Page 103 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

A woman’s voice. I breathe relief and open it. Olivia Basham surges into the apartment, knocking the door wide as my feet trip over themselves.

I have half a second to feel stupid. No New Yorker would have cared what I dropped outside my apartment. They would’ve just kept walking.

“How the hell did you find me?” I snap, the two of us walking circles around each other, like two cats about to fight but neither one of them committed.

“You think I don’t see every cent that goes in and out of this business?” Olivia sneers. “Maybe Ren never bothered paying attention to what you ran around doing all day, but I did. I always pay attention, especially where you’re concerned.”

I stare at her, still lost, my breath hitching. And what the fuck does it matter how, really? It’s not like if I convince her she shouldn’t know about this place, she’ll just turn around and leave.

“When a reoccurring monthly payment popped up for an apartment all the way out here, under Elijah’s name, the day after you and he went out on some little excursion? I made inquiries.”

I swallow. So Elijah didn’t rat me out to her. Maybe I should have made that call after all.

“Is this where you were going to fuck him?”

“…What?”

“You and Elijah, sneaking off to your own little love shack together? It wasn’t enough to have one of them. The greedy little bitch wanted two.”

“Ew,” I say, on reflex—it feels a little unfair to Elijah, and I regret it but he’s my technical-husband’s younger brother. “No, I’m not—this wasn’t for either of us—”

“It doesn’t matter now, Nadia. You don’t have to keep your lies in order or figure out what you’re going to tell Ren. All that’s over, thanks to you. I didn’t even bother telling him about this place. Knowing Ren, he might just kill me for suggesting it.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m just here to collect my last paycheck.”

“If Ren finds out, he’ll kill you anyway—”

“Oh, he’ll find out. Too little too late, as always. And if I’ve learned anything about Ren, in the years I’ve worked for him? He’s really shitty at finding people.”

She steps a little closer, eyes darting over the sparse surroundings. There’s nothing, nothing in this brand-new apartment. No knives, no frying pans. Not even a toaster to chuck at her.

“You care about him, right?” I ask. I don’t know why. Maybe I think we’ll find some common ground and go rushing off into the sunset to save Ren together. Instead, Olivia slides a box-cutter out of her sleeve and extends the tiny blade.

My mouth opens and closes. Olivia senses the silence stretching between us, the moment growing more awkward than tense as we stare at the tiny weapon. Her neck turns red. She gets angrier the longer the silence stretches.

“Look, I mean it’s—it’s notallabout the size—” I start.

“This thing can cut your fucking throat just as easily as it can cut a piece of paper, Nadia—!”

“It’s just—you work for the mob, and you don’t have a gun?”

She shrugs a shoulder, pushes a lock of that expensive dye job off her face.

“What can I say? I’m in finance.”

She calls out, whistles back toward the doorway. Like loyal lapdogs, two men step in from the hallway. My odds, which I was just starting to like, suddenly shrink to zero. They close the door behind them.

Fuck.

Olivia lunges at me. My back hits the counter as I scurry back. I duck away, but her fingers knot in my hair and jerk me hard. We wrestle to the ground, my hand around her wrist, holding the blade at bay, scratching and clawing and kicking. Even with a weapon, we fight like two high school girls, going for the hair and digging nails into skin. In the chaos, I get my fingers on her earring, and I rip that bitch clean off.

She screams as we go rolling across the floor again.

Olivia gets me under her.

I’m scratched up, but not cut. My lip tastes puffy, but Olivia’s nose is going to need some more plastic to set it right. We stare into each other’s faces, her blood peppering my chin as she gasps over me. She wipes a hand against her mouth, smearing it.

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