Knocked Up by the Bad Boy

by Waltz, Vanessa

  “Do you want water? You don’t look so good, hon.”

  I’m fucking fine, except for the fact that I fucked a mob boss and I might be pregnant with his kid.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Because I can’t just swallow two pills without choking, I take the paper cup in my hands and tip the water down my throat. Some of it splashes over my lips. She takes the cup from me with a scandalized look.

  “Thanks.”

  Good god, I must look so goddamn suspicious.

  I see her walking toward the shelf I was searching as I leave, and my heart seizes.

  One crisis at a time.

  At this fucking place, there’s no such thing as privacy. Communal bathrooms, showers, everything for those of us who aren’t married. Couples get mobile homes with all of that shit. Even the president’s daughter has to take a piss in the midst of ten other women gossiping about shit in the bathroom.

  I squeeze into a stall and sit down on the toilet seat, trying to keep my legs from shaking. The girls saw me come into the bathroom. They can’t fucking know that I’m taking pregnancy tests. I open my jacket.

  I watch one of the tests slip from my hands to fall to the floor, faceup with the brazen logo.

  FUCK!

  The sound of the cardboard hitting the tiles grates against my ears. It’s so fucking loud. My hand snatches the box immediately and I pray that they didn’t fucking look at it. The voices in the bathroom simmer down and I crush the box in my hands, feeling a slow burn on my cheeks. There’s a nervous giggle, and then the talk resumes.

  I balance one of the tests on the toilet paper holder and carefully unwrap the other one. Fuck. It’s so goddamn loud. I flush the toilet and rip the cardboard box, tearing the plastic with my teeth before dumping it in the toilet.

  Okay. Just pee on the thing and it’ll be fine.

  I take the test and grit my teeth as I balance it on the tampon disposal, grabbing the other box. Fucking hell, now I have the same problem.

  I hate this place.

  The toilet’s noisy flush covers the sound of me tearing the second box apart, and then I take the second test.

  Now what? Do I wait here, or do I head back to my room?

  I could stay here and feign an upset stomach, or I could retreat to my room where anyone could burst in at any second and see the tests lying there, plain as day.

  Fuck it, I’ll wait.

  The minutes tick by slowly as I pick up both tests and stare at the little windows.

  Please, God. Let me not be fucking pregnant.

  Then it happens. Faint pink lines hover over the window like a shadow, becoming more and more clear. Two ungodly pink pluses. Two positive tests.

  Just my fucking luck.

  It’s hard to breathe now. I have to bite down on my fist to keep myself from crying out.

  I fucked a mob boss and I’m pregnant with his kid.

  Oh yeah, I’m screwed.

  JOHNNY

  Le Zinc is probably my most frequent haunt. It’s one of my favorite restaurants, and it should be, considering I hired the kitchen staff. Good food is important to me, and that’s why this place is fucking packed. They come to this restaurant in droves. I can’t blame them. Everything is streamlined. Modern. The food is great. You can smoke. You can bring your own wine.

  But some don’t come for the great food or the service. They’re tourists. They watch an episode of Sopranos or they read the Montreal Gazette, and they know that this is a connected joint. Fucking Hollywood. What a joke.

  Anyway, one of those assholes sits in the restaurant with a baseball cap. A fucking baseball cap. And he holds his smartphone in my direction.

  I’m trying to have a meeting with my captains in this place, and that jerk-off is taking pictures of me. With that fucking baseball cap on his stupid head.

  It’s disrespectful.

  “Hold on a second.” I interrupt François with a hand as I stand up from the booth, smooth over my suit, and walk in the direction of that jackass.

  His head perks up as he sees me coming, frowning at me. I can just imagine what I must look like to this prick. When I reach his table, I grit my teeth in an attempt to smile.

  Do not make a fucking scene. Be polite.

  “Excuse me.” That probably never sounded so hostile. “Take off the hat, please.”

  His mouth opens stupidly. “It’s my hat, and I’ll wear it if I want.”

  How is this moron still breathing?

  “Don’t be a jerk. This is a nice restaurant.”

  Our eyes meet for a tense moment and for a minute I think he’s going to back down, but then he shakes his head. The veins in my head are about to pop.

  I reach up and cuff the side of his head. It flies off and flutters to the ground.

  “What the fuck?”

  The other diners look up from their meals at the sound of the commotion, and then Shit For Brains stands up with his fists raised.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Cute.

  “Get out of my fucking restaurant.”

  Before I drag you out the back and beat the shit out of you.

  He obviously has no idea who I am, but his friend does. He gets up from the table and yanks Shit For Brains’ arm. “That’s Johnny Cravotta.”

  “Oh.”

  I almost want to laugh at his wide, horrified eyes, and the way his whole body deflates. He puts his hands behind his back and his shoulders slump, almost as if he’s bowing.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know who you were.”

  “Get the fuck out.”

  He nods and bends down for the hat, but I step on it, viciously grinding all the dirt and shit from the sidewalks on that fucker’s hat. Then I step back.

  “There’s your fucking hat. Now get out.”

  His eyes splinter with a flash of resentment, and he hesitates near my feet. I have to hold myself back, but the cool fire inside me recedes when he puts that fucking dirty cap on his head and walks out like a beaten dog. I reach into my pocket and throw money on the table for the waitress, and then I walk back to my captains, who give me appreciative smirks.

  People who know me say I’m cruel, but everything I do is necessary. Even humiliating that dumb fuck in my restaurant. I need to set a precedent. I am always being watched. And I am always watching them. I learned that from my father.

  Prick.

  I sit back down at the table without a fuss, and we continue our meeting, but my mind is elsewhere.

  “What about the bikers?”

  The question snaps me in two. “What?”

  “Les Diables. Shouldn’t we give them a taste?”

  My hackles settle down and I lean back into my chair. “I told Carlos that the airport was off limits. That’s all he needs to know. I’m not giving him a cent. It’s our fucking territory.”

  François shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “He has people working for him at the airport. I don’t know, John.”

  He has the gall to question me in front of all my captains.

  “I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion.”

  The men around the table go quiet as François sits back, looking subdued.

  “All due respect, John, he has a point.”

  My consigliere Sal mutters in my ear as blood pounds in my head. I’m not giving that fucking asshole a penny. If they knew how prejudiced he was against Italians, they’d be on my side.

  “There are two kinds of heists. Ones where there are no witnesses, and ones where everybody gets caught.” I grind my cigarette into the ashtray. “I don’t trust bikers. Not even to pay them off. They stay in the fucking dark.”

  My capos nod at me and my eyes sweep the restaurant. Over their heads I see something that almost gives me a heart attack.

  Maya stands in the foyer, looking more than a little lost. I can make out her fantastic ass from over here, because her black jeans wrap around her like a second skin. She doesn’t call me in a fucking week, and then she ju
st decides to show up like this? Where any of her father’s people can see her?

  Christ, I don’t need this right now.

  But I can’t pretend it doesn’t give my ego a boost to see her wave off the hostess and march toward my table. Male heads turn as she walks past tables. She wears a slight frown as the guards stop her before she gets to me. And I wave them away. My captains glance at her. And then they look again. My mood lifts to the sky.

  Yeah, that’s the girl I’m fucking.

  “Well, look who’s here. I guess this means you finally figured out I’m not a bar owner.”

  “Oh, Maddon!”

  A chorus of laughter erupts around me as Maya takes a timid step forward, her eyes dark with eyeliner. She wears a white tank top that puts her tits on display, and I think I can make out one of the bruises I gave her with my teeth, still yellow on her skin.

  Down, boy.

  “We need to talk.”

  I raise an eyebrow as the guys seated around me give me knowing smirks, because that’s basically code for, I’m pissed off.

  “This isn’t the best time, hon.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s urgent.”

  I roll my eyes, but inwardly I’m uneasy. What made her desperate enough for her to come all the way here?

  “All right. Guys, give me a couple minutes.”

  They stand up and scrape back their chairs as they move away. Maya shakes her head when I pat the seat next to me.

  “We need to talk in private.”

  It has to be about her fucking father, right? Now I’m pissed off at myself for allowing this stupid affair to continue the moment I found out who she was. It was fucking risky. I’m endangering my relationship with Les Diables, but I couldn’t help it. Just had to have her. Even now my blood pounds through my veins as if I’ve had too much wine. She has that effect on me.

  “Okay, let’s go into my office.”

  So that I can fuck your brains out.

  I stand up from the booth, unable to tolerate another second of being next to her and not touching her. I palm the small of her back, and she stiffens.

  Goddamn it.

  She knows who I am for five fucking minutes, and her attitude toward me does a 180-degree turn. It pisses me off. We walk past the kitchens, and then I open the door to the manager’s office.

  Maybe she’s still down to fuck. It’s the perfect place, really. I could bend her over the desk, or have her straddle me in my chair. I realize that I can see the outline of her bra against her tank top. My mouth is dry. Jesus Christ, this girl turns me on without even trying, but she doesn’t look like she’s in the mood.

  Her whitened face turns toward me and she takes a big, shaking breath. “Okay, first of all, I’m sorry for everything I said. I didn’t know who you were.”

  So that’s what this is about?

  She jumps when I grab the head of her chair, my hands on either side of her. Her nostrils flare and her pupils turn into pinpricks. I’m used to this. Used to people being fucking terrified of me, but I hate seeing it on her.

  “Stop.”

  “You have to believe that I wouldn’t have said any of those things. Please, don’t take it out on my father.”

  A sick feeling roils in my stomach. As much as it’s amusing to see the proud, shit-talking girl grovel at my feet, it’s also—sad. “I liked you better when you didn’t know who I was.”

  It’s a fucking cold thing to say, but she doesn’t flinch.

  “Now get the fuck out of my office.”

  I’m sick and tired of meeting the same woman everywhere. I liked her when she talked back to me. It was so much more satisfying to win her submission from her, than to receive it immediately like a fucking tribute.

  “No! I haven’t even told you what I came to tell you.”

  “Well, fucking say it.”

  She opens and closes her mouth. “You—you should sit down.”

  Now she’s got me keyed up. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. It’s as though she expects me to smack her around. A small shock runs through me when her eyes well with tears. They’re like two dark pools. Tears streak down her face.

  Jesus.

  The energy goes out of my limbs. I sit down next to her and squeeze the back of her neck.

  “What is it?”

  But she just can’t say it. She can’t even look at me. Her hands cover her face and she shakes her head.

  “What the fuck is it?”

  Then she uncovers her face and shoves her hand through her purse. I’m bewildered at her antics. She grabs my palm and shoves something plastic in my hand.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  There are two of them. They’re rectangular pieces of plastic with positive pink signs. They look like—

  Oh fuck.

  It feels as though I’m falling. There’s no ground at my feet. The office doesn’t exist. I can only see my shaking hand, holding those two pregnancy tests. Both of them positive.

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s mine?”

  Her voice seems to come from far away. “Yeah.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m fucking sure. You’re the only guy I’ve been with in years.”

  The tests tremble in my hand. I’m shaking. I never shake. I can count on my hand the times I’ve been afraid in my life, but nothing comes close to the threat of actually becoming a father.

  “How the fuck did this happen?”

  “We didn’t use a condom that first time.”

  Oh Jesus. She’s right. I was so worked up—we both were—and I came inside her without wrapping my dick first.

  Fucking moron.

  “Does your father know?”

  “Of course not!”

  A look of terror flashes over her face. I can only imagine the shit storm that would cause. To hell with that. What am I going to do?

  First, make sure she’s actually pregnant. Maya doesn’t come off as a crazy chick, but she could have easily swiped the tests from someone else.

  I wouldn’t even be angry if that’s what happened.

  “Come on. Let’s go.” I toss the tests in the trash and take her hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get you tested by a doctor.”

  I’m barely quelling the panic building up inside me. I might have knocked up a girl I barely know, a girl who is the daughter of my strongest ally. He’ll never forgive this. Jesus Christ, how could I be so fucking stupid?

  I lead her back into the restaurant and my men look for me at once.

  Be fucking cool.

  “Chris, I need my car. I won’t need a driver.”

  “’Course.” Chris slips from his stool and sweeps away without another word.

  The rest of them give me curious looks that I ignore. Even though I’m the boss, this is the sort of gossip that would spread.

  Johnny Cravotta knocked up the princess of Les Diables.

  You don’t know that for sure yet.

  I grip her hand so tightly that I’m sure it’s painful, but she doesn’t make a sound until I lead her outside. The fear in her eyes makes my heart gallop.

  “We don’t know anything for sure, Maya.”

  She closes her eyes and two bitter tears squeeze from them. The wind almost takes them away, but I wipe them with my thumbs.

  “I think it’s pretty fucking certain.”

  Fuck.

  “You can fucking panic when we get the actual results.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes.

  That’s how long it takes for the results of a pregnancy test with ninety-nine percent accuracy.

  I can’t sit down and wait. I pace the small room as Maya sits on the bench in her paper gown. Even though there’s only a thin piece of paper covering her naked body, I’m in no fucking mood.

  She clenches her fists. “Will you stop pacing?”

  I stop in my trac
ks and throw a glare at her. “Oh, so now you grow a pair of balls?”

  “You’re making it worse.”

  Maybe I’m being an asshole. I should be sitting down at her side, holding her hand or some shit. I don’t fucking do the handholding shit. That’s just never been one of my needs. I like to fuck, but I’m not affectionate.

  As I stand there, though, the guilty feeling burns like acid. Like too much tequila sitting in an empty stomach. I can’t just let her sit there alone.

  Her lip trembles as I walk closer to her, and I lay my hand on her head. I bend my lips to her forehead and I kiss her. It levels out my nerves. She inhales a gasp as the door creaks open and even I dig my fingers in her hair, heart pounding.

  The nurse walks in with a sheaf of paper, and in two seconds I rip it out of her hands.

  “Sir, excuse me—!”

  My eyes scan the massive sheet of text—

  POSITIVE.

  There it is in big, bold letters.

  Maya stands up. “What the fuck does it say?” She grabs for the page, but I’m still holding on to it and she tears it in half.

  The nurse clucks in disapproval. “I was going to tell you that yes, you’re pregnant. Congratulations!”

  A strange feeling goes through me as I keep staring at the piece of paper. I’m going to be a father. A father, for Christ’s sake. This is what I wanted, isn’t it?

  And then a voice sighs in my head.

  Finally.

  Relief floods my veins. I’ve spent years chasing pussy after my two failed marriages, and a family is what I always wanted. This was never how I imagined it.

  The sound of crumpling paper snaps me out of it. Maya inhales a huge gasp and hurls the paper from her, and then she breaks into loud sobs.

  At least one of us is happy about this.

  “I’ll—er—leave you two—”

  “Get the fuck out!”

  I rake my fingers through my hair as Maya screams at the nurse, who gives her an extremely offended look.

  Fuck. I’ll pay her off, later.

  The nurse slams the door behind her and I turn toward Maya. I step forward and she backs away, tears streaming down her face.

  “No!”

  I grab her before she can take another step and pull her into my arms. I smooth the back of her head as she finally gives in and slides her hands around my middle. Another throbbing stab of guilt hits me, and it’s horrible because I rarely feel bad about the shit I do. This has got to be one of the worst things I’ve done. She’s going to get so much shit.