Page 80 of Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss

“You stupid bitch!” Taylor shouts, slamming his foot into my stomach.

I hold onto it, tears spilling down my cheeks. There’s no way the baby can survive a hit like that. I’m going to miscarry. I press my forehead against the floor and try to breathe.

In through the nose and out through the mouth.

“Just tell us! Or I swear to God, I’m going to go hunt your kids down and cut their throats right in front of you.” Taylor lifts me up, staring at me with such hatred, and I nod.

“Outside. In the greenhouse. In the pots,” I wheeze.

“You better not be lying to us.”

“Why would I do that?” I cough, tasting blood. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“You’re smart, too,” Luca’s brother sighs. “I like that. Maybe I’ll keep you. We’ll get rid of the brats, but maybe you can be all mine.”

“If you fucking touch them!” I launch myself at him, and he slaps me again. I fly to the right, landing on the floor.

“What are you going to do?” Luca’s brother straddles me, flipping me to my back as he holds the tip of the knife against my heart. “You can’t beat me, sweetheart.”

A gunshot pierces the space, and my ears ring since we are in an enclosed space. I hold my head between my hands and roll over. Taylor falls to his knees, his mouth open, and his eyes dart around as if he is wondering what happened before he falls over. Dead.

Blood coats the floor, pooling like a river under him, and it slowly drifts its way toward me.

“Oh, my God.” I scurry away until my back hits the wall.

Luca comes into view, a gun in his hand, and he aims it at his brother next.

“Don’t you fucking touch her, Xavier, or you’ll be lying on the floor right next to him.”

“There’s more where he came from,” Xavier says, slicing my arm with the knife.

I cry out, holding my hand over my wound. Blood drips through my fingers, and Luca tackles Xavier to the ground. The knife falls from Xavier, sliding across the floor, and disappears under the couch. The gun fires again as it leaves Luca’s hand, shattering the sliding glass door.

Luca manages to get on top of Xavier, punching him in the face.

I take that chance and scoot away, dragging myself across the floor to get the knife. That’s when I see the twins at the very end of the hall. They are holding each other and crying.

They take a step forward, and I hold up my hand, shaking my head. My eyes fill with tears when I think of anything happening to them. They can’t take another step.

I cover my face to show our signal to hide, and they nod, running to a different area of the house. I sigh in relief when they are away and out of sight, but the worry is still there. I have to fight for my kids and for Luca.

He wouldn’t have come this way to save me if he only wanted the money, right?

I have to listen to my instincts. Luca would never do that to me. He loves me. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have come. He doesn’t need money; if he does, I’ll give it to him to save my life and my kids’ lives.

Pressing my cheek against the ground, I look under the couch and hold back a cry of pain as I reach for the knife. I can barely reach it. Luca and Xavier continue to fight, slamming against the couch, which hits my wounded shoulder. A stinging pain sears through my arm as I stretch, and I can feel the edge of the blade.

I finally grab it, and the sharp edge cuts into the skin of my palm. Finally, I wrap my fingers around it. Standing, I look down and notice the entire blade covered in my blood. It’s slick and warm. I grip the handle and look up, noticing Xavier has the upper hand. He has his hands wrapped around Luca’s throat.

Luca’s face is turning red, and he’s trying to gauge Xavier’s eyes out.

I don’t know what gets into me, but I think of everything between Luca and me. I think about everything I’ve lost over the last five years and everything I want for the next. I charge around the couch, but when I try to stab him, they roll to the right and the knife jams into the wall. I yank and pull, trying to get it out, but it won’t budge.

A mirror shatters when Luca rolls Xavier against the wall, then grips him by the hair and slams the back of his head into the glass.

I keep trying to pull the knife out, but it doesn’t work, so I look for something else. My eyes land on the gun. It’s on the balcony, lying in shattered glass. As they fight, I slip outside, swiping the gun and cocking it.

Aiming, I fire.

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