Page 67 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

“I need to run some errands myself. We can both go,” Elijah offers, catching up with me effortlessly. I nearly roll my eyes. I don’t know why we’re all obsessed over tall men. They’re really fucking annoying when you’re trying to walk away from them. Elijah catches up and puts a hand on my lower back, accompanying me toward the door.

“You want me to drive…?” Marco asks.

“We’ll be fine,” Elijah says, brushing him off. “I need to get better reacquainted with my future sister-in-law, after all,” he says. The guard watches me. I can hear the mental math calculating in his head, adding up just how dead he is if something happens to me. The last thing I see is the driver’s disapproving stare. But Marco doesn’t follow. He is bound to the pecking order and Elijah’s orders.

“…you really think this is a good idea, Elijah?” I mutter. I step apart from him, shrugging away from his hand and keeping my distance.

“What’s wrong?”

“The last time you spoke to me, Ren put a knife to your throat.”

Elijah scoffs, “Oh, like that was the first time he’s put a knife to my throat.”

I stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

He flashes a sympathetic grimace.

“Maybe not the best time for dark humor,” he admits. “But I know my brother. And there’s a thin red line between having a knife pressed to your throat and having a knife pulledacrossyour throat. Usually, I know how not to cross it.”

I don’t know if I believe that after what I saw last night. Ren lost it at the slightest thing. A harmless joke. Who can say what will or won’t set him off?

I thought for sure Ren had pieced together the truth about Harper. It seemed like it by the way he was acting. I came very close to blurting it out myself. Just coming clean and getting it out in the open, getting it over with. But if he can pull a knife on his own brother, what else can he do without a shred of remorse?

My stomach tingles again, as if trying very hard to make a counterpoint about all theotherthings Ren can do, too.

“It’s better if I escort you than anyone else. Ren would prefer it that way,” Elijah points out. “You might not trust me, and that’s fine, but I’m doing us both a favor. I can’t have anything happening to you, Nadia, or that knife is going in everybody, and I’m part of that demographic.”

Honestly, it’s the only good point he’s made. We fall into step, side by side as we march down into the depths of the parking garage. Elijah starts the car from a distance. When it doesn’t explode—key fobs are basically anti-mob tech—he opens my door for me.

I check my phone again, hoping for a reply from Luna. Nothing. I still don’t know if I’m too late. If those few hours of sleep are the difference between Sincere being okay or…whatever the hellnot okaymeans in this context. I hate not knowing. I have had six fucking years of uncertainty, six years of helplessness, six years of bad news about everyone I ever cared about. It’s gotten so old.

“Where are we headed, Nadia?” he asks, a little too warmly, throwing the car into gear.

“Marlow’s,” I say, like I’m the one in charge. “The Red House.”

Elijah stares at me. The car idles under us, growling low at being held stationary for so long.

“You want to go to your uncle’s strip club?”

“Want to? No. But I have someone I need to meet there. Marlow won’t be there; he never shows up before 4 p.m.”

I wave it off, as if it’s all quite natural. And it is. It should be.

Elijah stares ahead for a long moment, pressing his lips together in a tight, uncertain line. I see the family resemblance for a moment, the expression deep in his eyes.

“What are you doing, Nadia?” he asks.

“What areyoudoing?” I counter, “Offering to drive me around suddenly? Like we’re best friends. Like you don’t have some motive.”

“Of course I have a motive,” Elijah sighs, frustrated. His foot hits the gas and swerves us into the tight street. “My motive is to look out for my brother the same way I always have. You’ve seen the way he is. Those of us who are around him, who are…impacted by him. We have to stick together.”

“What, is this a support group—”

Elijah shakes his head, frustrated.

“Look, it’s hard enough being his brother and his underboss, alright? It’s not easy for me, and he respects me. I’m sure it’s only a sliver of what he puts you through on the daily.”

I stare out at the window, wondering if Elijah really is just looking out for his brother or if there’s something else driving him.

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