Claiming His Baby

by Nikki Chase

  “I don’t know. I really don’t,” he whimpers pathetically.

  “He’s with Patrick?”

  “Yes. Yes. With Patrick. At the airport.” He repeats the same information as if that could somehow help me find Jack.

  I grip Tom’s wrist and turn him around, smashing his face against the wall. “Tell me how to find them, or I’ll break your fingers.”

  Tom cries out in pain. He speaks so quickly the words blend into one incoherent sentence. “The flight is at eight; that’s all I know, swear on my mother’s grave.”

  He slumps against the wall when I let him go. I can hear his groans of pain as I take long strides out of the room.

  In the hallway, the hotel guy trembles against the wall. Poor guy looks like he’s about to piss himself. Grabbing my wallet from my back pocket, I stick a few bills into his chest. “This should cover it.”

  His hands quake so much he drops the money onto the grimy floor. He mutters a shaky thank you.

  Grace looks on with steady, determined eyes. “We’re going to the airport.”

  Grace

  Matteo drives like a suicidal maniac, which is perfect. We’ll either catch up with Jack or die trying.

  My whole body vibrates with restlessness. I feel useless, just sitting here while Jack’s fallen into the hands of a kidnapper—and not just any kidnapper, but a mafia boss. “Drop me off at Arrivals. Call me when you’ve parked the car.”

  “No,” comes Matteo’s response, firm and unyielding.

  “We don’t have any time to lose. I can’t wait for you to park the car.” My impatient fingers rub the door handle.

  “That’s why I won’t.”

  I bite my tongue. Asking Matteo questions won’t get us there any faster. I’d rather not force him to divide his attention between me and the cars we swerve around. Besides, the roaring engine makes it hard for us to have a conversation anyway.

  We pull up to the drop-off point. The car has barely stopped when I push the door open. I don’t care what Matteo’s plan is; he’s a big boy who can take care of himself. I need to find my baby.

  Racing through the glass doors, I hear Matteo’s footsteps catching up to me. He’s left the car at the sidewalk, the engine still running.

  Northeast. That’s what that guy said.

  I bound on my feet as my gaze sweeps the list of flights on the big screen. “Desk twenty-one,” I shout loud enough for Matteo to hear.

  Running at full speed, I dodge people milling past me, slow as sloths as they lug their suitcases across the cavernous hall.

  “Watch it!” a gruff voice yells at me.

  Matteo is way ahead of me, speeding with ease on his long legs. My heart hammers against my ribcage, my eyes riveted on him as he scans the people lined up at the desk.

  Even though I was born into a mafia family, I’m only vaguely aware of what it takes for my dad to buy us the massive mansion, the shiny cars, and the designer bags.

  When Matteo delivered on his threats of violence against that guy at the hotel, I had no idea how to react. I just stood frozen in the hallway, partly horrified, partly fascinated, and completely gratified. He deserved it.

  My eyes search for kids in the crowd. What was Jack wearing? He’s been insisting on wearing blue exclusively, so it could be the sky-blue shirt with the picture of a pirate on the chest or the blue-and-white checkered shirt.

  Is he wearing a jacket, though? Did the kidnappers remember to grab a jacket for him?

  When I come to a stop by the desk, Matteo’s holding a phone up to his ear. That can’t be a good sign. Hasn’t he seen the other guy? Matteo’s fists must be itching to pummel him.

  “Seen anything?” I ask, panting for breath. My blood runs cold as he shakes his head.

  No. This can’t be the end.

  Oh, God. Jack, where are you?

  “What the fuck have you done?” Matteo barks into his phone.

  Tears, like pinpricks against my eyes. All through the ride here, I imagined taking Jack into my arms, holding him tight and never letting him go. He’d cry. I’d cry. Matteo would be drawing a crowd around him as he makes the kidnapper cry.

  I tried not to get my hopes up, but I guess it didn’t work. Tears escape my eyes, but Jack is nowhere in sight.

  Shit. I can’t believe he’s not here.

  Everything turns into a blur as I watch Matteo and listen to his side of the conversation. Who is on the other end of the line? What is he saying?

  I want to insist on Matteo putting the call on speakerphone, but I want to find Jack even more. I can’t stand in the way when Matteo’s tracking Jack’s scent like a bloodhound.

  “Don’t touch him.” Matteo taps the phone screen and grabs my hand, going straight up to the counter.

  People in the line turn their heads as we pass them by, no doubt wondering what kind of entitled assholes we are. Ignoring them, I ask, “Where’s Jack?”

  “On his way home,” comes his grim reply.

  “Home? As in . . . your home?”

  “My father’s home.”

  Terror seeps through my flesh and stabs my bones. Goosebumps prick my skin. My legs tremble as I keep up with Matteo’s furious pace.

  I watch through a haze as Matteo glares at the woman behind the desk and demands two tickets on the next flight. She makes a weak attempt to remind Matteo about the line of people who got here before us, but he shuts her down. “This is an emergency.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I still have to insist that—”

  He speaks through gritted teeth, his hand that’s curved around mine shaking with effort as he struggles to hold himself back. “You’re going to give us two tickets on the next fucking flight, or I’ll get you in so much trouble your head will spin.”

  The woman’s cheeks, already too red from a heavy-handed application of make-up, flush with chagrin. “Sir, please refrain from using foul language. I’m going to have to call security if—”

  “You people fucked up,” Matteo cuts her off. “My son has boarded a plane with a strange man and somehow nobody has bothered to check if he was the legal guardian.”

  The woman’s glossy lips part, but no words come out. She mutters something and calls her colleague to the desk, whittling Matteo’s patience down even more.

  After a heated exchange, two boarding passes are placed on the counter with our names on them. “It’s boarding in thirty minutes,” we’re told by a brusque voice.

  It feels like walking through haze with only Matteo’s hand to guide me through the security checkpoints, the maze of shops, and the throngs of travelers.

  If it weren’t for him, I’d be sobbing on my knees with no idea what to do next.

  But then again, if it weren’t for him, Jack would still be at home with me, safe and sound, isolated from the violent world our families live in.

  Wait a minute.

  This is exactly what Matteo wants.

  This is exactly what he’s been pushing me to do the whole time he’s been here.

  He’s getting what he wants. Jack’s already on his way to Matteo’s family home. I’m sitting by the boarding gate beside him, hanging onto his every word.

  Have I been fooled this whole time?

  I twist my hand out of Matteo’s grasp as I begin to see him in a new light.

  He’s been sweet and kind and attentive, sure. He’s been getting along well with Jack, too. Maybe that’s why I’ve let my guard down. I forgot all about who he really is.

  Even after that violent display at the hotel, I didn’t realize what kind of a monster lurks beneath Matteo’s charming, confident demeanor.

  He’s a mobster. He was born into a mafia family and is even being prepared to take over. He’s fully capable of violence. He has probably killed people before. Who’s to say he can’t kidnap someone, even if that someone is his own son?

  “Something wrong? You’re shaking.” Matteo’s gaze flickers across my body. Is that real concern in his eyes, or is that just an act? />
  “I’m just worried.” I force a smile. “You know . . . about Jack.”

  Matteo rests his hand over mine. But what felt like a comforting gesture, only moments ago, now constricts my lungs. I can’t breathe.

  Jumping up to my feet, I mumble something about going to the restrooms.

  Adrenaline surges through me. I can feel my heartbeat everywhere; every cell in my body is throbbing. My head hurts.

  Would I be delivering myself right into the enemy’s hands if I get on that flight with Matteo? But what choice do I have?

  Maybe I should’ve risked leaving the country after walking away from my old identity.

  I considered that option. I wanted to get as far away from danger as I could. But the man who picked me up in his car advised me not to do it. He told me it would be difficult to fake a believable passport, especially when there would be multiple checkpoints to go through in multiple countries.

  On the other hand, walking away from my family wasn’t even a crime. He gave me a fake ID to use, telling me that wasn’t exactly legal but also relatively low-risk. Teenagers use fake IDs to buy alcohol all the time.

  By the time I stand in front of Matteo, I’ve come up with a plan. Something I hope will level the playing field.

  With shaky lips, I suggest, “Maybe I should call my family and ask for their help.”

  A frown is immediately etched into his drop-dead-gorgeous features. “What?”

  “Yeah.” I wring my fingers but keep my face as neutral as I can. I’ve got to be strong for my baby. “You called your family, and they can’t help us. Maybe we should consider other options. My mom can pick up Jack at the airport. Nobody else in my family needs to know.”

  Matteo stares at me like I’ve sprouted an extra head. “Do you have a death wish?”

  Matteo

  “Do you have a death wish?” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth.

  Grace gapes at me, her eyes wide, her jaw hanging open. She’s trembling.

  It’s understandable, of course. Most people don’t want to have anything to do with the mafia—and most people go through their lives without having a single dealing with the mafia. Even though Grace has a mafia boss as her father, she probably has never been involved.

  Grace has been shaking since she found out about Jack flying home to my family. But now, it’s different. She’s scared of me. Not them.

  I can see the fear in her eyes. I’ve seen that look too many times before not to recognize the signs.

  “Sorry, that came out wrong.” I reach out to take her hand, but she flinches and takes a step back. My chest squeezes. “I’m sorry, kitten. It’s been a long day. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “What did you mean?” Accusation drips coldly from her voice. “Is someone going to try to kill me?”

  “No. They’d have to kill me first before they lay a hand on a strand of your hair.”

  “Then why did you say what you said?” Fair question.

  “I didn’t mean you. But your family—anybody who comes close to Jack—would be in danger.” I rake fingers through my hair. “In case you’ve forgotten, our families are in the midst of a war right now. If your mom shows up and tries to wrestle Jack away from Patrick, it could lead to . . .” I bite my tongue before I can finish the sentence. “Let’s just say it wouldn’t be pretty.”

  “So it’s okay for you to call your family. But when I suggest I do the same, suddenly it’s going to kill someone?” Grace asks, anger burning in her eyes.

  “That’s not what I mean.” I glance at the gate agents at the counter, shuffling around, getting ready. “Jack’s with my family, so it’s just an internal family matter for me at this point. If you involve your family, that’s just going to complicate the situation, possibly turning it violent. And I know you don’t want violence coming anywhere near Jack.”

  Grace’s fingers play with the fabric of her yoga pants. She didn’t have any time to change, so she’s wearing an old college shirt and yoga pants, along with a jacket she grabbed from the coat rack by the front door.

  She still outshines everyone else in this airport, of course. But even though she’s trying to be strong, she looks so fragile. I’d pull her into my arms and shield her from the world, but judging by the way she recoiled from my touch, that’s probably a bad idea.

  An announcement blares through the audio system. I get up and stop myself from putting my arm around Grace’s shoulders. “It’s time to board. Don’t worry. My dad swore he won’t hurt Jack. We’ll see him soon.”

  “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing that I’m going home.” Grace’s soft voice comes from the seat beside me.

  She’s still not meeting my gaze, choosing to stare at her lap instead. But we’ve been in the air for at least half an hour, and she has spoken exactly one sentence, so it’s an improvement.

  I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to upset her. “Yeah. It could be good for you. And for Jack too.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it you know. Going home.”

  “Yeah?” I’m sticking to brief, non-controversial responses. I want to hear what’s going on in that mind of hers.

  “Maybe it will be good for Jack to have a big family looking after him.”

  That’s debatable.

  Sure, a good family can provide a sturdy support system. But a family like mine, that has thrown me into a world of lies and deceit, of blood and violence?

  I don’t know. Maybe in an alternate world, I’m a perfectly happy corporate climber with a wife and a couple of kids. But there’s a chance I wouldn’t have met Grace, and we wouldn’t have had Jack.

  Now that I’ve got Grace and Jack in my life, I wouldn’t change a thing.

  Grace sighs. “His whole life, he’s only had me to rely on. God knows I was barely holding it together.”

  “Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. You were doing a great job.”

  She gives me a wan smile. “I shouldn’t have left him alone. I should’ve taken him with me into the bathroom.”

  I shake my head. “Give yourself a break, kitten. You’re too hard on yourself.”

  “It takes a village to raise a child. That’s what they say, right? Jack will have a better life back home, with grandparents and uncles and aunts.”

  When I reach for her hand in her lap, she starts in surprise but doesn’t move away. I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile when she looks up at me. “I’ll do anything for Jack. You know that, right?”

  Something flickers in Grace’s eyes, but I can’t read her. “Yeah,” she says, retreating back into her mind.

  Two flight attendants push a cart down the aisle and place plastic trays in front of us. The food is terrible, but somehow Grace manages to swallow down more than half of it. She seems calmer after the meal. Stronger.

  “I do miss my family,” she says, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. She smiles. “Maybe not my brothers. But my mom and my dad and my sister.”

  As a flight attendant leans over to collect our trays, guilt clenches my stomach.

  I probably should’ve told Grace about this sooner, but it was never the right time.

  At first, I thought she was still in contact with her family, which meant she would’ve known. When I found out she had no idea about what had happened . . . I don’t know. I felt like she’d been through so much already, and there was no reason for me to burden her with that knowledge.

  But now that we’re going home, she’ll learn the truth sooner or later. There’s no good way to deliver the news, but I’d rather she heard it from me.

  The pressurized air is probably not the reason why it’s hard to breathe. And the minimal leg space is probably not the reason why it’s hard to move.

  I turn to face her. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  A multitude of emotions flicker across her lovely face. Her voice is heavy with exhaustion, chilly with distrust. “What is it?”

  I take a deep inhale a
nd prepare myself for everything to change between us. “Your brother. Gio. He’s . . . he died.”

  Grace says nothing, but she doesn’t have to. The shock of the revelation tears down her carefully maintained mask of indifference and shows me everything. Disbelief. Grief. Anger. Distrust.

  She twists her hand away from my grasp. When she speaks, her voice shakes—not just with sadness or fear this time but also rage. “What happened?”

  I’ve written my lines and practiced what to say. Somehow, it doesn’t make this any less difficult. “There was a shootout at a club. I don’t know how much you know about the conflicts between our families, but one big reason is they can’t seem to agree on a clear division of territories. So when two groups of men see each other in a disputed club, trouble tends to follow. That particular night, it got bad.”

  Tears well up in Grace’s eyes, and she quickly wipes them away with the back of her hand. “Did he suffer?”

  “It was quick,” I answer quickly.

  “You were there?” Her glare stabs a blade through my heart.

  I nod. “I was the one who pulled the trigger.”

  Grace’s silence says more than words could ever express. Her eyes . . . Fuck, does she hate me now?

  “He was pointing a gun at me. It was . . . I had no choice,” I try to defend myself.

  “How could you?” Acid drips from her words and burns me from the inside.

  “It was war,” I explain. “That’s what it means when I tell you it’s an all-out war between our families. That’s why you’re needed back home. That’s why I—”

  “That’s why you . . .?” Grace raises an eyebrow. “That’s why you were so determined to find me?”

  I shake my head. “I needed to find you because I couldn’t forget you. You haunted me like a shadow.”

  Grace glances away. When she meets my gaze again, she’s regained her composure. Poker face. Perfect poise.

  I don’t know what hurts more—the flaming fury in her eyes just moments ago or the utter apathy she’s showing me right now.