Page 57 of Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss

One piece for loneliness.

One piece for betrayal.

They keep adding up, and if I put them together, I bet it would look like a fractured statue barely able to maintain its form.

I wipe my cheeks on my shirt by rubbing it against my shoulder. I pour the shards of glass into the trash before dropping the dustpan on the ground and sweeping again.

I’m not sure how much time I spend here. I get lost, cleaning like I shouldn’t because it’s going to be a mess again tomorrow, but I need to take my mind off everything. I could close the bakery permanently. I could live off my dad’s money and never have another worry again.

Even the thought of never baking again has me feeling sad. Baking is the one thing besides my children that makes me happy. It got me through horrible times when I was a brand-new mom and on the brink of losing my sanity because I had two newborns who cried at the same time.

They would sleep, and I couldn’t, so I baked, and it calmed me mentally and emotionally. I finally had something for myself, something that didn’t involve my kids.

I know. That sounds terrible, but at the time, there was a brief moment when I hated them. I was depressed. I sobbed into my pillow every night. I never wanted to get out of bed when they cried for me.

If they cried. I cried. I didn’t know how to be a mom. I wanted to give up. I hated that I felt like my kids took something from me.

Even when I thought I hated them, I loved them too. It was a sick, twisted emotion to feel, but I decided to do something that didn’t center around the twins.

And that’s how I found baking. I found something to doformyself. It healed me, and eventually, my babies healed me too. My mental state got better. I was happier. It was then I determined I never needed anyone but myself and the twins.

My phone buzzes, pulling me from my depressing thoughts. It’s the alarm to go pick up Oliver and Olivia from daycare. Have I been cleaning for that long? Where did the time go?

I roll my head over my shoulders, stretch my neck and lean the broom against the wall. My phone buzzes again, and this time, it’s from a number I don’t recognize.

“Hello?” I answer, walking out of the bakery with my keys in hand.

“I wanted to let you know I’m on my way to pick up Olivia and Oliver, Beautiful Girl.”

“How did you know they needed to be picked up right now?” I ask.

“I looked at your calendar on your phone and sent a copy to myself.”

“That’s a big invasion of privacy, Luca. I could have had pictures or something I didn’t want you to see.”

He grumbles on the other end of the line, and I grin. “Do you have pictures you don’t want me to see?”

I don’t, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I had pictures from someone else I didn’t want you to see either.”

This time, a displeased growl causes static to build over the connection. “The only fucking pictures you’ll be seeing are ones of me.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m on dating apps. Maybe I’m having hot cyber-sex. You don’t know.”

Silence.

I pull the phone away to look at the screen. “Luca?”

“I’ll see you in a half hour.” He hangs up the phone, and I gulp, wondering what monster I have created.

I wonder what awaits me when I see him. With a mischievous smirk, I put my phone in my pocket and lock the door to the bakery. Not that anyone would break in right now since it looks like crap, and there is no money in the cash register since I took it out earlier. I dig into my jacket pocket for my apartment keys which have way too many key chains on them.

I have a Las Vegas key chain, and I’ve never been. I want to go, but when will I ever have time? Then there’s the heavy pepper spray can I keep attached to it as well, which weighs it down more than everything else.

A hand wraps around my mouth, and I’m pulled against a hard body. “You think you’d be left alone, bitch?” The voice is distorted, and I’m dragged away from the entrance to my apartment. I kick and try to scream, but his hold on me is too tight. I whimper, clawing at his forearms, and he takes a turn around the corner of the building. My boots dig into the grass and dirt, leaving a trail in hopes that someone will find me.

I think of Oliver and Olivia. Who will they have? No one knows Luca is the father. I didn’t put him on their birth certificates because I never thought I’d see him again. If I survive this, that’s the first thing I’m doing.

The mugger, or whoever he is, lets me go when we get to the woods, and I try to make a run for it, but he snags me by the back of the neck and shoves me against a tree. The bark scratches against my cheek, and the slick soil has me losing traction.

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