agree to his little deal just to get her out of his idiotic hands entirely.

Finally, I close the ledger with a snap, the sound loud in the tense silence.

“You have one week, Rex. No more, no less. After that…” I let the threat hang in the air, my gaze locking onto his. “Now go get your daughter. I want to meet her and ensure that I’m getting a fair trade here.”

Rex swallows, nodding quickly. “Thank you, Mr. Rossi. You won’t regret this.”

“You’d better hope I don’t,” I reply in a low growl. I stand, signaling that he should leave. “And next time, don’t bring your family into our business. It’s a weakness you can’t afford.”

Rex flinches but doesn’t argue. He stands, heading toward the door with a last, nervous glance in my direction. Before he leaves, he looks back at me, giving me a strained smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As the door closes behind him, I lean back in my chair, watching as he talks to his daughter. She glances up at him, her expression guarded, uncertain. She’s curious, I can tell, but wary, too, and I have my answer. She knows exactly what kind of man her father is, and she doesn’t trust him either. They speak quietly for a moment, and her face is tense.

I don’t trust Rex, and I don’t believe for a second that he’ll have the money. He’s a gambler, a liar, and he’ll do whatever it takes to scrape by without paying his dues. But his daughter is something different.

“Interesting,” I mutter to myself, glancing at the now-closed ledger.

Rocco slips in, his expression unreadable as he looks at me. “So what’s he got for you? More excuses as to why he can’t settle his debts?”

“He’s offered up his daughter’s services while he takes the week to pull together the funds,” I say, a note of sarcasm creeping into my voice. “Interior design, apparently. He’s going to bring her in so we can talk logistics.”

Rocco’s eyebrow lifts slightly. “Is that so? Quite the desperate move.”

“More like pathetic,” I reply, shaking my head. “He’ll never get the money to me on time. But let’s see if he has any miracles left.”

Rocco nods, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “If anyone can test a man’s limits, it’s you, Mateo.”

I smirk, nodding. “Damn right.”

3

Ginny

Ishift uncomfortably in the oversized armchair, trying not to feel like a kid waiting outside the principal’s office. I wasn’t even the one in trouble yet it felt like I was in line to get the guillotine. The anticipation was killing me.

From just beyond the double doors to my left, I hear voices coming from what must be the kitchen. Two men are talking loudly in what sounds like Italian, clinking metal against metal as they prepare a meal. The smell of garlic, onions, and tomatoes wafts in, making my stomach growl, and I press a hand over it, hoping the two men sitting near me don’t hear it. Despite spending the day at the diner, I couldn’t find time to get a quick meal.

The whole house gives off an air of wealth and power, a world I can’t begin to understand. It’s pristine, if lacking in a certain elegance, the kind of place you don’t want to drag a speck of dirt into. I was unsure if they would let me dare to change up the scenery. But the cooking smells like home, or at least what home would be if we didn’t have to scrounge together all our money to run the diner.

Across from me sit two men, both built like linebackers. The one on the left, I’m almost certain, is the guy who came to see my father at the diner. His hair is cropped close, and he’s wearing a suit that doesn’t quite hide the bulk of his muscles. He’s just been staring at me with an expression that’s almost bored, disinterested. I think his name is Red, but he hasn’t said a word, so I can’t be sure.

If he is, in fact, Red, he’s come to visit my dad at the diner on several occasions. He’s used every ounce of his massive body to intimidate Dad in the past. Every time he leaves, my dad retreats into himself for a few hours, his face pale and his expression worried. I don’t trust this guy, and the fact that he hasn’t taken his eye off me since we arrived is unnerving.

The other one is holding a baseball bat, tapping it against his leg like he’s warming up for his turn at the plate. It’s unsettling, especially when paired with the heavy gold chains around his neck and his vacant, almost glassy expression. He’s wearing a tracksuit that looks like it costs more than my entire wardrobe, and he keeps fidgeting with the bat, rolling it in his hands like he’s itching to use it. If the man staring at me is Red, then this must be “Bats,” a nickname that is apparently well-earned.

Red and Bats are notorious on our side of town. More than a few of our patrons have had run-ins with them and are, allegedly, lucky to still be alive to tell the tale. Sitting here in silence with them is uncomfortable to say the least, so I clear my throat and try to make an effort to be friendly.

“So,” I start, feeling hopelessly awkward and unsure. “This is a nice place. Do you live here too?”

Silence.

“Work here?”

---