Page 99 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

The car stops as we pull into a low garage, and my gaze slides into focus. The door closes behind us. We are in a nondescript house somewhere on Long Island. Pricey, considering the built-in, bottom-level garage and the strip of green I saw out front pretending to be a front yard.

“Out,” the man with the gun barks.

I go, dragging my feet, sliding my hands into my pockets. He orders me to keep them where he can see them, and with exasperation, I slide them back out. His pulse is flickering in his temple. For being the man with the gun, he sure is sweating.

I picture Atlas’s wide hand brushing the top of Harper’s hair. Her big, curious eyes as she smiled up at him. “What’s your favorite animal?”

Atlas is coming around the car just as I’m throwing myself into his buddy, ramming him back up against the car. The gun doesn’t go off, but it stays wedged in his fingers, as we grapple and wrestle for it. I sink my teeth into a man’s throat just like my favorite animal, and he screams like a dying thing out on the hot savannah.

I taste blood.

Atlas sweeps in behind me before I can get the upper hand, before I can wrest the gun away. I find myself on my knees for a moment, not sure how I got there. I watch, curious, as white lights dance in and out of my vision.

Someone whacks me hard over the head. The second time he hits me, the ground flies up to meet me.

32

Nadia

Nadia,

There are three things in this suitcase: The first is enough money to get you out of New York and settled in somewhere quickly; for the in-between period before you finally settle in somewhere, somewhere with gates and good schools.

The second thing in this suitcase is a packet of information I’ve gathered over the years pertaining to your family. You asked me once to tell you the whole story of what I did to them, but the truth is, I am not as bad a man as you think I am, nor as good of a don as I should be.

I killed your father because he deserved it, and I relished it. I will never apologize for that. I will never regret it. As for the rest, your brother came after me. I’m not sorry for that, but it is why it happened, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t makehim pay for that choice. I didn’t seek him out, but I don’t know that it matters. I killed him, too. I hadn’t planned on it, but I did it anyway. You can think about that whatever you will.

Your mother—she wouldn’t give you up. No matter how much I threatened her, no matter what I tried. She was loyal to you until the end, Nadia. You and she have very similar eyes. Did you ever notice? I did. When it came down to it, when it came time to break bone or pull the trigger, I couldn’t do it. I let her go. I told myself it was a strategic decision, but the truth is, it was a weak one. I didn’t have it in me.

I have spent the last several weeks trying to find her. I watched her movements abroad for years, thinking eventually she would lead me to you. Strategic, remember? It felt like a very good excuse, baiting the trap. Eventually, even I lost her. These documents contain everything I know about her last-known whereabouts, her associates, addresses, and her government information as registered by Italy.

I don’t know if she’s still alive. If you’re angry at me for not telling you, I didn’t because I didn’t want to give you that hope only for you to lose her all over again. I tried very hard to find her these past few weeks, Nadia. I hope, maybe, I have uncovered something that will lead you to her. If it doesn’t, then I wasted a lot of time I should have spent with you.

The third thing contained in this suitcase is an apology. I don’t think there’s enough paper here to contain it all in words, so I’ll have to get it to you in deeds.

In exactly one week—maybe sooner—you will inherit the sum of my estate. The immediate sum will enter a bank account that only you have access to. I have given you the informationsomewhere safe, in the event someone opens this letter before you do.

I’m not sorry for hunting you down. I’m not sorry for marrying you. I don’t have that kind of remorse. If I’m sorry for anything, it’s for being the sort of man you had to run from rather than toward. That I still am that man.

I love you, and I have always loved you.

Your husband,

Ren

I stare at the letter for a long time. My hands move methodically through thick packets of information—some in foreign languages I am too rusty at to read.

I read it again.

And then again, and again.

Ren has given me something to run toward instead of run from. My mother might be alive. Ren’s resources might help me find her. And the money—

A fresh start.

I glance up, looking at Harper’s turned back. She could still have it all. A big house, and a nice school, and new, not consignment shop clothes.

But I don’t think any of those are what she wants.

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