Page 14 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

“Applesauce,” Harper whines, as I try to leave. I grimace.

“Applesauce…” Ren repeats, a shred of doubt in his voice. He reaches for his phone, as if he’s going to order Mott’s right there on the spot.

“No, she doesn’t need apple—it’s nothing. It’s the name of her stuffed animal. Baby, Itold you—” I say, turning back to her. She whines softly, gives a few half-hearted sobs as she settles down.

“Stay with her. Go to sleep,” Ren says, like an order rather than an offer. He turns to leave.

“Wait.”

I don’t understand the shift in the atmosphere. What is this emotion left behind after the outburst and the accusations? Why is Ren walking away now, when we were finally in the middle of it? Burning off all that ugly hurt that’s been brewing betweenus all these years. It’s like a scab that just won’t heal, and now that I’ve started picking at it, I don’t know if I can stop. I inch carefully off the mattress, crossing the room so we can speak in low hushed tones.

No matter what, I can’t go to sleep without knowing what happens when I wake up. If I wake up.

“What do you want with me, Ren?” I demand in a whisper, searching his face. “If you don’t want to kill me, then what? Why have you been hunting me?”

“I already told you that,” he says, with no warmth, “a long time ago.”

He turns his back on me.

The door closes quietly between us, leaving me in the bedroom to think about the answer. I hear it clearly in my memory as surely as if Ren had said it just now.

I’m never letting you go.

5

Ren

Strands of broken police tape flutter in the wind. I slam the car door shut, crossing the sidewalk to Elijah. It’s been a long night. He has his hands on his hips and a frown on his face—head craned back as he looks at the fire escape like some wannabe detective. Hell, with that blue suit and haircut, he almost looks the part.

“Whatever you think happened here—it’s worse,” Elijah says, without turning to me.

“Everything always looks worse in the morning,” I answer calmly, following his gaze. “What’s the issue?”

The scene has mostly been cleared, except for a couple of evidence markers abandoned in the dumpster. Apparently, the body went straight into the trash. Practically decapitated itselfon the edge of the opening. A long, dark red smear stains the edge of the bin.

“This wasn’t one of Jon Dellucci’s little henchmen, Ren. This was his son, Arlo.”

I roll my mint into the side of my cheek.

“Well, that’s embarrassing for him. She’s what, five-foot-six?”

“Can you take this seriously for five seconds?” he snaps.

“Do I seemunseriousto you?” I stare him down, silent and calm, until his sense of self-preservation finally kicks in. He backs down with a heaving sigh, hands running through his hair. I watch him, wondering what that’s like. To feel so anxious.

“Ren, last night, you practically bought Nadia’s debt. And—” He glances distrustfully at the dark windows of the building, stepping closer, “—and you killed two more of Dellucci’s men just for the fucking pleasure of it; God knows why—”

“And it can stay between me and God. No one else saw.”

“You know damn well there will be CCTV footage. There’s no doubt Dellucci connects us with this, even if we can get the cops not to pursue it. And if Jon finds out you’re harboring the woman who killed his boy—”

“Let him connect us to it,” I interrupt. “And if he wants Nadia, he’s welcome to come and try to take her.”

I pat Elijah on the back and step away.

“What are you going to do with her, Ren?” he calls out, not for the first time. In all the years I’ve looked for her, my brother has tried to be a beacon of reason. He’s tried to understand me, rationalize with me, meet me halfway. More than once, he’s urged me to call off the dogs and pursue something else—anythingelse. And whenever he’s asked why I wouldn’t, what I wanted out of all this, I never have answered him.

A trash truck rumbles by, its brakes squealing as it comes to a stop.

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