Claiming His Baby

by Nikki Chase

  “I said wait.” I don’t know how Matt manages to find my hand in the dark, but suddenly a big, warm hand wraps around my wrist. “I’m not going to let you go without even giving me your phone number. Not again.”

  Matteo

  “Wh—what do you mean by that?” Grace asks, her voice thin.

  “Sit down,” I say calmly.

  “Let go of me.” She pulls away, but I refuse to budge. She’s not going anywhere unless I let her. And I’m not making that mistake twice.

  “Don’t make a scene. Trust me, you want to keep things quiet, unless you want to die a second time.”

  That shuts her up. Her hand trembles under mine.

  “Sit down,” I repeat. “I’m not going to say it a third time.”

  The scrape of her chair tells me she’s following my order. Good.

  “Who are you?” she asks.

  I chuckle. I’ll bet she has a lot of questions. I know how much it sucks to have voices asking things in my head that I can’t answer—I had to deal with that for four years. She can wait for a few minutes.

  “Grace, Grace, Grace.” Satisfaction courses through my veins. All my hard work has finally paid off now that she’s sitting right in front of me.

  “Who are you?” she asks again. “How do you know my . . . Why do you keep calling me by that name?”

  “Give up the pretense. I know who you are.” I lean over the table as I pull her hand closer. “Don’t you remember me?”

  Grace hesitates. “Matt?”

  “That’s right. We met at the club, remember?”

  “How do you know my name? How did you find me? What do you want?” Fear drips from her every word, but she presses on with her questions.

  “Don’t worry.” I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “What do you want from me?” she demands.

  “You should’ve told me the truth. At the club.”

  “What do you mean by that? Because I gave you a fake name at some—” she drops her voice “—BDSM club, you hunted me down ages after the fact? What kind of a psycho are you?”

  I can’t help but laugh. Here she is, shaking in her chair without one of her senses, being physically restrained by a much stronger man whom she suspects is a psycho, and she has the guts to go on the offensive?

  There’s no doubt about it. She really is a mafia princess.

  She seemed a lot more reserved that night at the club, but maybe being dead has hardened her.

  “It’s not about the fake name, Grace.” There’s something so delightful about calling her by her real name. It fits her so much better than the other one. “Why didn’t you tell me about your family?”

  “Because I didn’t want to be Grace Esposito. I still don’t.”

  “You know, I thought a lot about what you said that night.” The corners of my lips tug up. “You said you wanted to disappear. To start a new life. I just kept thinking about it. I couldn’t believe you were dead.”

  “How did you know I was dead anyway?”

  “I heard it from your own father’s mouth.” The smile on my lips grows wider.

  “What? How did you—”

  A female voice blares from the sound system, cutting off Grace’s question. The event planner announces that the lights are about to be switched on.

  I couldn’t have timed it better myself.

  The lights gradually flood the room until I can see Grace’s shocked face in front of me. She wears her hair short now, and it’s blonde.

  “You know, I think you looked better as a brunette.”

  She scowls. It’s unbelievable, but she looks stunning even with that sour expression on her face.

  I was already waiting inside the restaurant in the dark when Grace arrived, so I didn’t see her fitted black dress or the soft tendrils of hair framing her lovely face.

  Jealousy hits my chest. Does she often meet strange men for dates like this?

  “How did you even meet my father? Are you a liar too, on top of being a psycho?” she asks.

  “Come on. Give me the benefit of the doubt, Grace,” I say, savoring the name sliding off my tongue.

  “Just tell me the truth.” She glares at me.

  “I really did meet your father. In fact, I was one of the first people he told about you. He said our wedding was off because you’d gone missing.” I fix my gaze on her. I don’t want to miss a single detail.

  Emotions flicker through Grace’s face—disbelief, confusion, realization, and finally . . . abject horror. She opens her mouth, but no words come out.

  I interlace our fingers. “Have you run out of questions, wifey?”

  Her eyes wide, Grace studies me, searching for clues as though I’d have my name written somewhere. “You . . . You’re . . . Who are you?”

  It’s funny how she can’t even bring herself to say it.

  “Matteo Guerriero.”

  “Matteo.” My name slips between her lips. It has never sounded sweeter. She swallows visibly. “Matt.”

  “That’s me, Grace. Unlike you, I didn’t give you a fake name. But you still didn’t figure out who I was. To be fair, though, it’s not like you could’ve called yourself Gra.” I grin, even as she continues to stare at me humorlessly.

  “We were supposed to . . . You were the one I was supposed to marry?”

  I nod.

  “So when I called your phone and someone told me you were getting married, that was true? And she wasn’t your fiancée?”

  “I didn’t know you’d called.” I frown. Things could’ve turned out very differently had I known.

  “She . . . The person who picked up the phone. I told her to let you know.”

  Damn it. “That must’ve been Rosa.”

  “What’s going to happen now?”

  I gaze at her. “All these years, my only focus was to find you. I haven’t thought about what to do once I do.”

  “You mean . . . nobody else knows?”

  “No.” I pull her hand up to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “I’m the only one who knows your secret.”

  “You’re not going to tell anyone?” Grace stares at me, suspicion glinting in her eyes.

  “And share you with everyone else?” I give her a smile. “No. You’re all mine. My own little secret.”

  Grace

  I put one foot in front of the other and try not to think about where I’m going, who I’m seeing.

  Glancing at my watch, I realize I’m running late. Not surprising since I pulled out every single item of clothing from my wardrobe and tried everything on—not that anyone would be able to tell since I ended up going with a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a long-sleeved black top, and a taupe trench coat.

  Oh God, what am I going to do?

  I can’t just walk away from this life and start yet another one.

  When I pulled that stunt four years ago, I had a professional helping me. My lone hike ended at a quiet stretch of road, where a man was waiting for me, leaning against his car while taking a drag from his cigarette.

  During the drive to the airport, he handed me some papers: my new ID, driver’s license, and passport. He told me to only use those fakes if absolutely necessary before I boarded the plane to Dover. Every time I present a fake ID to the authorities, I risk getting caught.

  Now, I don’t know who to call. Unfortunately, I’m not as resourceful or well-connected as my mom. It’s not like I can find guys like him on Craigslist. Maybe I should’ve asked him for a business card.

  Also, there’s another little difference. A toddler by the name of Jack.

  Starting over was hard enough on my own. But with a dependent? I won’t even think about it.

  Last night, when Matteo kissed my hand . . . For the first time in a long time, I felt the flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach. He’s the only man who has ever made me feel that way.

  Naturally, it freaked me out. So I muttered something about a deadline, ran out of the restaurant, a
nd hailed a cab.

  I kept looking back from the backseat, expecting to see Matteo following me. I couldn’t decide if I was more relieved or scared when he didn’t.

  I got home to find Jack asleep in his bed and Lily grinning from ear to ear, hounding me about how my date had gone. Giving her the same lie about a forgotten deadline, I thanked her and ushered her out, promising to tell her everything another day.

  Just as I was lying wide awake in bed, my phone beeped with a text message from an unknown number.

  Meet me at your favorite Starbucks tomorrow at 1. Sharp. M.

  I take a deep lungful of air as the green logo of the café comes into view. A bell chimes when I push the door open.

  Matteo is already seated in one of the few coveted couches by the window, his suit jacket draped on the leather armrest. He’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Sun rays dance on his golden skin and illuminates the lighter shades of brown in his dark hair.

  Somehow, I’m not surprised he’s got the best seat in the coffee shop. I can just imagine him barking an order for the previous occupant of the couch to walk away.

  The moment he waves at me, several girls follow the line of his sight to find me. They glare at me, practically glowing green with envy.

  If only they knew what kind of a man Matteo is, what kind of violence he’s capable of as a man involved in his “family business.”

  I know better. That’s why I have to do better. I can’t be ensnared by his charm like everyone else. With a toddler depending on me, I can’t afford to be careless.

  “Hey, I ordered you your usual drink.” Matteo gestures at the plastic cup sweating on the table.

  I won’t even ask him how he knew what I normally drink. Taking my seat, I ask, “Why do you want to see me?”

  “I’ve spent four years looking for you. I can’t just walk away now that I’ve found you.”

  “What do you want to do with me, then? You want me to go home with you and marry you, just like our families wanted?” I ask.

  He shrugs his broad shoulders. “If that’s what you want.”

  Does he think marriage is that trivial a matter?

  I pick up my glass, the condensation wetting my fingers as I take a sip of my iced latte. “You know that’s not going to happen, right?”

  “Why not?”

  Because I can’t do that to Jack. I can’t let him grow up the same way I did.

  I bite my tongue. Matteo can’t find out about Jack. Not until I figure out what to do. Maybe not ever.

  Matteo leans forward. His strong, muscular forearms rest on his knees. “Grace, that is exactly what is going to happen. That’s what you want too, whether you know it or not. You’ll be happy with me, with your family all around you.”

  I scoff. “That’s just a fantasy, Matteo. Real life isn’t that ideal. You don’t even know me, and you think things are just going to magically work out?”

  “Yeah,” he answers without missing a beat.

  “What, you’re just going to kidnap me one day when I least expect it and drag me home?”

  He laughs. “I can do that. But I won’t have to.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Why did you come here? I didn’t have to drag you here. And yet, here you are,” he says with a cocky tone.

  “Because you’re a mobster. And the threat is enough to make me follow your order.”

  “I didn’t threaten you.” He stares at me with his sharp, penetrating eyes.

  “Yeah, well, just because you didn’t say it out loud doesn’t mean there was no threat,” I say. “Don’t your parents want you to drag me home?”

  “They don’t know you’re alive—not with the kind of certainty I do. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what they want. I’m here because I want to be here.”

  “Do they know you’ve found me?”

  He shakes his head. The sunlight trapped in his hair shifts, making the loose strands glitter like warm silk. “I told you. You’re my little secret.”

  “How is it that you’ve managed to find me and they haven’t?”

  “It’s just fate, Grace. I’m meant to find you,” he says with a teasing smirk. “I had a clue they don’t. Ashley. They don’t know you’ve used that name in the past.”

  My heart races. I didn’t choose my new name myself; I only found out I’d be Ashley Davis on the drive to the airport. So even though Matteo said it so lightly, it could very well be fate.

  No. It’s just a coincidence.

  “Are they still looking for me?” If they are, I’d have to think about moving every year or so, just to make it a little harder for them to track me down.

  Matteo nods. Not the answer I was hoping for, but I expected it. “I don’t know about your family, though. They either think you’re really dead, or they’re really good actors.”

  Oh God, what am I doing here? The more time I spend with Matteo, the more risk I’m imposing on my new life, on Jack, on my family back home.

  “I have to go,” I say, getting up from my couch.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” His voice is laced with danger.

  “That sounds like a threat.”

  Unblinking, he fixes his intense gaze on me. He stands inches away from me. “I don’t care what you think it is. You’re not leaving. Besides, Grace, you forget something. I know your secret.”

  My heart skips a beat. Does he know about Jack?

  He’s so tall I have to crane my neck when I look up at him, but I put on a brave face. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He puts his hand on the back of my skull and grabs the roots of my hair. Leaning close, he whispers in my ear, “You like it when I threaten you . . . kitten.”

  A thrill tiptoes down my spine. That’s the first time he calls me that pet name since we met again. And it still affects me the same way it did four years ago.

  “You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t want to see me again. Admit it,” he says.

  I feel like he’s peering into my soul. The more time I spend with him, the harder it becomes to hide my secrets. “I had questions, and now I’ve heard your answers. My business is done here.”

  “Is it?” Matteo catches my ear lobe between his teeth, his breath hot on my sensitive skin. “Then why aren’t you walking away? Why do I feel goosebumps on the back of your neck?”

  Because I’m so attracted to him it hurts to even look at him, knowing he’s the man I need to stay away from. Because the heat emanating from his body is burning me up from the inside. Because the electricity crackling between us makes me want to forget about everything and just give in.

  But I can’t tell him that.

  “I know you’re scared, kitten,” Matteo whispers. “But we belong together. You’ll see if you give us a chance.”

  Every nerve ending in my body yearns to close the gap between us.

  I can go home if I want to. If I’m under Matteo’s protection, I won’t have to suffer the wrath of two mafia families.

  I miss home. Terribly. Every time I see my son smile with those lips that resemble my mother’s, a familiar pain pangs in my chest at the thought of them never seeing each other.

  But that would be irresponsible. What Matteo offers is too good to be true.

  The moment I agree to go home with Matteo, he’s the one in complete control. There’s no guarantee he’ll protect me. It’s possible he’s furious that I ran away. Maybe he’ll make my life a living hell as soon as I wear his ring.

  If this were just about me, I’d give this a try. But with Jack in the picture, I can’t be that reckless.

  “What do you say, kitten?” Matteo plants a light kiss on my neck that makes my core clench with need.

  “I can’t. I have a life here. I can’t just uproot myself and gamble everything on you,” I say, resisting the urge to let myself melt under his touch.

  “A date,” he says in a hushed tone that tickles my ear. “Let me take you on a date. If you still want me gone after t
hat, I’ll leave you alone. Nobody else has to know you’re still alive.”

  It’s just a date. How bad can it be? On the other hand, what good can it do? What if it’s a trap?

  I shake my head, unable to say no.

  “I didn’t ask you a question, kitten,” Matteo says in a voice dripping with danger. “You’re coming on a date with me. I’ll break into your home and drag you out if I have to. But I prefer to do this the nice way.”

  Matteo

  When Grace opens the front door of her house that night in the red dress I bought for her, the sight knocks the breath out of me. It fits her perfectly, skimming her curves without revealing too much.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” I say, handing her the bouquet of flowers. The paper wrapped around the stems rustle.

  “Thanks.” She glances behind her. Then, careful not to pull the door open wider, she places the bouquet somewhere inside and steps out to join me. Her hair shimmers in the afternoon sunlight.

  Grace is still hiding something, and I’ll find out what it is.

  “Ready?” I offer her an arm and walk her to the car, a shitty rental I’ve been using for weeks while trying to locate her.

  “Thanks,” she says when I hold the door open, and she steps into the car.

  I glance at Grace as the car peels away from the sidewalk in front of her house. She folds her hands neatly in her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the light fabric of her dress.

  “Something on your mind?” I ask.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Dinner. You’ll like this place.” I found the restaurant when I was checking out the state parks in the area, hoping to run into her at some random campsite.

  “You’ll take me home again tonight, won’t you?”

  I laugh. “Of course.”

  So that’s what she was worried about. I can’t say it’s without reason.

  I’ve kidnapped a few people—mostly men who deserve it, though. Even killed some of them without any remorse.

  Even though Grace has caused chaos and violence with her actions, she doesn’t mean to hurt anybody. She acts out of self-preservation.