Page 107 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

My heart won’t start up again. It’s just sitting there, dead and heavy in my chest. A car battery that won’t turn over even aftertrying and trying. The next sound that comes out of me is all sob and it has nothing to do with the pain in my side. The heaving, airless sounds come as I try to process it—Ren,gone.

My head is pressed to the concrete, an incredible pressure in my ears as I lie there, being crushed into the ground under my own grief.

“It’s not an easy thing for me,” I hear Elijah say in some other world. “But in a way, we always saw it coming,” he says. I see him glance at Olivia. She doesn’t look happy either, more contemplative, her eyes downturned as she grapples with the same news.

Elijah continues, but his voice drifts in and out of my hearing.

No one is coming to save us this time.

“With Ren out of the picture, and now that I’m taking charge, I want to do things right between us. Start fresh. I brought women and alcohol—if your men don’t like that, our families might not get along after all.”

He offers the bottle.

Finally, Jon grins. A slow, half-amused thing.

“We might get along fine. Go ahead and pour yourself a drink, Elijah,” Dellucci says, clapping him on the shoulder. “For the mourning.”

Elijah shrugs. The champagne bottle froths messily as he uncorks it and pours a generous amount into his mouth. He swallows without flinching.

The silence trickles on in the aftermath, Jon’s wary smile growing warmer. Before long the two are laughing it off, the cobwebs of suspicion lifting as they bring and pour glasses. Jon is taken with Cali, who waltzes around him with a grin.

“For the mourning,” Dellucci repeats, this time for himself, his eyes heavy on me. He takes a big mouthful, then spits the champagne down over me. I shield my face, curled up, waiting for someone to either decide what to do with me or forget about me again.

Elijah steps forward, too. Pours a tiny stream of champagne down over my head.

“A lot of trouble for one woman,” he says, as if commiserating with Jon.

Dellucci huffs his agreement. “They’re always trouble,” he says, with a thick handful of Cali’s ass, as he draws her in.

“But I don’t mind a little trouble now and then.”

I stare at Elijah, remembering us standing face to face on the front steps of the house. Blood on his face and a dozen different shades of heartbreak in his eyes. He doesn’t look twice at me.

The room settles into a comfortable din of conversation, as if I am not the bound centerpiece of it all, trapped on the floor.

“Let’s take care of this business first,” Jon says, reaching down to haul me up by the back of the neck. I scramble to my feet, twisting and kicking.

“Harper—” I rasp, looking at Elijah. Begging. He sips his drink.

I’m made to look into Jon’s face, champagne and tears mingling on my cheeks.

“Come on, sweetheart. Me and you are gonna take a walk.”

Dellucci and his men haul me away. One of them looks similar enough that I think he might be another of Dellucci’s sons, and the way he manhandles me makes me believe it. I am dragged up flights of stairs, the tops of my feet scraping on old metal. I twist, trying to look around, but there’s no sign of her. No sound.

Our procession makes it up to the roof.

As I realize what’s going to happen, I drag my feet against the floor until the skin slides off the bottoms. They haul me toward the ledge, and I experience pure animal fear, kicking and fighting for my life. Every scream hurts, but I scream anyway, my voice flying up into that big open sky and vanishing. No one to hear it.

We aren’t nearly as far up as Arlo had been. But we’re far enough.

“Well, Nadia,” Jon says, as he we reach the ledge. I fight the binds on my wrist, twisting and sobbing and trying to do anything to put space between me and that steep drop. “You should have taken me up on my offer. Doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?” he asks.

He dangles me over the edge as I remember that offer. That I could pay off my debt to him in other ways. I would have taken a real offer, done work, even the shady kind that the mafia is known for—but Dellucci had curled his hand around my thigh as he said it, and I knew what kind of work he meant.

I stare into the abyss over the edge of the buildings, the potholes and the cracked asphalt that will be rushing up to greet me.

Cali’s face appears over his shoulder, her arms around his neck—his eyes bulge, wide and stunned, as she buries something into his neck again and again. Quick as she can move. He throws her off with a rattling roar. The men holding onto me rush to interfere, drop me dangerously close to the edge. I throw myself sideways and narrowly avoid going off the roof.

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