Page 93 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

“Ma’am,” I hear Marco say, his hand on my shoulder. “…You really shouldn’t stay out here longer than necessary.”

I almost break down in laughter.

As if anything would happen tome.

27

Ren

Harper gives me a firm scolding as I try to figure out the logistics of wrangling all that hair into a tiny, stretchy band no bigger than her own hand. In plain, simple language Harper spells out everything I am doing wrong. Not with her hair—she’s letting me suffer with that conundrum—but for “being mean, and yelling, and hitting people.”

I am threatened with a time-out.

As I’m smoothing out her damp hair, I consider that I already am in a time-out. Nadia has made sure of that.

How do you explain to a child that you are not just obligated, but compelled, to keep them safe? Too not just protect them, but seek vengeance for them? To destroy anyone…anyone. I focus on twisting the band around again, use the distraction to keep my hands busy, before they can do more violence.

I wish my world abided by the rules Harper is laying out. I really do.

Nadia comes back in. She gives me a look, but she doesn’t seem angry anymore. Whatever she learned from Elijah, it was enough to convince her that I am not entirely in the wrong.

“Get your coat, Harper,” she says. “We can’t be out long.”

“You’re going somewhere? She should be inbed.”

Nadia’s voice lowers as Harper rushes to her closet. “Well, when my options were either stay here and let her listen to a murder or take her outside, I had to make a decision—” Her eyes wander to the girl who is singing to herself in a trilling voice. “—Besides, she has so much energy, she’s going stir-crazy.”

I still don’t like it.

“You’ll need to take security—”

“We will.”

I wonder if she’s leaving. Some psychotic, knee-jerk fear makes me want to run to the door and lock it and forbid them from going anywhere. I have to fight my own instincts.

“Are you coming with us?” Harper asks me.

“Not this time.”

Her expression falls.

“Why not?”

I fight my own heavy breath, and for the first time, I clock the way I feel.

Exhausted.

As for Harper’s miraculous rebound, I don’t share it. I feel worn down all over. Inside. My brother has betrayed me, my world is on the verge of collapse, and I have the hardest choices still looming ahead of me. I’m simply tired.

“I don’t feel up to it,” I admit.

“Oh, well, let’s stay here then,” Harper decides on a whim as she drags me toward her bed.

I dig my heels in—I have too much to do, too much to worry about—but she offers me her fluffiest pillow. I slip off my shoes. Harper pesters Nadia into the bed the same way, and suddenly, we are all curled up together, Harper snuggled up between us.

If there was any hope of a nap, it’s out the window. Harper chatters on, full of energy, until Nadia and I are grinning at each other over her head. I decide to close my eyes and savor the moment. Just a moment like this, with both of them.

Time becomes meaningless, when a sudden silence falls over the room. Harper, the most energetic of us all, has suddenly fallen asleep between us, talked herself out just like that. I glance down at her, run my fingers over the soft, taut shell of her hair. I don’t think I did such a bad job.

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