Page 61 of Shame

“What for?”

“Well, on paper for murder.”

I frown and rub a hand over my face. “And off paper?”

“Because he snitched on Salvatore.”

“What?” I stand so abruptly the chair topples.

“What’d he do? Why?”

“I don’t know the details, Carmen. I only know what I was told by one of my girls. She spent a night with one of the men who was a part of the raid. Lucas had called the cops on them but—”

“But what?”

“He spoke to the wrong person. He talked to someone on Salvatore’s payroll.”

“Oh no. No, how could he be so stupid!”

“What do you think?”

I regard Matron in silence, remembering Lucas’ tormented eyes the last time I saw him, when Salvatore was assaulting me in front of him, in a room full of men who were staring hungrily at me.

I pull up the chair and slump on it.

“For me,” I whisper.

She doesn’t confirm my suspicions, but she doesn’t object either.

“How do we fix this? Does he have a lawyer? We gotta get him a lawyer.”

“Carmen.” She lays a hand over mine. “It will never go to court.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t you see? How can you not see?” Her voice raises a pitch. “He’s at the top of Salvatore’s hit list. He’ll never see a courtroom.”

The sudden pain in my stomach makes me gasp and double over. All I can do is whimper. “Oh my God, what do I do?”

“I just wanted you to know. There’s nothing we can do.”

Tears well up in my eyes. I can’t stop them. I stare at Matron in horror as my cheeks turn wet. This is worse than anything I’ve ever been through. Anything. Beatings. Rape. Nothing has made me hurt like I hurt right now.

A whimper from behind me, from my room, snaps me back to reality. It’s his baby! His! I should hold it up before him and then smother it. He should know he actually fathered a child, right before he loses it. By my hand.

Nausea rises in me as I think of the little rosy bundle in there and my breasts start tensing up again. No. The little one is innocent. Oh my God, no, I could never hurt him.

As I stand, I meet Matron’s intelligent gaze.

“You had a child?”

I raise my chin in defiance, then I spin on my heels to go get him. He needs my breasts, my breasts need him. I’m nothing but a milk factory.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” I pick him up and cradle the defenseless little creature to my chest, supporting his neck, and make my way back to the kitchen. No, I could never hurt him.

Sitting back down, I pull up my top and free a breast. He latches on like the little pro he is. My other breast tenses up and starts leaking. I hate this!

“Do you have children, Elena?”

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