Page 66 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

“Nadia. The dinner couldn’t have gone better.”

She blinks at me.

“…Am I behind on my fine dining etiquette?”

“I needed them to get to know you, Nadia. You and Harper. The more…real you seem to them, the better off you’ll be. A perfect dinner with perfect manners and polite conversation; the Moris probably sit at a dinner like that three times a week. A dinner like the one they had tonight? Fuck, at least they’ll remember you.”

I draw her gaze to me, make her look me in the eyes.

“No one is coming to my rescue in this mess, Nadia. If someone intervenes, it’s going to be for you and for her.”

19

Nadia

U serious about helping Sincere, Nadie?? Need 2 do it soon!!

That is the text I wake up to after the maybe-not-totally-disastrous dinner. I check the timestamp on the message: 3:04 a.m. I drop my head back onto the pillow and muffle a groan. Stripper hours are brutal.

Luna wouldn’t ask for anything if it wasn’t dire—there are few too many years between us to reach out over small favors—but I’ve been dealing with my own bullshit. Government name: Ren Caruso. His moods are like a summer wind, blustery and wild, and always bringing a thunder cloud on the horizon. But he can be warm, too.

I lie in bed for a long time, studying the ceiling, thinking about my place here. Last night still tingles on my skin. I run my handover my belly, fingertips tracing the satisfied buzz that being with Ren has left behind. He laughed with me for a few minutes. Grinned that sweet, boyish grin. Until he remembered—because eventually, we always remember.

Our relationship swings back and forth like a pendulum, one emotion to the other. Good to bad, bad to good. But he hasn’t been overbearing or demanding, except for one little order that he told me last night: I’m not allowed to leave the house alone, which really puts a kink in my “Save Sincere” plan.

I glance at the phone again.

I am serious about helping Sincere. I want to.

I don’t have many left when it comes to relatives, and in some twisted way, those dancers are my family. What’s left of it. I don’t want to lose someone else. Not if I can finally,finallydo something about it.

I get ready in my empty bedroom, stewing over an easy plan.

Ren won’t go into detail as to why I can’t go out, but for once, I think I have a better perspective on him. I don’t think it’s him being a control freak and trying to punish me for existing. Finally, after weeks of being here, I can admit that this isn’t his goal. It just isn’t safe out there. If Dellucci can catch me out in the street, then he avoids getting the rest of the city involved in our little spat. Something has Ren spooked, and he isn’t taking chances anymore.

An armed guard detail escorts Harper to and from school every day. She’s happily oblivious. They drive her up to the front door, and they pick her up like clockwork at 3 p.m., which gives meuntil the afternoon to figure out what I’m going to do and how I’m going to do it.

Ren still isn’t interested in hearing another word about Marlow. I knock on his office door, but he doesn’t answer. It’s probably for the best. He has too much on his plate right now.

I am not completely forbidden from leaving the house, but I do have to have an escort. The driver from that first night—Ren’s personal driver—has been assigned to me now. Marco suits the job. I’ve always thought being a bodyguard is a little bit like modeling. If you don’t have the right look, it doesn’t matter if you have the skills. But Marco is big and burly, with cropped, military-cut hair, swept eyebrows, and wind-bitten skin.

I find him downstairs, sitting around with a few more of Elijah’s security men, gossiping in low, gruff tones and barking laughter. Elijah sits among them, looking out of place in his pale suit and tie. The voices die off as I enter the room.

Marco’s eyes pull away from his phone. In the other hand, he clutches a tumbler filled with something that has the consistency of gruel. At the sight of me, he seems to forget both of them.

“Miss Nadia,” he says.

“I need to go out somewhere. Do you mind?” I ask him. His grin splits in half.

“What I’m here for,” he agrees, good-naturedly.

“Where do you need to go?” Elijah interrupts us, flinty eyes peering up over the edge of his tablet, his face washed in white. Ihesitate. I haven’t seen him since the night before last, when he had a blade against his throat and hatred in his eyes. I swallow.

“I have a few errands to run.”

“So, have someone run them. You don’t have to run errands yourself anymore.”

“This one I do, Marco,” I say, trying to throw my weight around. I hear Elijah stand up, his footsteps following as I keep moving. I drag my bag onto my shoulder, keep my eyes forward.Don’t look back.

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