Page 81 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

“Alright, boys, let’s take it easy now,” Santos whistles, “We can all put our dicks on the table when we’ve handled our primary business. Mrs. Mori has a point. We’re here to stop citywide bloodshed if we can, not take on everybody’s personal grievances. It’s not a damn pity party, Marlow.”

“You think I want pity? I want some damn justice. Not for me, hell, that ship has long sailed. But if I don’t get a proper vote in this, I should at least get a voice,” Marlow insists, and that so-called voice is getting louder and more belligerent by the minute. “But fine. I’m just here to stand with Jon. Back up what he’s saying, make sure we all understand what the right thing is.”

My hand curls into a fist.

Nadia was right. I should have killed him after all.

“Jon, go ahead. State your case. Start wherever you see fit.”

Dellucci puts out his cigar on the heel of his leathery palm and leans forward to speak. He addresses the room, but he looks only at me.

“Nadia Petrone came to me when she was at a low point. Had a new baby. Sick little thing. Real sad, you know. Pulled at my heartstrings with that whole sob story. So I said, alright, Nadia, I’ll help you. I’ll risk my neck, and I’ll help you, ‘cause God knows if the Carusos ever find out that you were within my reach, they’ll come baying for blood. I knew that Ren was after her—but what can I say? I got a soft heart in here,” he says, thumping his big chest. “So I give her a little money, just a couple of grand. I say, ‘Don’t worry about it—you take care of the little one.’

“But a few months later…she comes back. Now, I’m not a charity, and it’s a little more than just a couple of grand she’s asking for. And she’s still just a kid, and she has a kid, and it’s a whole fucking mess. She swears to me she’ll pay it off within six months, no problem. I let her take the money. Six months comes and goes. She doesn’t have it. Hell, she doesn’t have her own money, much less mine. So, I say, alright—alright, one more time, because you’re a sweet young thing and you’ve had a hard time of it, just one more handout to get you on your feet—make good use of it.”

My fingers curl around the arms of my chair. I anchor myself to it, afraid if I don’t, I will launch myself across the room. I know for a goddamn fact this is not how Dellucci operates. Kindness is not within his vocabulary.

“The girl takes that money, and what does she use it for? She uses it to bounce around New York and try to get away from me.”

He’s twisting it all up. She was trying to get away from me, not him, not just her debts.

“She slips through the cracks, vanishes with the cash. Now, before, I wasn’t even counting interest. I told her I was, just to get some pep in her step, but I wasn’t. Now, I was charging, and the numbers—they kept going up. Inflation’s a bitch these days, ain’t it?”

Murmurs of half-amused agreement.

Like hell he wasn’t counting from the very start.

“I found her once. Sent a couple of my boys to remind her she still owes. Just a chat, nothing ugly. Even gave her an offer that woulda let her pay off some of it with work. But she says no, and off she goes just like that. Slips away for another couple years. Until a couple months ago. And this time, I sent my boy to go get her and bring her in. And he didn’t come back from that.”

The room has grown cold and quiet. My ears ring. My thoughts burn. The urge to argue rises on my tongue, to lash out at every ridiculous point he’s made.

Funny how he didn’t mention what kind of work he offered her.

I would’ve paid Dellucci ten times whatever pitiful loan he gave Nadia if he had respected my family and our losses and turned her over to us. That’s how it should have been done from the very start. It was his own stupidity that caused this, his own lack of respect that put his loan in the red and cost him his son.

And Nadia would have never needed Dellucci’s money if Marlow himself hadn’t taken her inheritance. The idiots cheated themselves by cheating the girl.

Jon goes on about his son. His accomplishments. His “ingenuity.” The bright, promising future that Nadia snuffed out like blowing out a candle.

Arlo Dellucci was a man with more muscle than brains, a short temper, and a gambling problem. Not just a habit, a problem. He wasn’t any fucking good at it. Killing him was probably a positive for the Dellucci family net worth. They will recoup the losses he took on Nadia’s unpaid debts in no time.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it until it starts to buzz over and over with an incoming call. I move to shut the damn thing off, when I see the waiting text from Nadia—

Harper’s being taken to the hospital

I’m omw there. Can you answer

Ren

The room looks to me. I’m not sure why until I realize that I’ve stood up and tossed my chair aside.

“I have to go—” I hear myself say, avoiding eye contact.

Salvatore stands and so does Elijah. Ripples of concern and confusion spread through the room.

“You aren’t going to make your case—?” Santos calls out.

“Elijah will make it for me.” I keep moving, pushing past the confusion. “I have to go,” I hear myself repeat, as if someone else is puppeteering my voice. “My daughter; she’s in the hospital—”

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