Page 11 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

Did I make the right choice? Did I make the right choice?

The image of two lifeless bodies lying in the rain has been branded behind my eyelids. I see it every time I blink.

Ren didn’t hesitate. That first time we were together—when Ren took a life and my virginity in the same night, he had told me:It was easy.And that was exactly how he made it look, six years later. Easy.

Will he be that quick with me?

I still feel the way his fingers tightened on my throat.

My arms slide around Harper as I bury my face in her hair, the dread low and heavy in my stomach as I am taken through the city toward the unknown. For some reason, I had hoped we would go to his home. Some place familiar. I’d been there once or twice a lifetime ago, where he grew up, Hoboken. My family had always lived in New York in the heart of our own territory. Ren grew up in a mansion across the Hudson, and I loved teasing him about it. Whenever we would have one of our playful fights, I would tell him to go home and cut his grass. That once-warm memory has curdled and gone sour now.

We arrive at a narrow, multistory townhome—not far, I realize, from that hotel we shared that night. Our secret meeting place, with the East River just a block away. I step into a single-unit townhouse, sprawling up multiple floors. The place is immaculate, and for a moment, I have the unsettling feeling of having time traveled. This is reminiscent of the places I consider my real home; the lifestyle imprinted on me when I was a little girl, the setting of my childhood. A sprawling parlor floor with coffered ceilings and crown molding. Hell, at this point, I’m just impressed at the thought of havingbedrooms, plural.

Harper stands beside me, tucked behind my leg. She’s never been in a place like this before in her life.

“This way,” the driver says, motioning me to follow him.

“When will Ren be here?” I ask, dripping water over the cold tile floor.

“When he can.”

Harper and I are left in a glitzy attached bathroom to clean ourselves up from the rain. Looking in the mirror for the first time since this night started, I’m surprised Ren even recognized me.

“Where are we?” Harper asks, barely daring to whisper.

“We’re at a friend’s house,” I lie, trying for a smile as I rub a fluffy towel through her damp hair. “We just…we had to get away from some bad people. But they can’t follow us here.” I subtly double-check her breathing and her pulse. She’s trembling still, and terrified, I think the last couple hours have left her exhausted and shocked by it all. I scoop her up in my arms.

“And right now, Harp, you get this big, warm fluffy bed in this big house all to yourself. What do you think about that?” I toss her down onto it, trying for playful. She doesn’t absorb my plasticky good mood, curling up on herself and looking up at me.

“What about Applesauce?” she asks.

That awful stuffed giraffe. It shreds my heart a little bit that she’s still thinking about him. I hear voices in the foyer—men’s voices. I pull the covers over her.

“…We’ll have to get Applesauce another day, okay?”

When she doesn’t even cry or argue, I know she’s absolutely had it. I tuck her into the guest bed, with clean sheets and a big heavy comforter that swallows her up. Floorboards creak nearby. My pulse races as I kiss her temple, certain my heart is going to beat right out of my chest, that I will die right here before Ren ever gets his hands on me.

“I love you, Harp. I love you so much.”

I press my head against hers, wanting nothing more than to curl up around her and hold her against me until I am physically dragged away. But I can’t do that. I have to make use of whatever time I have to ensure her safety, her future. I have to do whatever it takes to give her a good life, even if I can’t keep mine. I rub my hands over my wet eyes and turn around, forcing myself toward the door and the approaching footsteps—

The door opens before I can reach it.

Ren and I come face to face in the threshold.

His dark looming figure fills up the whole space and seems to suck the air right out of the room.

I know I look like a drowned rat in a damp tissue. No makeup, hair a mess, nightgown wet. But Ren…I could almost think he hasn’t changed. The years have carved out his jaw and his cheekbones a little more maybe. Made him more serious, more mature. But his eyes—those are different. He has a stranger’s eyes, the color of stagnant water. No light behind them.

He grows blurry, and I have to blink him back into focus.

The part of me that still loves him wails and rages inside me like that sad teenage girl I was years ago. After everything he’s done to me, I hate that I can still feel this for him, that I will feel it to my very last breath. I hate him, without question. But I love him, too.

“Not here,” I say.

As if I can make demands.

He looks toward Harper, the little bump under the covers. He relents. Silently, I’m marched out the door. I don’t look back at my daughter again. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll lose my nerve.

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