Page 69 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

Luna sighs. She wraps her arms tighter around herself as if fighting off a chill, as if the truth is cold. “Marlow isn’t letting her dance anymore, and no one eats and sleeps for free. Not here. I don’t know when he’ll try to move her. Or where or how. If you want her, you figure out what to do with her and get her away from here.”

“Can’t she find somewhere to go just for a day or two, just until I have some time—”

“She’ll stay where her habit is. They always stay, even when the obvious is staring them in the eyes.”

I force myself to nod.

“Marlow will be back this afternoon. I want her gone by then.”

God, that’s such short notice.

“Okay,” I force myself to say. “I’ll make it happen.” I glance over my shoulder at Elijah, whose eyes have not left the two of us. “But not right now. Later. I didn’t know he would be with me. You might have to move her for me, if I can’t get away.”

Luna nods.

“You tell me what to do, I do it.”

I give her all the cash in my purse—which isn’t much, most of Ren’s business is run on credit card, and that trickles down to me in plastic instead of bills. “In case you need to get her in a car or…well, anything that might come up,” I say.

Luna gives me a brief hug.

“I knew, even back then, you were the type of girl to come back, if you could. Come back pissed off with a bank account,” she says and laughs.

“Hell hath no fury like a pregnant girl made to sleep on a one-inch mattress topper,” I agree. Luna sees me off, her gaze lingering on Elijah as he wrangles me into the car. He seems pissed off, gestures heavy, as he piles into the driver’s seat with an angry huff.

“What the hell was that, Nadia?” he demands.

“Old friends catching up. You ever have any of those?” I ask. The mood in the car has shifted now, his frustration palpable. He levels a dark glare at me.

“Those people aren’t your friends.”

“No, you’re right. They’re really the closest thing I have to family besides Harper. Courtesy of someone. What do you care?” I finally ask, annoyed.

Elijah keeps his eyes on the road again, and this time, it’s not because our reunion is awkward and uncertain. He’s angry. I know he’s angry because he has the same tiny line between his eyebrows that Ren gets when he’s holding back some bitter remark.

“Marlow is a business associate of ours. You don’t need to be interfering in our business any more than you already have. If he finds out—”

“Who cares?!” I practically yell. Elijah jumps at my frustrated outburst. Granted, I had the first half of this argument with Ren, so maybe it’s not fair to pick it up with the brother who has no idea why I’m about to pop off if I hear one more person say how my uncle is suddenly untouchable. I grew up hearing exactly how much of a nobody Uncle Marlow was. He was an afterthought, a footnote in my family. I’m shocked no one killed him for sport, except like a sloth, he just wasn’t worth the time and effort for anyone to try and kill.

“Marlow deserves to rot, and he’s not going to lift a finger to a fully established family unless he wants it cut off! He can’t. Whyare you and Ren both dead set on protecting him? Do you think he’s going to sic his strippers on you? Are you afraid of women in stiletto heels—because, take it from me, most of them can’t run very fast—”

“Nadia,” Elijah cuts me off, giving me a look. The stare lingers. I feel it seeping in through my anger, getting underneath it and pulling up the roots. He grins to himself, a crooked smirk. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve heard you really sound like yourself since you moved in.”

The observation catches me off guard.

An angry blush creeps up my neck. “Bitching is my default setting,” I sigh, leaning back into the seat. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you. I’m not even that mad at Ren. Not as mad as I should be. I guess I just…don’t get it.”

“…It’s personal, for me,” Elijah finally admits. He won’t look at me again, his shoulders bunched up like a cat confronted with a mirror. “I don’t care about Marlow as a person. But his business—” He finally sighs, “Someone at his business—”

It’s hard to follow along when he refuses to speak in full sentences, but I’m getting the idea.

“Wait. One of his girls?”

His jaw ticks.

“Don’t call them that,” he mutters under his breath.

I feel like I’m about to slip right out of my seatbelt and onto the floorboard.

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