“I took a Ford Expedition from Pipe today, he’ll be dropping it off later,”
“Nice, trading in the Charger?” I ask as Carrie’s fingers interlock with mine under the table.
“It ain’t for me,” he reveals. “You’re gonna need a car handy in case she goes into labor,” he adds, motioning towards Carrie. “Can’t take her to the hospital on the back of your bike and while we’re on the topic, you both need to pay attention to what I am about to say.”
Carrie turns to look at my dad and her hand tenses in mine.
“You can go any day now,” he starts.
At eight months, I guess that’s true, but it’s also a reminder that this thing between us has an expiration date—funny how something that never truly began already has an ending.
“When it’s time, the first phone call you make is to me. If I can’t answer, you call Maria. If Armageddon comes and wipes us both out, you call David Schwartz and tell him to meet you at the hospital. He’ll have all the legal documents waiting, assuring that baby can’t be touched by your old man.”
Carrie releases my hand and nervously lifts her hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Keeping my hand on her thigh, I give it a squeeze before asking the question I’m sure is sitting on the tip of Carrie’s tongue.
“What kind of documents?”
“The kind that declare that baby a Scotto not a Ritzer.”
“What about Frankie?” my mother asks. “Will he be back for the birth?”
“One of us will call him or Sophie when she goes into labor,” Dad replies. “He’ll be there, but the most important person that needs to be at that hospital, is Schwartz.”
“God, that guy has made a fortune off of you people this year,” Anthony comments.
Enzo’s phone chimes beside me and I turn as he snatches it off the table.
“Uh, guys,” he says, swiping his thumb across the screen. “Someone should probably put the T.V. on.”
“Not now, this is a family dinner,” Dad grunts.
Enzo lifts his head.
“You sure about that because Carrie’s father is holding a press conference right now.”
I guess having all those news apps on his phone finally come in handy after all.
-Seventeen-
Carina
“The lawsuit is completely bogus and his lawyer, David Schwartz, is wasting taxpayer dollars with this ridiculous play to make headlines. What happened to Mr. Petra while he was incarcerated was a result of Mr. Petra provoking other inmates. Myself, and my office, as well as the warden of Rikers, are not liable for anything that occurred, and we will prove that in a court of law. But I will say this, Mr. Petra is part of a criminal enterprise that has evaded the law for many years. It would be wise of them not to try their luck under my administration.”
I stare at my father's face on the screen, watching as he smugly points to another member of the media and fields his question.
“Is it true the president of the Satan’s Knights MC, Jack Parrish, made a deal with you, giving up members of the Sinaloa Cartel?”
“It is my understanding that Mr. Parrish is no longer the president of the Satan’s Knights and I am not at liberty to discuss the case we have against the Sinaloa Cartel at this time.”
The more I listen, the more disgusted I become. Every word out of his mouth is calculated and arrogant. There’s not a genuine bone in the man’s body and I’m not sure how I never noticed that until now. He points and takes another question.
“Now that Mr. Petra has been released from rehab, do you expect the Sinaloa Cartel to retaliate against the Satan’s Knights?
“Let me be clear, retaliation on either behalf will result in arrest. Our law enforcement will not tolerate violence on the streets our children play on, and my office is prepared to prosecute anyone putting the citizens of this city in danger to the fullest extent of the law.”
Suddenly, all I see is red.
The streets our children play on.
He has the audacity to speak of protecting children when he’s discarded his only child like a piece of trash.
An unintelligible sound ruptures past my lips and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I stalk towards the television. Although my body is full of rage, there’s still a shred of sanity inside of me, which is the only reason I don’t smash my fist against the television. Instead, I reach around, belly and all, and pull the wires from the back.
The room goes completely silent as the screen goes black. With my hands shaking and my voice scratchy, I lift my head and glance aimlessly around the room.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
I’m sorry my dad is an asshole.
I’m sorry he hates all of you.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
If I focus on any particular face I know I’ll see pity and I can’t bear that, so without another word, I storm out of the living room and away from the people who have done nothing but take care of me.
The people I’ve grown to love.
The people I’ve grown to see as family.
I climb the stairs and make my way into my bedroom. Taking a seat on the foot of the bed, I wrap my hands around my stomach, and I let out the sob I’ve been holding in since Anthony turned on the television and my father’s face appeared on the screen.
Three months.
That’s what it took for me to fall in love with the Scotto’s.
Seventeen years.
That’s how long my father had to show me, love.
Seventeen years and nothing.
“Carrie.”
I close my eyes at the sound of Nico’s voice.
Three months.
This man has shown up every day for three months, taking care of me, and giving me everything I need. He’s given me more affection than anyone I have ever known, and he just keeps giving. It doesn’t matter that it’s breaking him to do so. He’s put his life on hold for me and I don’t even know how to repay him.
I don’t know how to repay any of them.
Standing in front of me, he places a finger under my chin and forces my eyes to his. Where there should be contempt, there is compassion. Where there should be resentment, there is appreciation. Where there should be hate, there is love. Where there should be heartbreak, there is understanding.
He doesn’t say anything, he simply bends his body and pulls me to my feet, wrapping his strong arms around me.
Where there should be nothing, there is everything.
I close my eyes and bury my face in his chest, giving way to the tears…to the grief…to the loss because after today, my father is dead to me.
“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs against my hair. “He can’t touch you or the baby. You don’t have to worry no more.”
Lifting my head, I lean back and look up at him.
“What about you? Huh? What about Frankie and your dad? What about everyone downstairs? All he needs to do is get to one of you and you all hurt. I don’t want to live with that guilt. I don’t want to look at any of you and know the pain that’s there is because of my father. You Scotto’s…you’re the best people I know.”
Raising his hands to cup my cheeks, he inches closer. Those brown eyes raging with a storm of emotions—none of which I can place. A knock sounds and Nico quickly drops his hands away from my face to glance over my head.
“Can I have a minute?”
Wolf.
“Yeah, I’m just checking—”
“Not with you,” Wolf interrupts. “I’d like a minute with Carrie.”
“Oh,” Nico mutters. “Yeah, okay…” he drops his hands away from my face and brings his eyes back to mine. “I’ll just be downstairs.”
I give him a nod and watch as he reluctantly makes his way to the door where his father stands. Wolf gives his son a pat on the back and watches him disappear down the hallway before turning back to me.
The first time I met him, I thought he was the scariest man I had ever seen.
Now, I look at him and I see a man with a big heart, a dad who would do anything for his children.
He makes his way towards me and we both take a seat on the foot of the bed before he starts.
“I lived a lot of life, sweetheart, and I’ve battled a lot of demons, all of them far worse than your father,” he says as he pauses.
Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and turns his head, his eyes finding mine.
“I don’t want you coming up here crying, feeling some kind of guilt because you got that man’s blood. He may have had a hand in bringing you into this world, but you’re with us now, you hear me?”
Tears roll down my cheeks, and he raises his hand, thumbing them away.
“Stop thinking you’re a reflection of him because what I see when I look at you is a brave girl who didn’t ask for any of this and still rose to meet the challenge. I’m not the only one who sees it either.” He pauses for a second, taking in a deep breath as he scratches his beard. “The people downstairs, none of them got the same last name. They ain’t even got the same bloodlines…but they’re all part of this family. You, Carrie, are part of this family.”
Before he says another word, I launch myself at him, giving him the tightest hug possible with the watermelon wedged between us. He lets out an oomph and wraps his arms around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“I like you too, kid,” he teases, and I laugh through my tears.
“It’s the hormones.”
“Yeah, I hear they’re quite the bitch,” he says, giving me another quick kiss.
I lean away from him and lift my gaze to his.
“I may not have a dad anymore, but Baby Scotto has the best grandpa.”
A smile peeks out from beneath his beard and he cocks his head to the side for a moment.
“I was going to wait until the baby was born, but now is as good a time as any,” he begins, sighing as he slaps his hands to his knees. Curious as to what he’s going to say now and wondering if I should grab a box of tissues in case I burst into tears again, my brows pinch together. “I ain’t got a lot to leave my family when I leave this world, this house has two mortgages on it now, thanks to the club and silver ain’t worth much,” he continues, raising his hands to display the silver rings decorating his fingers. After a moment he drops them back to his thighs and winks at me. “And if that baby winds up being a girl, she ain’t gonna want her grandpa’s silver.”
I smile at him.
If this baby is a girl, I think she’ll want whatever he gives her.
She’ll just be happy to have something that belonged to such a great man.
“Anyway,” he continues, reaching into his leather vest. “These…” his voice trails as he produces a pair of wooden rosary beads from his pocket. “…these were my grandmother’s and I’ve carried them with me my whole life.” He paused to glance at the beads, his thumb tracing the cross. “Got me through a lot of tough times and a few beautiful ones too.” He lifts his eyes to mine and takes my hand, laying the rosary in my palm. He closes my hand, giving it a gentle pat.
“Hang them in the nursery,” he says hoarsely.
“You’re going to make me cry again.”
“There’s still eggplant to cure the tears.”
We both laugh at that, then I bring the rosaries to my chest and offer him my smile.
“Thank you, Wolf,” I murmur. “I’ll cherish them and so will he or she.”
He nods.
“I know that.”
Angling my head, I debate the next question. Anytime a person is pregnant, and they've asked what they’re hoping for, nine out of ten times the person replies with ‘it doesn’t matter so long as it’s healthy’. And it’s true, everyone wants a healthy baby—but don’t let them kid you, they dream of having one or the other. Maybe both.
“We all want a healthy baby, but we all secretly have our preference. Are you team boy or team girl?” I ask.
“Got three sons, sweetheart,” he says. “Wouldn’t mind a little granddaughter to spoil.”
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
-Eighteen-
Nico
By the time Carrie and Dad come back down the stairs, everyone is playing Pictionary. It’s a Scotto thing—when there is an awkward situation, break out the board games and pretend you’re the fucking Brady Bunch.
We divided into two teams—men verse women and the women kicked our asses. Not long after they claim victory, they bring out the cannoli’s, signaling the shit show is nearly over.
No one mentions the press conference, but I saw the look on my father’s face and know he’s bracing for war, that it’s only a matter of time before we are all called to Kate’s to discuss how he plans on handling Ritzer.
The thing is, I also saw the way he looked at Carrie and I’m not sure if we are defending the club, Carrie, or both.
I suppose only time will tell.
Riggs and Lauren are first to leave and not a minute too soon either. Those four kids I was considering having, suddenly become three, right after Eric tries flushing Robert’s hand down the toilet.
Take your cubs and go, Tiger—preferably to the zoo.
Next to leave is my mom, who vows to cook dinner next Sunday and bring it over. Apparently, this is going to be a thing now too. She and Maria are going to take turns…you know, so one woman isn’t stuck cooking every week for the whole bunch. They even started talking about freezer friendly meals to make once the baby comes.
Crazy.
They’re all fucking crazy.
When it’s Enzo’s turn to high tail it out the door, Anthony and Adrianna follow with their brood. Now, all that’s left is Maria and Dad and neither one of them seem to be moving. Maria and Carrie are online shopping and good ol’ Dad is making himself another plate—his third to be exact.
“Nico!” he bellows from the kitchen. “Come in here, will ya?”
Tossing the remote onto the couch, I mutter a curse and glance over at Carrie and Maria, both are huddled together on the loveseat with the laptop, oblivious to everything except baby shit.
Dad’s going to need to mortgage his plot at Greenwood soon.
I make my way into the kitchen and spot him sitting at the table, going to town on the rest of the eggplant. Hand to God, I don’t know where he puts it all. They say your metabolism slows with age, but it’s the opposite for him.
Here’s to hoping that gene made its way into my DNA.
“Sit,” he orders as I pull out the chair beside him and do as I’m told. “What’s that game the kids like—the one with the blocks.”
I squint.
“Jenga?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” he shakes his head. “Hate that fucking game. Lose a piece and the whole damn thing falls apart.”
Confused, I cross my arms against my chest and stare at him. I suppose it was only a matter of time before he lost his marbles.
“That’s the point of the game,” I tell him.
“It’s stupid.”
I’m not sure why we’re having such a ridiculous conversation, so I narrow my eyes and call his bluff.
“I, myself, prefer Monopoly, but you didn’t really call me in here to discuss board games, did you?”
Meeting my gaze, he sets his fork down and shakes his head.
“No, I didn’t,” he sighs, crossing his arms against his chest as he leans back. “This shit has got to come to an end with you harboring ill feelings or whatever the fuck you call it, towards Blackie.”
This shit again.
I want to tell him he’s late to the party, that the ship has sailed, but then I remember the topic of conversation at the dinner table. I suppose there’s a chance he didn’t notice the last year and nine months have been hell on me. Hell, the last two years have been a whirlwind with getting shot, becoming a recruit for the Knights, the shit with Lacey and now Carrie—it’s one thing after another. I might’ve wanted to have this conversation a couple of months ago, but
now the only conversation I want to have is the one worth having and that’s the one where he tells me how the fuck we’re going to handle Ritzer.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I ask. “I thought you called me in here to discuss the witch hunt Ritzer just declared to the press, but no…let’s talk about Blackie.”
“She had the baby, he came home, and people are talking, asking why you haven’t gone to see the kid yet,” he says, pinning me with his beady eyes.
“People are talking,” I repeat, laughing sarcastically. “What people? Everyone here tonight knew I had a thing for her, including you and yet you kept me at her fucking house day after day. And do me a favor, spare me the whole woe is Blackie sermon. The guy wasn’t even there for the birth of his kid.”
Alright so he showed up right after she was born and from what I hear, he was made for fatherhood. For Lacey’s sake and the sake of their daughter, I hope that’s true. I hope Blackie stays clean and they live happily ever after and all that jazz. But I’m sick and tired of everyone insisting I bow down to him.
He’s the least of my fucking problems.
“That’s none of your fucking business. She ain’t your fucking long lost love or the one that got away. She’s Blackie’s wife. That’s it. He’s your brother, and that’s his old lady. You stay out of their way and go see the damn baby. Goddammit, show some fucking respect.”
“Fuck this,” I shout, pushing back my chair. “Why the fuck do I gotta show him respect, when he don’t have any for himself or his wife?”
He moves quick, reaching across the table to grab my shirt and yanks me towards him.
“That kind of talk won’t get you your fucking patch. Like him or not, Blackie gets a vote on whether you get your colors or not.”
I grind my teeth.
“What fucking patch?” I spat. “I don’t remember the last time I wore my fucking kutte. You got me here every day, waiting for Ritzer. Guarding Carrie. The only relief I get is when I take it myself.”
“You want a fucking break, go see the baby and I’ll have one of the guys come here to stay with Carrie,” he sneers.
Walking The Line (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 3) Page 15