The Beauty and the Brawler

by Winter, Nikki

  Trip rocked back on his heels, nodding. “That mama bear instinct really kicks right in, don’t it?”

  Samara looked to Ava. “Could you please call Robin so she can start damage control?” Robin McCall was WKZ’s publicist, and a damn good one at that. She swung her gaze to Paz. “And I need you to get my phone out of the studio. I have some damage control of my own to do.” Despite the men’s prodding, she hadn’t given them details on who had helped her conceive her little gift. They’d know soon enough.

  Fuck fear, fuck waiting, and fuck wondering. Luciano needed to hear about her pregnancy from her now and not from some bitter, middle-aged blogger.

  “Shit’s about to go down,” Trip murmured.

  Samara’s sentiments exactly.

  ***

  “Put your head between your knees and breathe, Luc.”

  “Jesus... Lord on high... Oh, God...” Luciano did as Sansone told him, praying the airport would stop spinning at some point.

  “You’ve gotta calm down.”

  “Easy for you to say!” he yelped, head still bent. “You’re not the one who got someone pregnant!”

  “People are staring...” Sansone sung in a low murmur.

  Luciano looked up, casting glares around at the onlookers. “Got a problem?”

  Several people turned back to whatever it was they’d been doing. All he could hear was Sansone’s sigh right before Brian rushed toward them, a bottle of water in his hand. “I managed to get you a flight for noon. Boarding begins in fifteen minutes.” He handed Luciano the bottle and his boarding pass. “Terminal B21 just down the left corridor. The flight should take no more than an hour.” It had been Luciano’s idea to hop a plane to New York as soon as possible. Sansone had tried to talk him out of it, saying driving would be a sensible option, but Luciano wasn’t feeling sensible and of course Brian, ever loyal, rolled with the punches.

  Luciano looked to his PA. “When I get back, I’m sending you and Antonio someplace where you can frolic in Speedos to your heart’s content.”

  Brian winced. “Speedos chafe. We try to stick to trunks, unless of course the beach is a nu—”

  “And we’re so done with this conversation,” Sansone cut in. “How about we worry about what the fuck you’re going to say to Sammie when you show up on her doorstep, or the fact you should probably call first before actually doing so?”

  “Oh, I’m way past a phone call here, Sunny.” He was. He really, honestly, truly was. What was he supposed to say? “Hey, I heard your radio broadcast and thought you should know I’m completely fine with your hiding our love-child from me. Wanna spend the day on Coney Island?”

  No. See, rationality had fled Luciano the moment it sank in that he was just a few short months away from being a father. A father. He was going to have some pint-sized troublemaker depending on his every move, every choice. Pressure much? This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have without being able to look Samara in the face. He needed to see her...them...whatever. Needed to know if she was happy about this or not. Needed to know if he should be happy about this or not.

  “What do I look like trying to raise anybody? I’m still raising myself.” Luciano grimaced as those words—his words—came back as an echo in his skull, his most recent news shitting all over them. He didn’t have much of a choice but to grow up, and quickly, now, did he? No. No, he didn’t. Was that why Samara hadn’t told him? Did she think he wasn’t responsible enough to handle a kid?

  His shoulders tensed as another thought occurred to him. What if she didn’t think herself responsible enough to handle a kid? What if she didn’t want... Luciano shook his head. He wouldn’t even cross that mental bridge right now. He’d never thought of himself as a father figure—always concluded that by the time he was ready to settle down, really settle down, he’d be too old to try and play Daddy to anyone. The only reason he hadn’t jumped at the chance to adopt Marco was because he knew he didn’t have the necessary stability right now in his lifestyle that would provide what the already jaded little fighter needed. At the moment he had five matches on the table, only one of them catching his interest, but it would mean picking up and going to Brazil on short notice.

  Luciano wasn’t willing to drag a kid all over creation for his career, and he wasn’t exactly ready to give up his career completely, so what did this mean?

  Simple, dickhead. You have to make a choice. He did. He had to make a choice. That choice was to be a father, to be something he never had at a young age—to be there, period. They would take this one step at a time; they’d figure things out. Every minute that ticked by just put him on edge. What the fuck was he going to say? Should he tell her he obsessed over her? That he got up at the ass-crack of dawn every day just to hear her voice? That it had hurt like a motherfucker when he rolled over after their night together to find her gone? That he questioned if he was good enough for her?

  Would he tell her he was willing to marry her at the drop of a hat if it meant his kid could have his last name and he’d have them both to wake up to every morning? Would he tell her he couldn’t have picked a better person to accidentally knock up? Or would he tell her he was fucking terrified he’d fail? That he’d let her and their future son or daughter down by not being everything they needed? What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to do this?

  How was he supposed to keep from questioning if this was the best or worst thing to ever happen to him? In the six years he’d known Samara, he couldn’t pinpoint all the small things, like her favorite color or food, but he knew her. He knew when she was thinking too hard or if she was frustrated. He knew when her lips twisted she was trying to keep herself from telling someone to fuck off. He knew that when she smiled at him, all those dark little places he still had within him brightened up in a way that was inexplicable. He knew he wanted to know more. That he wanted to truly grasp how she ticked.

  But what if she didn’t want that? What if his staying away, his not calling or sending flowers or some other romantic gesture took him out of the race? What if she hadn’t answered him because she didn’t want him to know? What if their having a child together turned into a business arrangement?

  The sound of laughter and small but quick footsteps caught his attention. As he raised his head he caught sight of a lone man chasing his toddler through the swarms of people heading for their terminals. Luciano’s head cocked as the dude’s diaper bag slid from one shoulder, tripping him up as it came down on one side.

  The man’s foot somehow caught the carpet and then he was going down. No one stopped; no one even spared him a glance. Well, except for one person. The little girl skidded to a halt, her small legs wiggling as she came to a stop, her body still learning how to slow down and speed up. She turned back and waddled towards her father as fast as she could, and when she reached him, she simply plopped down next to him as he sat up, holding her arms out until he got himself together enough to wrap his arms around her much smaller body and pull her into his lap.

  Luciano smirked as he suddenly saw himself and his child in their places; felt a jolt in his chest that left him breathless. “Well played Jesus...well played...”

  Chapter Six

  “Hi, you’ve reached the only man who can either make you extremely envious of my masculine yet dulcet tone or crave to hear it asking how you like your eggs in the a.m. That beep noise coming up, put it to good use, eh?”

  Samara didn’t know whether to laugh or scream into the phone. She’d been trying since this morning to reach Luciano and he still hadn’t answered. Grabbing a handful of her braids, she tugged, growling in frustration. She then tossed her phone onto the couch and continued pacing, the weight of the small device jostling a sleeping Manfred as he rested on one of the cushions.

  “Sorry, Manny.”

  He glared at her as he left the room. Samara rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the support, you moody little bastard.” Was he the moody one here, or was she just annoyed because stress had a stranglehold
on her?

  Before she could answer that, the locks on her front door clicked open, and she turned to watch Nyssa come striding across the threshold. “Okay,” her sister started, dropping overstuffed shopping bags onto the floor. “When you said you were going to announce your pregnancy on air, I thought you were joking.”

  Samara rubbed her temples. “I really need to change my locks.” She stopped. “When’s the last time you talked to Sunny?”

  Nyssa shrugged. “The day I called him an asshole before heading to the airport so I could make my drive up and enjoy this much-needed mini-vacation away from him.”

  “You ever gonna tell me what it was you two were fighting about this time?”

  “I’m sensing a tone here,” her sister said, casually looking through those bags. “A tone that says you believe we fight a lot.”

  “Your senses tell you right.”

  “Ignoring you...” Nyssa sung.

  Shoulders dropping, Samara took a seat in a nearby armchair. “I can’t reach Luc. Every time I call it goes straight to voicemail.”

  “All right.” The other woman sighed. “I don’t wanna be this person but—”

  “How about we don’t even go to the but and you just don’t become that person?”

  Nyssa knelt in front of Samara. “—but you should’ve told him days ago.”

  “Thank you so much, Super-tell-a-bitch-the-obvious.”

  Eyes narrowing, Nyssa shoved one of Samara’s shoulders. Samara shoved back. They were good and deep into a lovely slap fight when the knocking on her door interrupted it.

  Pushing her sibling away, Samara headed toward the hardwood. “I suggest you thank either Paz or Trip for saving your sorry ass from my fists of...” The moment she opened the door, every word on the tip of her tongue died a thousand deaths, revived then died again.

  Sansone stood there, Luciano behind him, but instead of Sansone’s eyes focusing on her, they were directed toward Nyssa.

  “And where have you been?” he demanded, stepping past Samara.

  Samara’s eyes never left Luciano’s, but she could hear Nyssa clearly when her sister answered, “Fucking the New York Giants. The linebackers have some really good techniques.”

  Her lids closed and she winced, knowing exactly where this was going. When she reopened them Luciano was still there, still staring, still making every breath nearly impossible. The man did something to her that no one else had ever managed—left her speechless. His lightly tanned, olive skin let her know he’d spent some days in the sun as the weather broke. He’d cut his hair shorter on the sides and back, leaving the wavy top long, but had yet to get rid of the beard surrounding his full lips, cleft chin, and leanly slashed cheeks.

  Heavy brows drew downward as his amber eyes gazed at her unflinchingly, and the moment they slid from her face down to her torso, her stomach dropped. He knew. He knew because he’d heard and he was...

  She couldn’t read his expression, didn’t know exactly what he thought, but when he returned those oh, so familiar irises to her own something ignited inside like her body recognized exactly who was standing in front of it. Samara swallowed to retain moisture in her mouth, the shouting match between Nyssa and Sansone turning into something muffled, sounding almost like the teachers on Charlie Brown.

  “Yo!” Luciano suddenly snapped, causing her to jump as he pointed toward their siblings. “You two shut it.” He looked back to her. “You. Bedroom. Now.” Stepping past her, he strode toward the back as if he owned every square foot not only of her condo but her.

  Samara stood there, watching his powerful steps, staring at the way his shoulders rolled with every step.

  “Now, Sammie,” he demanded again without turning around, his voice casual.

  Chewing her lip, she followed. When she reached her room, he was leaning against the wall near the door, something small in his hand. She sucked in a huge breath when she realized it was the ultrasound picture. Samara had set it out so she could frame it later.

  The door closed with a soft click behind her. His doing. She would’ve kept it open, too terrified to stay anywhere alone with him not knowing what it was he was about to say or how he’d heard about the accidental announcement so fast. Not only that, but how exactly had he managed to drop everything and come all the way to Manhattan? Why had he dropped everything to come all the way up to Manhattan?

  Was he here to tell her to her face that he didn’t want anything to do with her or the baby? Maybe he was. Maybe he resented her. Maybe he’d never had plans for a child. Maybe he’d walk out and never speak to her again. Did it make her weak that she didn’t think she’d be able to handle any of those scenarios? Was she stupid because all she really wanted was to hear him say he’d be here, that he was happy despite the unusual circumstances? Maybe. Or maybe she was human and a little vulnerable and simply wanted him not to regret the one night they’d had, because she’d never regretted it, and she never would. How could she? It had been one of the best times in her life. Point. Blank.

  Samara lifted her chin and folded her arms across her chest, determined to live with whatever was about to leave his mouth. If she had to, she’d do it alone. It would be hard, that much she knew, and she’d probably cry and have to keep Nyssa from nuking all of Philly in a homicidal rage, but so be it.

  Luciano straightened and walked toward her, eyes still on that ultrasound. When he finally lifted them, there was an inexplicable emotion in his gaze that took her breath away. Then his lips curved until they spread into a full-blown smile right before he was laughing. “When I asked if you wanted an Antonelli inside you this isn’t exactly what I meant, but I do believe it’ll do me just as much good.”

  That was when Samara burst into tears.

  ***

  Luciano dropped the ultrasound and caught Samara as she launched herself at him. The tears made him feel like an asshole of epic proportions. Stroking a hand down her back, he took a seat on the bed with her in his lap, arms wrapped around her.

  “Either you’re happy, or you think our kid is bringing the apocalypse with him when he arrives,” he murmured into her hair.

  She cried harder and he winced. “I’m sensing quiet time is needed right now.” Luciano pressed a kiss to her temple as he kicked off his boots and scooted backwards until he was far enough up the bed to lie down with her resting on top of him. Soon enough, the crying died down until it stopped completely, and the sound of soft sighs filled the room. Soft sighs that sounded a lot like... Looking down, he felt a smirk curve his lips. He flies in the middle of the day to talk to her, and the first thing she does is fall asleep. Nice.

  His smirk faded when he noticed the discoloration under her eyes. She hadn’t been getting enough sleep, and she was thinner than when he saw her last. Fingertips lightly pushing into her side, he felt around to make sure her ribs weren’t apparent and let out a small breath of relief when all he felt was soft flesh.

  “Exactly what have you been doing, beautiful?” Luciano whispered, brushing a tear track with his thumb. This Samara was...vulnerable. Something he wasn’t exactly used to. No, his Sammie was abrasive and brutally honest and uncaring of who didn’t like it. But when she’d looked at him moments ago all he’d seen was fear. Christ. Exactly what reaction had she been expecting from him?

  No, they weren’t a couple of, well, anything. But Luciano felt something for her. Something that went past a friendship. Something slightly possessive and a little needy of her approval. That didn’t make him weak, did it? Maybe it did. Maybe she had made him into her bitch. Or maybe he knew enough about life to understand when something truly precious was dangling in his reach, grasping at his hand. It would make him weak to walk away from this. Obviously his emotions had gone way past that one night. Obviously he was totally and completely obsessed with her in a way he hoped didn’t land him with a restraining order or a Taser to the dick. He’d heard that really hurt.

  Luciano’s palm slid over Samara’s T-shirt-clad belly and
pulled at the fabric until it lifted enough for him to see the creamy, dark, velvety shade of her tummy. He stared. It didn’t look any different, but the small, three-dimensional image he’d seen moments ago had clued him in to the fact there was literally a whole person growing in there.

  His index finger traced her belly button in wonder as he remembered how his tongue had been there...been everywhere. He shifted a little to relieve the tension building in his groin.

  “Not now. That type of behavior is what got us here in the first place,” Luciano muttered.

  He traced Samara’s face with his eyes again, stopping at her mouth. That mouth had been the cause of many fantasies on his part; many nights spent with him exercising his right arm in an extremely unholy way. Now that mouth was a mere few inches away from his own, and he had to clench his left hand and bite the inside of his cheek to resist the temptation it offered.

  It wasn’t an easy task. He deserved a fucking pat on the back...a medal...some cheesecake for this shit. When she sighed and rolled until they were chest to chest, her breasts flush against him, he stared at the ceiling and gasped, “I’m coming, Elizabeth.”

  He didn’t think it possible, but she’d marked him in just a few short hours, and there was no escaping the need to be inside her. Not only that, but the need to see her smile or flip him the bird...or threaten his balls with castration by stapler gun. Luciano needed her eating and talking, even if it was just to rant. He needed her and their baby healthy because it would keep him sane.

  With a sigh he placed a kiss to her lips, trying not to linger, and gently moved her from his arms to the mattress, tucking a small throw blanket over her before he padded out of the room.

  Sansone and Nyssa sat on opposite ends of the couch, glaring at each other like teenagers from the seventies ready to shoot over the last dirty magazine at the library. It was...creepy.