by Seth Eden
“So Queen Molly’s hurling hard, I hear,” Marco said from the door of the nursery. I’d come by to feed Anna her lunch like I did whenever I could. I was surprised to see him here. While my brothers visited their niece, Marco seemed almost intimidated by her.
“She’s not that sick. I saw her about an hour ago.”
“Oh, well, I’ve got an update for you, then. She’s a lot sicker now. You probably shouldn’t let her get too close to the baby.”
“Molly’s not contagious. It’s food poisoning,” I told him, but I was still glad I was so meticulous about washing my hands before picking Anna up.
“Whatever you say. How’d the meeting with Bianchi go this morning?” I stared at him. I hadn’t told him about it, so how had he known? Marco threw me a predatory smile devoid of any levity whatsoever. “Don’t look so stunned, brother. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.”
“Sandro told you?” I assumed.
“No, actually. I overheard you two talking. Thanks so much for keeping me in the loop, by the way,” he said, his sarcasm dialed to eleven. He kept his tone even, but I could tell he was miffed.
“Marco, look—” But he cut me off.
“You would think as the second in command, the second son, I would’ve been informed before Alessandro, but I guess you neglected to inform me about the change in ranks.”
Anna, sensing the growing tension, made a whimpering sound. “We’re taking this elsewhere.” I forced myself to remain outwardly calm as I kissed the top of her forehead. Greta, always discreet, had made herself busy at the far side of the nursery, but as I stood, she approached my daughter, grabbing her out of the walker and wiping a smear of food off her face with a soft cloth.
“Time for your bath, little one,” she said, disappearing into the attached bathroom.
I led my brother to the adjacent room, the one we called our main headquarters, though it mainly functioned as an office. In it were everything from burner phones and computer monitors to the dusty old ledgers our father’s accountant had used.
“I was planning to update you and Gabriel tonight at dinner, so get off your high horse.”
“But you went off without informing us this morning. What if the Bianchi’s had shot you dead while they had access to you? Ever think about that?” Marco demanded, and though annoyed, I appreciated the sentiment.
Somewhat, anyway.
“Dad did whatever the fuck he wanted and never informed us about shit,” I told him.
“And now look where that’s led.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Luca, there’s evidence that Dad was ripping the Bianchis off. Not just records but video footage. But it’s of the man who told us over and over again to act with subtlety, to take people out only when no other way could be found. He’s not someone who would start a war with a family almost as strong as we are. Something about all this stinks. Its stinks to high hell.”
I had to concede Marco’s point. Nothing about this thing with the Bianchis had sat right with me from the beginning. I felt like there must be some crucial piece of the puzzle missing but I didn’t know what it might be.
“And no matter what Dad may or may not have been doing, I still think they should pay,” my brother went on. “Coming in here and shooting the patriarch of such an important crime family down like they were on some big game hunt… It’s wrong.”
Again, I agreed with him. I always had. But I didn’t want to risk the lives of every single person in this house by starting something that would only end in bloodshed on both sides. “It is wrong, and I’m angry about it just like you are. But we can’t go to war over this.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, gazing out the window. It was another bitterly cold December day. “I know going to war would be crazy, and Dad knew that better than anyone. That’s why I can’t figure out why he’d be so reckless. I could see him trying something he knew he could get away with, but this? Being on their premises with cameras right there in sight? He’d never do something so out in the open like that. He’d never be so obvious.”
I wished our father was alive so I could demand he tell me what was going on. Even if he’d backhanded me for my impudence, at least I would’ve no longer been in the dark. “We need to keep our eyes peeled and stay alert. I want you, Sandro and Gabriel to contact your informants and see if there are any underground whispers we haven’t heard yet.”
Marco nodded, leaving me alone in the room. I sat down at one of the desktop computer stations and sent out feelers among my own personal spies. I hadn’t asked much of them in over a year, but I knew greasing their palms should net me at least some information.
The problem was Angelo Varasso may have gone to his grave with the information I needed.
24
Molly
After Luca left my room, my food poisoning intensified to repulsive levels, but thankfully I felt better the next day. Mostly. I still wasn’t back to one hundred percent, but I managed to muddle through by not eating anything. I had to because I had an appointment with my real estate broker.
I’d made an offer on my new house and it’d been accepted. I might have jumped up and down with elation, but my nausea had chosen that specific minute to make a reappearance. God, I couldn’t stand being sick.
I was never eating eggs, oil, or vinegar ever again.
Once I signed on the dotted line, I went to handle all the business I’d missed the day before, only to discover that Luca had already caught me up. Which I supposed I should be grateful to him for. It was a sweet thing for him to do.
But then I thought about it. Was it really sweet or was it just him maintaining his family’s dealings like he always had?
Probably the latter.
The next day I fought nausea again all the way to the airport. I drank my ginger ale, closing my eyes and telling my stomach to knock it off already. I must’ve gotten all that out of my system by now.
I made it to the tiny town on the inside of the Texas border even though the dirt road we’d had to travel on made me sick again in the back seat. Luca had given me the name of my new contact, an Officer Peterson, who would ensure safe passage of our products going forward. I got out of the car and was surprised to discover that Officer Peterson was a woman.
A woman who looked like she was about ten months pregnant.
Hadn’t seen that one coming.
I introduced myself, then closed my eyes as I tried to use mind over matter to keep from turning green. It didn’t work. I attempted to concentrate on the border patrol officer. I’d expected well, one, a guy. And two, for that guy to be antsy. Up till then, I’d only ever worked with people who’d been with the Varassos for years, but this lady was brand new.
To be certain I had the correct person, I felt her out a little. “So my manager contacted you?” I asked her, testing her to see if she’d give me a name.
“Yes, I spoke with Luca. Very nice fella. He told me to just redirect the dogs on the days one of you texted me,” she spoke in a distinctly southern accent I’d only ever heard on television or in movies. It probably meant I needed to travel more widely. I suspected that Luca had been all over the world. At least during his youth.
“Good,” I said, sounded okay so far. I’d developed decent instincts before Luca had trained me on how to read people, and afterwards, I felt like an expert. Officer Peterson wasn’t setting off any of my red flags.
She patted her round belly. “Gotta do what I gotta do. I’m raising this baby on my own and our salaries are well… a joke if you wanna know the truth.”
“I understand.” I did. I’d spent much of my life in low-paying jobs. Another cramp hit me and I bent over double, doing my best not to throw up on her shiny cop shoes.
“Oh, honey, been there, done that. How far along are you?”
I put a hand over my mouth, barely holding back the only thing I’d had in three days now, ginger ale. Maybe because my brain was failing to fire on all cylind
ers, I couldn’t make sense of what she’d said. “Far along?”
“Yeah. I know you must be in your first trimester since you’re not even showing.”
Now I got it. “Oh, no, I’m not pregnant. I just ate some bad food a few days ago.”
“A few days? How many?”
“Um, four,” I said, wishing we would stop talking about this. It definitely wasn’t helping.
“Huh… Food poisonin’ doesn’t usually last that long. Hope you feel better. Good luck.”
“You, too.”
It wasn’t until I was on the trip back home that her words started to roll around in my head. Food poisoning doesn’t usually last that long. First trimester. I was sure I wasn’t pregnant, though. The only person I’d been with in months was Luca, of course. And that had only been twice.
Well, we’d gone through two condoms the first time, so technically that was three times, but who’s counting?
And I’d never be with him in that way again. Even though I loved him and wanted it more than anything. I wanted everything with him more than anything.
Okay, no use going there.
But I didn’t stop going there. My mind seemed fixated on him. I thought of all I’d been through with him in these few short months. Everything I’d seen. Everything I’d learned. Even though society taught me that everything about the Varassos were wrong, I’d never been happier in my life.
Until recently.
I was strong, though. I’d had to be. I had my new house—something I kind of dreaded telling Luca about—and my money. I had plenty of nice pretty clothes and a comfy bed. Things had gotten friendlier between me and his brothers, too, so that was a bonus.
Right?
And don’t forget Anna. Adorable little thing. She was the prettiest baby I’d ever seen in my life, and she barely even cried. Then a wave of sadness rolled over me like a tidal wave, and tears started running down my cheeks. Thank God no one was on the plane but the pilots up in the cockpit. That way I could stay in my misery alone.
And I did stay in it. For a solid hour.
Dammit.
When I was able to finally quit blubbering, I went to the tiny bathroom to freshen up. I needed to go back to my room at the mansion to get some of my things. I didn’t have much, but I wanted it to go with me to my house. The house I’d have all to myself. Away from Luca.
As soon as I thought the words, more tears fell.
God, what the hell was wrong with me? I felt like a total basket case. I had to get myself together in the next ten minutes because we were going to be back at the airport soon. I took the opportunity while in the restroom to check my panties. I should be starting anytime now. I’d felt all the signs for days. I went ahead and put on a pad in preparation.
When I stepped on the tarmac this time, I felt a bit more normal. I must’ve been emotional because I’d been so sick. I’d actually been remarkably healthy growing up, despite not having the best circumstances. I could only remember being ill a handful of times. So maybe that’s why I was having such a strong reaction. I wasn’t used to feeling this bad.
Once outside the airport, I stood waiting for a taxi. The familiar exhaust fumes filled the air around me, and I coughed. The odor seemed so much more pungent than usual. But then, maybe this cab just had a lot more mileage or something.
It was just after lunch when I arrived back at home, and I decided to lay down for a minute. I felt so weary. I didn’t tend to have issues with jetlag, but the combination of being sick and getting upset had really taken it out of me.
I laid on my stomach, but since my breasts still felt so sore, switched over to my back. I’d rest for about an hour and then get back to work. Thoroughly drained, I didn’t even bother to change out of my dress suit before closing my eyes.
When I woke, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. I glanced at my watch. It was six in the morning. Wait. I’d slept all that time? What had that been? I counted the hours in my head… Eighteen hours?
Pure insanity!
I jumped out of bed and into the shower, feeling the first surge of energy I’d had in days. I also felt the first pangs of hunger I’d had in days. Still no period, though, and that was starting to make me worry. I’d never gone this long from the onset of my symptoms without things taking their natural course.
It was about an hour before Rosa would bustle around the kitchen, so I went down to make some oatmeal. I made a big bowl of the stuff, feeling more like myself as I refilled my stomach. Still, as I finished my breakfast, I thought about the past few days. How ill I’d been. How worn out. How much I’d slept. How I’d cried. I pressed a hand to my chest… Ouch. How my breasts were still sore. How I hadn’t started my cycle.
Then, I thought about the last time Luca and I had been together. It’d been about two and half or three weeks ago now.
I specifically remembered using protection that first time on his sofa. He’d had some condoms in his top drawer. But what about in the gym? Where had the condoms been then?
We must’ve used one.
I couldn’t remember using one, though. I’d come fresh from my bath and surprised him. He’d been working out at the punching bag. He hadn’t been expecting me. I’d gotten pissy with Luca and nearly slapped him. And then, I’d essentially seduced the man. Had my wild, wicked way with him. It’d been hot and steamy and glorious.
And intense as all hell.
As the images flew through my mind, though, I realized something.
It’d also been completely unprotected.
Shit!
25
Luca
I woke to the sound of Anna screaming and leaped off the sofa bed as if I’d been electrocuted. I ran to her crib, freaking the fuck out. I’d never heard her make that sound in her life.
She continued to scream and sob, and I had no idea what was wrong. I checked every inch of her to make sure nothing was hurting her physically. I didn’t see a damn thing.
“What is it, sweetness?” I asked her like an idiot. Christ. It’s not like she could articulate anything that made sense at sixteen-months-old.
I held her, bounced with her as I paced back and forth, and changed her though she wasn’t even wet, all to no avail. Then, I tried feeding her, burping her and showing her a toy, but nothing helped. Nothing.
Still crying out at the top her lungs, I rushed with her down the hallway to the stairs, making my way toward Greta’s room.
“What’s wrong?”
I heard Molly’s voice, but I didn’t pause as I continued going for help. “I don’t know.”
Blinking more awake and tying her robe closed, she hurried behind me. When I reached Greta’s room, Anna’s screaming stopped, and I looked at her to make sure she was still breathing. Our nanny appeared at her threshold.
“Luca? Anna?”
“She started screaming and nothing I did helped. And now…”
Greta took her from my arms, turning on her overhead light to examine her. “Airways are fine. No fever.” She pulled up the back of her diaper. “Not dirty.”
“So what’s wrong with her?” I asked, feeling fit to be tied.
“Nothing now. Probably a bad dream.”
“A bad dream made her scream like that? She’s never done that before.”
Greta shrugged. “She is growing. Her brain is developing all the time. Something she saw likely stuck with her and came back as a nightmare.” I frowned, trying to think of anything I’d shown her that would cause such an extreme reaction. “When you were little, child of light, you had night terrors. You tried to climb up the walls to get away from whatever had frightened you.”
I scratched my head. I could recall some nightmares, but climbing the walls?
“You probably will not remember,” Greta said as if knowing what I was thinking. “You were no more than two. Not much older than Anna is now. She may have inherited this from you.”
Then I remembered. “Gabriel brought in a doll for her. Could that h
ave been it?”
“Perhaps. Is something about it scary?” Greta asked.
“It’s a doll. All dolls are kind of creepy, don’t you think?”
And the woman who’d taken care of me, my brothers, and Anna tilted her head back and laughed out loud. I felt a frisson of awareness from behind me and had this impulse to reach out and connect to it. To Molly. I turned to see her smiling before she broke out into laughter, too.
“What’s so funny?” I wanted to know.
“You,” Molly said, her face wreathed with merriment.
“Why me?”
“You’re this big bad mobster guy, but you’re afraid of dolls,” Molly told me, then gave another peal of laughter.
Greta hadn’t stopped laughing yet. She leaned over my daughter, tickling her on the tummy. “Is Daddy silly? Is he?”
Molly joined our nanny, using a similar singsong voice. “Daddy’s silly, huh? So silly.”
I might’ve gotten a bit irritated at them laughing at my expense, except Anna started to giggle along with them. She’d giggled before, of course, and I’d always loved the sound. And after the scare I’d just had, hearing it sounded better to my ears than about anything I could imagine. So I jumped in, too, so relieved I didn’t care if I looked like a total doofus.
I leaned over her, pulled up her onesie and blew on her belly. My daughter wiggled around, blue eyes sparkling, giggling as loud as she’d cried a little bit ago. “Yep, Daddy’s silly,” I said, smiling widely at her. Everyone’s laughter was contagious, and soon we were all standing there over Anna laughing our asses off.
After the four of us came back to earth, my daughter yawned, reminding us of the late hour. “Sorry I woke you two up,” I said. “She scared the bejesus out of me.”
“Don’t you dare apologize to me, Luca Antonio Varasso. This is what I am here for,” Greta told me, stern and affectionate as always. I hugged her.