Page 149 of Cruelest Contract
“Maybe you could help,” Cecilia says to Gabe. “You were always really good with computers. You might be able to figure out what’s wrong with the surveillance system.”
Gabe’s tone is apologetic. “I haven’t really kept up with my tech skills, Cici. I doubt I’d be of any help but I can try if you want.”
Fuck no to that too.
Gabriel isn’t nearly as much of a risk as Angelo but he defers to his older brother too often and can’t be trusted to go poking around in our network. I’d hate to be in the position where I need to deal with Cecilia’s twin because he’s done something foolish and fucked us over. If I decide to give Gabe something to do it’ll be far away from here and with minimal impact when he screws it up.
“We’ve got it under control,” I say.
Too bad Angelo’s not finished monopolizing the conversation in the most obnoxious manner possible.
“Know what?” Angelo says. “Maybe this is your Abe Lincoln moment.”
Tye, sitting directly across from him, says, “What the hell did Abe Lincoln do?”
“You know the story.” Angelo waves his fork for emphasis. “Like when Abe Lincoln crossed the Atlantic in a rowboat with all his troops while the English were busy eating Christmas dinner.”
“It was the fucking Delaware River,” Getty says with a scowl. “And it was George Washington.”
“Oh, he was there too, huh?” Angelo says.
I swear, sometimes it’s tough to tell whether he’s fucking with us or if he’s truly this stupid.
“Anyhow,” Angelo says while helping himself to half the tray of chicken parmigiana, “all those fat English generals were busy eating crumpets and shit they didn’t even notice a bunch of guys rolling up in rowboats.”
“What the fuck are crumpets?” Fort wants to know.
“They’re like fucking potato chips or whatever,” Angelo says, annoyed at having his history lesson interrupted. “So the English motherfuckers were all food drunk and totally caught by surprise.”
“We’re not English motherfuckers,” Tye points out. “We’re Italian motherfuckers.”
“Are you hinting we might get caught by surprise?” I ask Angelo.
He swallows an entire glass of red wine before answering. “You never know,” he says with a shrug. “History repeats.”
He’s just talking out of his ass. I discreetly check the gun holstered at my side just in case. The next time Gabriel comes to visit his sister he’ll need to leave the shitty older brother at home. I’m maxed out on my tolerance for Angelo Grimaldi.
Cecilia shifts in her chair and clutches her belly with a grimace. All other concerns fly right out of my head.
“What’s wrong?” I put my hands on her, my heart instantly in my throat.
But she relaxes and laughs. “Nothing. The tenants are getting a little aggressive, that’s all.”
She rubs her swollen stomach and breathes deeply, in and out. The situation appears to be under control. Babies do kick, right? She’s got two of them in there.
I struggle to name all the emotions coursing through me. They just keep piling up. I feel helpless. Humbled. Dazed. And so grateful I can hardly breathe.
Fuck, I love this girl. She owns me. If she gives me another chance to prove myself I’ll work every day to be better than I have been.
Cecilia looks up and confusion swirls in her eyes when she sees how I’m staring like a lovesick fool. “Here,” she says and places my palm on her belly. “They’re just active. Everything is fine.”
She misunderstands me. She thinks my only concern is for the pregnancy. Of course this is a constant worry. But there’s so much more running through my mind and I need to say it all to her.
Gabe leans over to watch his sister and I see real concern on his face. It makes me dislike the guy a little less.
A thump beneath my palm is quickly followed by another one. Our sons, asserting themselves. Their mother, feeling every insistent kick, smiles down at her belly. Her hair flows long past her shoulders in glorious waves. She wears little makeup and I’ve always appreciated the natural glow of her skin with the smattering of reddish freckles that can’t be seen unless I get really close.
“Cecilia.” I speak my wife’s name like a prayer.
