Page 76 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

“If the terms haven’t changed, neither has my answer. Learn how to do business before you waste my time.”

Atlas sniffles on the line for a moment.

“That’s a shame, Ren. Let’s say you hand over everything to Dellucci. And hell, let’s say you take some cash out, whatever you can get tonight, just a little something to tide you over for a few years while you get settled in, and neither you nor I ever mention it to anybody. You’re playing with Big Dog Sal, I bet he might even throw you a bone you could live with comfortably—”

How the hell does he know that I’ve taken a meeting with Sal?

“So, the offer hasn’t changed.”

“…No,” he finally admits. “It’s all or nothing, and I’m not just talking about money. You can walk away from this with the whole world, your wife and your kid, or you can stay in the game. And die there.” His voice drops and turns almost gentle. “It’s not a hard choice, kid.”

My arm burns. Usually, it aches. Sometimes, the pain hits like lightning, a big bolt, cracking right down to the bone that fades as fast as it comes. But now, it burns.Burns. Like it’s still caught in the fire and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it. I grind my teeth. I try to answer him, but the words catch in my throat. If I let them out, they might come out as a scream. I holdmy own wrist with my other hand, not sure what to do. My vision doubles from the intensity of it. I sag against the desk.

When Atlas doesn’t get an answer, he continues, his voice far away. I dropped the phone onto the desk.

“If you’re having a come-to-Jesus moment, Ren, I don’t want to interrupt. But I’ll just say this: There’s no shame in it. Nobody will think less of you.”

I’ve never given a damn about what anybody’s thought about me.

“Tell Dellucci I’ll see him tomorrow,” I rasp.

I end the call and throw the phone across the room as if it’s the thing causing the roaring pain eating up my arm. I collapse into the chair, bent over my own limb, wishing I could chop it off right here and now.

I was in pain every day until the day I got Nadia back.

Maybe my brain has a fucked-up way of telling me what I need.

And maybe, deep down in my nerves and muscle and DNA, I think that I just made the wrong choice. The selfish choice.

22

Nadia

I gather my bridal gown into my arms and carry it up the stairs to its final resting place: interred in a closet. It was a somber affair, taking it all off. Isn’t your husband supposed to do that? Aren’t you supposed to smack him upside the head for almost ripping it, and then laugh when he pins your hands and kisses you and takes it off anyway—

I shake the fantasy away before it can play out behind my eyes like a movie.

My love is no Hallmark film.

I fold the dress up carefully, draping the trim just so to try to keep the wrinkles out of it. Like I’m preserving it. Like I might ever actually wear it again for a good reason.

Ugh.

My head hurts and my heart hurts, and it’s late, but I won’t be able to sleep. Harper asked for a snack when she crashed in front of the TV.

I find Ren in the kitchen, standing at the sink. I thought he was leaving for the night. He said he had somewhere important to be. I didn’t hear the details. All I heard is that I will be spending the first night of my marriage in an empty bed.

But he’s still here.

His head is bowed, shoulders shaking. He doesn’t hear me step up behind him, water sloshing loudly into the sink. His glove sits on the kitchen counter, and he holds his bad hand under the heavy stream. The veins in his neck stand against the skin. As I approach the counter, I get a good look at him. His expression is so tight, he looks like he might throw up.

“Ren?”

He jumps like I’ve shot him, his breathing coming out in an angry hiss.

“What?” he forces out through gritted teeth.

“What’s wrong?”

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