Claiming His Baby

by Nikki Chase

  “Kitten, I—”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snaps, fire launching over our shared metal armrest for a split second before she restores her placid surface, invisible spackle perfectly coating the cracks in her mask.

  I measure my words and start to explain myself, hoping she’ll at least consider the circumstances. It wasn’t black and white. Most things in our world aren’t that clear-cut. “It probably doesn’t make any difference to you, but I wish I wasn’t there. I wish I didn’t pull the trigger. But the truth is, Gio was a goner the moment he pointed a gun at my men. Even if I wasn’t the one who did it, someone else would’ve done it.

  “Things had been bad for a long while, Grace.” I take a deep breath, but even the air feels like shards of glass scraping my lungs. “Many lives had been lost. On both sides. You know how hot-headed Gio was. He was belligerent. Hurting for a fight. He provoked people. Managed to take a man down with him and put several other people in hospital.”

  Grace remains silent. She doesn’t respond to my words, but she doesn’t stop me either. Staring blankly at the black screen attached to the seat in front of her, Grace sits still as a marble statue.

  “I’m a killer, Grace. I made peace with that fact a long time ago. It’s something that sticks with me. Won’t leave no matter how hard I scrub my skin.” I lean my head back on the cushioned seat and study her profile.

  Grace blinks rapidly as if to push back tears. But she looks so stoic I wonder if maybe it’s just my imagination.

  I feel like I’m speaking to a slab of stone, but I continue. “I didn’t choose to be born into my family, just like you didn’t have a say about it. I wish I didn’t have to bring you back, but you know sooner or later, someone was going to find you.

  “It took me some time to make my peace with my lot in life, but I’ve learned that once you’re in the mafia—by choice or otherwise—the only option is to stay and make the most of it. That goes for the two of us too. We’re not exempt.

  “Grace, I can give you a life of peace. We can spread that peace around, share it with our families, make sure nobody else has to lose his life in this fucking stupid war.” I make my last plea, hoping she hears me even if she pretends she doesn’t. “I really do love you, Grace. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

  Grace

  Strange eyes shoot daggers at me as soon as the limo that picked us up at the airport glides past the tall, wrought-iron gates of the Guerriero estate.

  When the driver rolls down his window to let the security guard peek inside, he casts a surreptitious glance at me. Maybe that’s why the driver keeps the partition down.

  The other black-clad guards turn their heads as we pass as though they can look through the tinted windows. Even the gardener pulls his attention from the hedges and fixes his eyes on the car, metal shears hanging from one tanned hand.

  I can feel their stares burning a hole in my back as I step out of the limo and up the stairs into the house where the house staff looks at me in the same cold way.

  I feel like a prisoner being paraded by the war victor for people to gawk at.

  Matteo grasps my hand, and I let him. The warmth of his skin feels like my lifeline as he guides me through one lavish room after another. High ceilings, marble floors, giant pillars. Like many people in this business, Matteo’s family has expensive tastes.

  “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.” His voice is calm, steady. Reassuring.

  We walk side by side, hand in hand, like we were partners in crime, past oversized furniture, crystal chandeliers, and paintings with gilded frames. The extravagance of our surroundings stands in stark contrast to the ugliness hiding within, the deceit and the violence lurking below the placid surface of wealth and stability.

  If the Guerrieros hadn't taken Jack, I would’ve had no problems trusting Matteo. And if he hadn’t killed my brother, I would’ve happily taken refuge in his kindness.

  But those things happened. And I don’t know if I can just forgive and forget. It’s not like he forgot to get me a card for my birthday. He killed my brother and kidnapped my son.

  What other secrets is Matteo hiding from me? What dark deeds has he done with the same hands that have held me, caressed me, and taken me to the peaks of screaming pleasure?

  “Matteo.” I don’t have to whisper, but it’s hard not to when I feel like everybody’s listening in on us, trying to figure out what business a dead woman has showing up here with their prince.

  “Yes, Grace?” He hasn’t called me “kitten” since I told him not to. But after four years of going by “Ashley,” having someone call me by my real name still feels too intimate, coming from someone I don’t trust.

  “Where’s Jack?”

  Matteo’s lips press into a line. “He’d better be here. Or some people will find themselves in a world of hurt.”

  His anger courses through his hand and into my body, filling me with courage. I don’t feel alone with him fighting by my side.

  But how can that be when he’s the reason why I’m thrown into the ring in the first place? If it weren’t for Matteo finding me, Jack and I would be sleeping in peace at home right now.

  “Ready?” he asks, his hand poised on the brass handle attached to tall, carved-wood double doors.

  He should’ve asked me that question before flying Jack home without my permission. Shoving my doubts aside, I focus on my son. I need to see Jack. Find out if he’s okay. He must be terrified. “Yes.”

  This is it. My life depends on these men now.

  Nobody—not even my family—knows I’m alive. And my only friend isn’t even aware that she’s been calling me by a fake name the entire time.

  Nothing’s stopping the Guerrieros from shooting me dead and tossing my body into an unmarked grave in the woods. Officially, Grace Esposito is already a dead woman.

  I swallow my nerves as Matteo turns the door handle. I’ve got to be strong. For Jack’s sake.

  We step inside a room with rich, dark wood paneling on the walls and plush carpet underfoot. Shelves so tall they reach the ceiling, filled to bursting with books. A fireplace crackling in the background, basking everything in its warm glow.

  A man sits behind a heavy mahogany desk, power emanating from his person. He rests his crystal glass, the ice clinking as they float in tawny liquid. Leaning back in his chair as if he’s been expecting us, he smiles. “Good to finally meet you, Ms. Esposito. I’d hoped to see you four years ago, but better late than never, huh?”

  Suppressing the fear surging up my gut, I march across the room. “Where’s my son?”

  Enzo Guerriero’s dark eyes twinkle with amusement, his expression reminding me of his son. “You’re spirited. I like that. I’ll be honest with you; I didn’t expect a dead woman to be so feisty.”

  “Stop fucking around,” comes Matteo’s clipped voice as his footsteps draw near. “Where’s Jack?”

  “He’s a cute troublemaker,” Enzo says, reclining in his big leather chair, as relaxed as he would be if he were at the beach. His salt-and-pepper hair takes on a yellow cast from the fireplace. “He’s safe.”

  Pressing my palms against the surface of his desk, I lean forward and glower. I put on the most intimidating expression I can muster. “Where?”

  Enzo laughs as though I were a cute little Girl Scout offering him cookies. “I’m glad to see you, Ms. Esposito. I really am, even though you’ve been bad. You’ve caused us a lot of trouble.”

  Before I can rain my outrage down on Enzo, Matteo speaks up. “Dad.”

  “Sit down, you two. We’ve got some things to talk about. I’ve been waiting four years. You haven’t seen your son for a few hours.” Enzo flicks his fingers, gesturing at the chairs across the desk from him.

  A loud slam on the table makes me jump. Matteo’s eyes are ablaze, burning a path of fury toward his own father. “Tell us where Jack is.”

  Enzo gives us a flat stare before raising his hands in the air as though he were surr
endering. “Okay, okay. He’s safe. Young people these days. So damn impatient.”

  The scraping of a drawer against its metal rails fills the air. Enzo swipes and taps on his phone, then holds it up for us to see a moving picture of Jack sleeping on what looks like white bedsheets, his little chest rising and falling with his regular breaths.

  “That’s live. So you see he’s fine. I’m not a complete monster. I wouldn’t hurt a toddler,” he says, his tone mocking. Obviously, he finds our distress entertaining. “Now, Ms. Esposito, please sit down, or I’m going to have to blow your brains out.”

  “Dad, I swear I’ll—”

  “You called, Mr. Guerriero?” I hear a man ask. Turning around, I find a mountain of a man standing by the door, his hand inside his jacket, no doubt already gripping his weapon.

  “You sit down too, Matteo. Otherwise I can’t guarantee Ms. Esposito’s safety.” There’s a slight edge to Enzo’s voice. He wasn’t happy when I opposed him, but Matteo going against him is really grinding his gears.

  There’s no other choice. We take our seats.

  “Isn’t this nice when everyone’s getting along?” Enzo asks. “You should’ve listened to me right from the beginning.”

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  Enzo raises an eyebrow. “I have the same question for you, Ms. Esposito. Try as I may, I fail to understand why you ran away four years ago, escaping an arranged marriage, only to now play family with my son.”

  I guess it sounds ridiculous when he puts it that way. “I didn’t know Matteo was the man I was supposed to marry.”

  Enzo steeples his hands. His forehead creases with concentration. “Now that you’ve gotten to know Matteo, I take it you no longer have any objections to marriage?”

  “Well . . . I . . . Uh . . . I don’t—” I stammer, my heart thumping in my chest. I glance at Matteo, but he’s staring at me with just as much curiosity in his eyes as his father. “I can’t answer that yet.”

  “Why not? You’ve had four years to think about it.” He watches me with his intense eyes. “Let me put it this way. What are your plans, now that you’ve come back from the dead?”

  “I don’t know. I . . . Until today, I had no idea this was going to happen so quickly.”

  “Dad, we’ve had a long journey. Could you give us a break and do this another time? We need to see Jack.” The way Matteo speaks about us makes me feel less alone, like I have someone fighting on my side.

  “I have some questions for you too,” Enzo says. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d found Ms. Esposito?”

  Matteo lets out a big exhale. “Because I knew you’d go all mafioso on us.”

  Enzo’s booming laugh fills his office. He asks his son more questions about what had happened while he was away. Then, at Matteo’s insistence, he dismisses us.

  I lock eyes with the guard by the door. Something tells me he’s disappointed he didn’t get to use his gun on me.

  After living in peace for so long, it feels strange to be back in this world, where violence is a viable means of resolving problems, and constant surveillance is the obvious solution to distrust.

  But I don’t care. I’m going to see my baby.

  Matteo

  I huff a sigh of relief when I open the door to find Jack exactly where my dad said he’d be, sleeping like his phone screen showed us he’d be.

  To be honest, I had my doubts. My dad didn’t know Jack was his grandson, after all. That said, as much of a monster as he is, he spoke the truth. He has never hurt kids—at least not kids who weren’t his own.

  I kept my worries under wraps for Grace. She was so tightly strung the whole time we were in his office that I was worried she’d snap.

  “Oh, baby. Jack, honey. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Grace rests her hands on the safety rails around the crib, slouching over the side to look at Jack’s sleeping face.

  Cool moonlight streams in through the window as Grace lifts up Jack’s little shirt, checking his body for wounds. I gingerly place my arm on Grace’s back and inwardly shout for joy when she doesn’t tell me to back off.

  “He’s not hurt.” Grace sounds like a massive weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

  “He looks so peaceful,” I remark.

  Grace smiles as she looks lovingly on our son. “Yeah. You wouldn’t think he’d just been kidnapped by looking at him.”

  A chuckle bubbles up from my stomach and slips out from my mouth. Grace joins me, giggling as she covers her lips with both hands, struggling to keep it quiet.

  “Shhh . . . We can’t wake him up,” she says, her shoulders shaking.

  “Yeah. He’s had a long flight.”

  I don’t know if it’s plain old relief or if the ridiculousness of the situation has finally caught up with us. But every time our eyes meet, we collapse into fits of laughter, the kind that leaves us gasping for breath.

  “Mom?” Jack’s voice is almost a whisper, but it’s enough to demand our full attention.

  “Hey, you,” Grace says gently. “Did you have fun today?”

  Jack mumbles an incoherent answer and smiles, his tired eyes fluttering shut again. The sight fills my chest with warmth that spreads throughout my body. So this is what it feels like to be a father.

  Grace puts a tender hand on Jack’s forehead and moves stray hair off his face. Then, she straightens her spine, she stiffly takes a step away from me. She motions at the bed next to the crib. “I’ll sleep here.”

  That look again. The euphoria of having found Jack safe and sound has passed. Now that she’s gotten ahold of her mind, she puts her guard back up. Her face is a mask of indifference, her inner thoughts a mystery.

  I wish I could spend the night here in this guest bedroom with my little family. But Grace doesn’t want me here—that much I know.

  “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  If she needs space, I’ll give it to her. But I’m not letting her go again. Never.

  Now that we’re back home, I can clearly see how well we can all fit together, how happy we can be. No matter what it costs, Grace and Jack are staying.

  I slip out of the room and traverse the large house, my legs taking me to the bedroom I used to sleep in as a boy. Lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling, my mind busy with fantasies of having my family for good and schemes to make them a reality.

  Tomorrow morning, I know my dad will want to see me. After that, I suppose we’ll have to hold a meeting with the Espositos.

  How will they react to finding out Grace is alive? I don’t doubt that Grace was telling the truth about not having any contact with her family. Will they be angry? Happy? Will they feel like she betrayed them?

  No matter what, Grace will always have a place to come home to. She belongs right by my side.

  Grace

  “You!” My dad marches toward me, red-faced and fiery-eyed, pointing an accusing finger at me. I flinch, pressing my back against the back of the couch, but he doesn’t slow down. “You killed your own brother. You know that?’

  “Marco,” my mom’s voice echoes in the Guerrieros’ living room, gently chiding my dad. “We agreed that you’d at least try to keep an open mind.”

  A pretty woman pulls open the door to Enzo Guerriero’s office and announces to the room that her boss has been waiting for my dad.

  With a last warning glare, my dad turns his back and enters Enzo’s office. The well-dressed secretary shoots me a sympathetic smile. Too bad she wasn’t around last night; she would’ve made me feel more at ease.

  “Grace.” My mom drops herself onto the couch next to me, then pulls me into a hug, cutting my line of sight to my dad. Putting her hands on the back of my head, she strokes my hair.

  This gesture might seem normal, coming from a maternal figure. But my family tends to clutch their emotions close to their chests, and my mom is no exception.

  Her shoulders shake as I wrap my arms around her. “Mom, are you crying?”

  When she speaks, he
r voice is shaking just a little bit. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  At her words, all the emotions that I’ve been holding back rush up to my eyes, escaping as tears. “Me too.”

  We sit there, uttering no words but saying all the essential things to each other with our embrace.

  “Now, I’ve been told I have a grandson?” Mom breaks away from the hug and reaches into her purse for some Kleenex to wipe her tears, offering me the familiar, floral-scented tissues.

  I nod as I clean the tears from my face and blow my nose, laughing out of relief even though I know shit isn’t done hitting the fan. I get up and lead my mom up to the second floor of the mansion, ignoring the cold stares of the woman sweeping the stairs and the guys hanging up a large painting.

  We walk down a wide, long passageway until I spot the painting of a minotaur backing a terrified woman into a dark corner. It reminds me of my first meeting with Matteo. Funny how I went from being scared of him to seeing him as my protector and back to being scared of him again, although I guess I have a more nuanced picture of him now.

  I stop by one of the many identical doors and push it open. Someone has come in here to make the bed for me, but Jack is still napping in his crib, undisturbed.

  “Oh, he’s precious,” my mom gasps. Jack isn’t her first grandchild, although I suppose that doesn’t make him any less special.

  We stand by the crib, carrying a hushed conversation over the sleeping child. Mom wants to know everything about Jack, and I’m all too happy to oblige. It’s not often that I find a captive audience who’s actually interested in the fact that Jack’s favorite color changes every month, or that he’s starting to get better at eating on his own.

  “You must’ve been terrified,” she says, her gaze soft when I get to the part about the kidnapping. It’s hard to believe that was only yesterday.

  “Yeah.”

  She steps away from the crib and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. As I join her, I’m reminded of the last time we sat on the bed together, side by side just like this. Four years ago. When she told me to kill the person I’d been my whole life and start over somewhere far away.