Page 30 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

“Because it isn’t a real question,” she says, cradling her hand like I’ve hurt it.

“Of course it is.”

“Oh, sure. I want to go to a show, and a six-course dinner, and a club, with a new outfit for each.”

“Alright.”

She turns to face me so fast, I think she might actually hit me. I don’t flinch. I’m bigger, used to pain, and more importantly, angrier than Nadia can ever be. Even if she swung at me, I wouldn’t feel a damn thing. But she doesn’t hit me with anything except an exasperated glare, like I’m taunting her or insulting her. She’s like a wounded animal. Everything I do, she regards with suspicion.

I know what kind of man I am, and it isn’t good.

But I also know what kind of man I’m not.

“I don’t want to do anything,” she finally mutters, turning away from me when I don’t flinch.

God, she hates me.

We’ve drawn close to the front of the line. I hold out my credit card, dangling it like a counterpoint in our silent argument. She swallows her anger as she takes it, her expression saying all the things her mouth won’t. She walks Harper down to the carousel, then comes back to stand with me at the exit gate.

“What’s the point of a carousel you can barely see your child riding?” I ask, the sun glinting into my eyes from the enclosed ride.

“It looks better at night,” she mutters. Muffled music drones from inside the ride. There are a lot of people here, and even in the spring, the weather feels uncomfortably warm for the season.

“…You said you were going to marry me as a punishment,” she finally says, quietly, under the chatter of the crowd and squeals of the children around us. “Is all of this part of my punishment somehow?”

“Do you want me to be here?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer—but she doesn’t have to. I already know what the answer is.

“Then it’s a punishment. It’s all punishment.”

She shakes her head, her jaw tight, arms crossed. She won’t let me see her face again as we wait, the minutes passing as the ride goes on and on, around and around.

Harper comes out of the ride, looking around for us as parents and children swarm together. Nadia steps forward to get her, but I whistle around my fingers, sharp and piercing. It draws eyes—but more importantly, draws Harper’s, and she smiles at me and comes running, rushing right past her mother.

“Again?” she asks and throws her arms around my legs.

Those big eyes look up at me, full of hope and excitement for something sosimple.

“Again.”

I do a double-take as I catch Nadia’s expression out of the corner of my eye. She’s trying to be discreet about wiping off her cheeks, trying to hide the tears. I don’t know what they’re from. Anger. Frustration. Despair. I pretend not to notice.

I take Harper to the back of the line, and this time, Harper asks me to ride with her. Nadia doesn’t say a word.

11

Nadia

Harper spends the day playing, a full-force little maniac getting anything she wants, anything she sets her eyes on. With a six-year-old calling the shots, we roam the city I’ve lived in my whole life like a bunch of tourists, following Harper wherever her heart and imagination take her. She hasn’t yet thought to ask for anything outrageous—God only knows how far Ren is willing to take this bit.

Still, I’ve never seen her happier. It breaks my heart as much as it makes me happy for her. Ren is like her own personal toy box. No matter how cold and emotionless he acts, his credit card keeps swiping. She interprets it as love. I interpret it as hate.

Look at everything I can do for her that you couldn’t.

He offers to do the same for me, but I refuse. On one hand, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. But on the other…he’salready doing it. What would I ask for except for Harper to get to live like this? Happy and excited and thriving.

I smile and play along whenever she looks at me, no matter how much it hurts to know the truth about Ren Caruso and what he is. For her, he can be a bank account. An all-access pass to the life she deserves. He’s my captor, but he’s her key. That’s a fair trade.

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