Page 52 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

“You should take Applesauce, so you’re not by yourself,” Harper insists sweetly.

She’s six and she has more emotional awareness than a grown man. Incredible.

“I’ll take him with me, and I’ll see you in a little bit,” I tell her, “Be good for Ren. Ordon’t,” I add, quieter, as I step by him. I hope she acts up, misbehaves, and runswildfor him. Really, she’s never been a bad kid, but she’s still a kid. They all come pre-loaded with outbursts and tantrums and the most awful, suicidal decision-making process you’ve ever seen. So, if Ren wants to prove himself for a measly hour, I hope she makes the bastard work for it.

Of all the times I might have begged for a babysitter, for a break, for someone to come in and give me a whole hour all to myself—now, I don’t know what to do with it. At least not here, surrounded by other families having a good time and pushing strollers.

I glance back over my shoulder and see Harper and Ren walk out of sight together, her feet skipping.

I look down at Applesauce’s crooked eyes and sigh.

16

Ren

Harper and I sit down at a shaded table under the sprawling branches of a red maple, taking a corner amid the chaos surrounding the food stand. Harper is overjoyed by a lackluster lunch. Her malformed chicken nuggets are supposedly shaped like animals; they don’t look like any animals I’ve ever seen.

She interrogates me while she eats, with the same ferocity that her mother sometimes does. Important, soul-searching questions, like what my favorite animal is. I’ve not given it any serious thought in the last decade. I tell her I don’t have one. This is the only wrong answer.

“Pick one for me,” I tell her.

“I can’t just pick for you!” she exclaims, like I’ve asked her to commit war crimes.

“Why not? You know all the animals. I don’t. You pick.”

She giggles.

“Your favorite animal should be like you,” she says, dispensing wisdom. I watch her as she thinks, her expressions exaggerated. It reminds me of Nadia, the way she could convey a whole paragraph of text with a single look.

Nadia keeps questioning my motivations, but I don’t really understand why. This little girl is half her. That’s enough. She’s a representation of everything that could have been for us. Whatshouldhave been. The future that wasn’t. But she’s still here, and I have a duty to take care of her.

Men who shirk their obligations to their family, who refuse or abuse their role as protector and provider—I can’t fucking stand them. Those who move into my territory, they either know it, or they learn fast. I have never been like the other families who mindlessly snatch up territory and business wherever they could get it, sprawling out just for the sake of lining their own wallet and stroking their own dick. I take care of what I have; I rule it with an iron fist. If I’m spread too thin, it’s out of my control. I may be a wildcard where the other families are concerned, but people like the way I do things. Sometimes, the old-school way is the best. When you could deal with bullshit with nothing more than a tall tree and a strong rope, or a quick-drying pair of heavy shoes.

As Harper dwells over what animal she should choose for me, I think my motivations are quite clear. Harper deserves to be taken care of because she’s a child. She deserves to be taken care ofby mebecause she is under my roof and loved by my wife. She may not be mine. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t my responsibility.

She taps her lip, giggling, trying to think. I’m at least ninety percent sure it’s going to be a tiger because we just saw a tiger, and she can’t think about anything else.

“Your favorite animal is a tiger,” she graciously decrees.

A shadow falls over her. A man strides up to the table, dressed in a dark denim jacket, his hands full of rings and swirling tattoos. I stand, instincts bristling. I know the type of man he is just by his look, by the way he meets my gaze—heknowsme.

“Caruso,” he says, flashing a bright smile surrounded by dark stubble. “No need to get up.”

He sits down in the seat next to Harper.

“Get away from that girl before I shoot you on the spot.”

I’ve already drawn my gun. It’s just under the edge of the table, away from the eyes and cameras around us, the barrel pointed at him under the table. He lays his hands out flat on the table, palms up.

“No need for that, son. Dellucci sent me to talk. Believe me. If he sent me to do anything else, you wouldn’t see me coming.” Slowly, with careful motions, he holds out a hand. “Atlas Reicher.”

I ignore the offer to shake.

Harper’s big eyes stare up at him, confused by the sudden interruption, but oblivious and fearless as she looks him over.

“What’s your favorite animal?” she asks.

“A snake,” I answer for him. Atlas smiles.

---