Phantom's Baby: A Mafia Secret Baby Romance (Mob City Book 3)

by Holly Hart

  What if I smartened this place up? I thought. I couldn't help but imagine the surprised, yet gratified smile that would form on Roman's face when he walked through the door, back from wherever he had disappeared off to. The thought warmed me up inside, and besides, I thought, rationalizing away the cheesy, fuzzy warmth that had begun to brew in my stomach, it would give me something to do.

  I looked for a paintbrush, but that was the one thing that wasn't stacked untidily in a pile, waiting for its chance to deal someone's careless toes a heavy helping of pain. I went looking for a paintbrush, but instead I found the truth.

  A part of it, anyway. I breezed through the kitchen, idly pulling out drawers. Almost every one of them were empty, a far cry from my own home, which was filled to the rafters with useless, must-have knickknacks. Almost every drawer, that is, except for the one that wasn't. That one was filled with old-school, black cell phones, from a world back before apps and smart phones. My reporter's brain supplied the word. Burners.

  My fingers jumped back off the drawer like I'd been scalded, and my brain filled with an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Air hissed out of my lungs, and the word "No," escaped my lips. The second I saw my medical records, stuffed in a drawer and hidden away, I knew that I'd been deceived.

  I might not have understood the full extent of what was going on, or why I was being hidden away like Rapunzel in her tower, but I understood one thing very clearly: I was being lied to. Roman was lying to me, and had been for some time.

  Maybe he's just a sicko…

  I leafed through the brown manila folder, suddenly desperate to discover the truth. When I found it, what I read bowled me over. My heart rate quickened, then doubled in speed, accelerating every second as my eyes greedily devoured the text. The words were troubling, no, devastating. All at once I fully understood the aching sense of emptiness, loneliness and abandonment that I'd been carrying around since I awoke from my coma, one question answered, but another dozen doors opened.

  "No," I cried in anguish. "That can't be right, it just can't…"

  Now, there was only one thought on my mind. One place I needed to be.

  And it wasn't here.

  "Alice," I hissed. I was skulking in the shadows, near the staff entrance to Alexandria General, a place that I'd watched out of my hospital window many times, but never visited. The friendly middle-age nurse turned with a smile, aware that she'd heard a familiar voice, but so far unable to precisely place the source. After spending four hours lurking outside the hospital, making sure that nobody spotted that I was there, I was cold, wet and tired, with an unfamiliar ache in legs that, for all my vain attempts to exercise them, were still unaccustomed to hard work. But I didn't feel any of it. A burning sense of duty carried me forward, as powerful as any soldier's in the line of duty, because my duty was the most powerful goal for any woman in any time. If I had ever allowed myself to be weak before, to bob like a rudderless dinghy on the surface of waves that I didn't understand and couldn't control, then that time was gone.

  Alice turned, and recoiled with surprise as she saw me, all color draining from her face. I had spent many long hours talking to her over the course of my recovery, and knew that above all, she was a strong, passionate, proud person, for whom her chosen profession was a calling, rather than a career.

  Yet, in a city like Alexandria, only a fool would be happy to see a mob target turning up out of the blue for a chat. Her hand trembled as she lifted it up to wave at me, before seeming to recognize the nervous message it conveyed. "Ellie…" She stammered, struggling for words. "What are you doing here? Are you…" She paused. "Are you okay?"

  As she drew closer to me, I could see that the skin around her eyes was drawn, and wrinkled with tiredness. Perhaps the color hadn't drained from her face, so much as it had never been there in the first place. I saw all that, and yet I still couldn't contain myself.

  "How could you not tell me, Alice? How could you?" I broke off, my voice disappearing under the immense strain of the anguish.

  She pulled me nervously into a concrete alcove beside the hospital entrance, and, my subconscious mind noticed, underneath but out of sight of a CCTV camera. "Ellie," she said, layering a professional veneer over a voice that was still ruled by stress and sorrow. "What are you doing here? Where have you been? The police –"

  I cut her off. "Answer me, Alice," I burst out. "Do you think I'm here for a social call?" There was a hard edge to my voice that I didn't recognize. But if I had to be a different person, had to take up a role to survive, and to protect my own, then I knew without a doubt that I was up to the task.

  She recoiled as though she'd been stung, and for a second I thought that I'd gone too far. But no sooner had I prepared to broach the uncomfortable, tense silence than her shoulders slumped forward, and she seemed to age a dozen years in a moment. "We were going to, Ellie," she began. "Believe me, 100 times, believe me. You don't know how hard it was for me –"

  "How hard it was for you?" I exclaimed, feeling the cold flame of anger beginning to lick around my stomach.

  She raised her hand to stop me before I got into my stride. I had enough of me left to hold back from the edge. I hadn't come here for a fight, I'd come here for a path out of this mess, and attacking Alice wasn't going to get me the answers that I wanted. "I know, I know," she said, with the pallid color of a defeated woman. "I'm sorry, please, please believe me. Will you listen?" She asked.

  I nodded.

  "With a case like yours…" She started, bouncing nervously from foot to foot. "A traumatic brain injury of that magnitude, that extent," she paused, weighing up the words. "It's almost unprecedented. And of course, that's not even mentioning your condition."

  "My condition?" I questioned dangerously. "I was pregnant. I was pregnant, and nobody said a damn thing. Not even you, Alice. A month, was it, that I was awake, and even you didn't tell me?"

  Alice eyed me up, with the same nervous look that a beaten dog might give its master. "Six weeks. You know that… You know the child survived?"

  The child. Hearing her say it brought it home to me, that I was a mother, and that I didn't know whether I'd given birth to a son or daughter, didn't even know their name. I might never have known that I was pregnant, even, couldn't trust my feeble, damaged brain to give me that tiny comfort.

  I nodded. "That's why I'm here, Alice. Like I said, not a social call, huh. Where is –." I fell silent, my brain struggling to grasp the fact that I didn't know whether to call my child a he, or she. I thought of saying it, but that felt cold, and impersonal. What kind of mother would talk about their child like that?

  "Can I tell you something?" Alice asked softly, her chin falling almost to her chest. She seemed small now, not the same confident, capable woman who'd held my hand through an awakening and recovery that had been so terrifying and fragile that it almost mirrored a baby's entrance into this cold, cruel world.

  She didn't wait for a reply, just started talking in a sad, defeated monotone. "Almost a year," she said quietly. "Almost a year you were in that coma, a tiny bit more actually. I remember the day they wheeled you into the TBI ward, and I sat by your bedside every month, as the leaves began to fall, and grew backagain.." She laughed sadly." You've got to understand, Ellie, no one wakes up after an injury like yours, it just doesn't happen. You were pregnant when they brought you in, and you wouldn't believe how many arguments we had about what to do about it, about you."

  My hand jumped reflexively to my belly, though it's inhabitant was long gone. I felt sick with worry, and pained by the thought that my child's life had once been up in the air, at the mercy of a bunch of uninvolved, emotionless doctors. "What are you talking about?" I croaked.

  "I rubbed cocoa butter on your stomach every day, you know that?" Alice whispered, talking in riddles. "

  "How could I not have known?" I wailed, tackling the knotted, tough meat of the issue for the first time. Fickle waves of temperature coursed through my body, like a fever breaki
ng and then roaring back ever stronger – only dozens of times a second as my brain struggled to process what Alice was saying.

  "What kind of mother,” my voice cracked. “What kind of mother forgets her own damn kid? What kind of person does that make me?”

  “It’s not your fault. None of it is. The brain protects itself," Alice said, more confidently now that she was back on the familiar ground of her medical expertise. "From things it's not yet ready to confront. That would be my guess, anyhow. But you, Ellie? I gave up trying to guess with you a long time ago... You're an enigma, a cipher, a miracle. The things that have happened to you, they just shouldn't happen." She looked up, flushed as she realized what she was implying. "But I'm glad they did."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of heavyset, grim-faced man in cheap blue overcoats exiting the staff parking garage. My heart began to beat faster, hitting irregular, terrified notes in a symphony of fear. I turned to look at them more carefully. They aren't doctors, I thought. "Alice," I shouted. "Run!"

  16

  Roman

  The nurse went one way and Ellie the other. The choice of who to follow wasn't hard. I just had to hope that no one had seen the other woman's face. I couldn't protect the whole damn city. If I could only save one, it wasn't even a choice.

  "Ellie!" I yelled over the chaos. Her head turned as she ran, a natural response to the sound of her own name.

  At any other time, I would have been overjoyed by what I saw in her eyes. Out of nowhere, this new version of Ellie radiated confidence and authority. I doubted whether she knew it herself, but to someone who cared, it was as plain as day. The newfound knowledge that she wasn't alone in this world, that she had someone to be strong for seemed to have jolted her back into life, after months casting around in the darkness. It was a lifeline, a shot in the arm, something to hold onto.

  I couldn't deny that I admired her reaction right now, even if I couldn't understand it. It showed an unyielding side to the girl that I'd suspected existed deep down within her, a side I'd seen flashes of color from, sparks that illuminated figments and fragments and facets of her personality like a camera flash glancing off a diamond, if not the whole picture. At least, not yet. But right now, we had bigger fish to fry, and if we didn't get out of here in the next few seconds, we'd be the ones in the frying pan. I glanced up, and saw that the two gangsters had quickened their pace now – making no attempt to hide their goal.

  Ellie's eyes widened the moment she saw me, and she jerked back as instinctively as if she'd been burned. "Get away from me," she said. Her voice was low and controlled, yet her flinty, glinting eyes told the real story. She was seething with an icy, glacial rage, perhaps more angry than I'd ever seen her. More angry than anyone I'd ever seen. I knew what her reaction meant. It meant that she knew the truth: the secret that I had been too scared to share.

  But her reaction told me something else. I guessed that she knew less than she thought. A portion, a fraction, just a sliver of the truth. Just enough knowledge to be dangerous – to herself.

  "We don't have time for this, Ellie," I begged, grabbing her arm in an attempt to usher her out of danger. "You need to –"

  She shook me off, interrupting me, and cast a glance at our pursuers over her left shoulder. "I don't need to do anything you tell me," she hissed, diving into the parking garage. "You're sick, a freak! I don't know what you want with me, but whatever it is, you're not getting it. There’s something wrong with you. You need help. I'll," she stammered. " I'll go to the police!"

  I winced and shook my head with frustration. "Listen, I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry for a whole lot of things. But don't cut your nose off to spite your face. You need my help."

  "Stop telling me what I need," Ellie growled, her tone hoarse with exertion. My breath was ragged now as well, coming in fits and starts around sentences. I started planning, casing the joint, thinking through all the angles. It came naturally to me after a life spent in the shadows. You always need a plan, because a man without a plan is as good as dead. I knew one thing beyond any doubt. We didn't have time to fight. Every second spent debating with Ellie was another second closer to a bullet in our backs.

  It didn't matter that she was right. "Just leave me alone," she gasped, pressing her hand against her side. Her face pinched with pain. She was unfit. All those months spent comatose in a hospital bed had carved out their piece of flesh, and now it was taking its toll.

  "You need to come with me," I shouted, my voice echoing around the concrete parking garage like it was a cave. I kicked myself mentally for using the word need. "Those men are killers, Ellie –"

  "And you're not?" She panted. She was visibly slowing now. I knew what I had to do, my plan. I knew what I had to do, but that didn't mean I liked it. I knew that it might cost me everything, might cost me any chance of Ellie ever trusting me again. But I knew that it might be the only chance of saving her life. It was a risk worth taking.

  Fuck!

  This wasn't going how I'd anticipated. I knew that Ellie's words were justified, but the irony punched me in the gut like a sledgehammer. I was trying to save her life, not end it. But I knew that she had no reason to believe me. Any trust that I'd built up with her through saving her life was washing, then flooding away with every second that we spoke. Argued.

  I reached behind myself, to the familiar, hard bulge of a weapon tucked tight to my lower back into the waistband of my jeans. I tugged it loose, fighting the unwilling embrace of my tight leather belt. I didn't want to start a shooting war outside of a hospital if I didn't need to. But I would, if it meant saving her life. Ellie's eyes jumped to the weapon in shock. "You wouldn't!"

  In the event, I didn't have to. Someone made my mind up for me. A shot rang out, punching a chunk in a concrete stanchion not far from my head and a woman screamed, shattering the calm afternoon into slivers. A siren rang out, adding to the confusion, and my adrenaline spiked in response to the familiar sound. To normal people that sound meant fear and confusion. To me it was a lullaby, the soundtrack of my life. An icy chill spread throughout my veins as I settled into a long-practiced routine. Tight, cramped spaces. Rows of cars. Dirty, gray, dented concrete pillars. This was my habitat, where I thrived. Like any predator, I had my own hunting ground, and it was here, right now.

  I turned and loosed a shot. It wasn't meant to hit, just to provide cover – and not to hurt an unlucky bystander. Enough death stalks my dreams at night without adding an innocent to the list. The slug crashed through a truck's windshield, and the glass clouded over as a patchwork cobweb of cracks splintered across it. A few shards of shattered glass fell onto the concrete floor, tinkling as they landed and bringing an unexpected, choral end to the gunshot's violent retort, still echoing round the garage.

  I called out. "Ellie?" But she was gone, twenty yards away already; with her arms pumping like she'd reached the final stretch of a marathon. At least she's out of their range, I thought. But another emotion quickly replaced the cool relief that had barely begun to sooth me – the burning, aching frustration of a painful realization.

  I swore. She was fast, but tiring quickly. Months of inactivity had worn her stamina down to a husk. I knew that catching up with her wouldn't be a problem. The problem would be in convincing her to come quietly. I knew she didn't trust me. I couldn't blame her. I wouldn't either. But somehow I needed to find some reserve of compassion inside me. Some way of convincing her that she could trust me, believe in me, like I did her.

  You could just say it like that, bozo.

  But before any of that, I needed to slow down the chasing footsteps behind me.

  I turned, steadied myself, and fired twice. Two measured, well-aimed shots landed just inches away from the first of the chasing gangsters. They ducked behind the nearest car, a big Ford F150. I cursed, realizing that I wasn't operating at peak efficiency. Normally, I was lethal. It was why the crime families in this city paid me so much. And not just this city, either.

&
nbsp; The reality and finality of my new lifestyle began to dawn. I'd spent my entire life operating as a lone wolf, a man with no tribe, no connections and no ties. And then, just like that, everything had changed. She had changed it. My world was different now, my outlook wrenched away from the simplicity it understood – action and reaction. Life, and death. Payment… And murder. I needed to wake up and smell the bacon.

  Get out of your head, Roman.

  "Ellie, please, wait!" I called out. I lay down a smattering of gunfire to encourage my pursuers to keep their heads down for a few moments longer. If I knew their type at all, and I thought I did, they wouldn't be too anxious to risk themselves. I made a break for it, knowing that even after months of inactivity, Ellie still had the stride and elegant gait of a runner. I'd lose her if I wasn't careful. I looked down at my own frame as I ran, ejecting the spent magazine from my weapon as effortlessly as breathing. The corners of my mouth turned upward in a smirk. Elegant would be the last word I'd use to describe myself. Firm, sturdy, and powerful? Sure. Muscular and devilishly handsome? If I did say so myself… But elegant? Not a snowflake's chance in hell.

  The sight of her disappearing body urged me onto ever-greater efforts. A burst of energy suffused my legs, and I began to close the distance between us effortlessly. She turned a corner, snatching a peek over her shoulder as she span, and her face was black with thunder. She wasn't scared, but furious. Not wavering, but determined.

  But more than any of that, in this world, Ellie was a novice. She was wet behind the ears, and I knew she'd be willing to put her life on the line to save her child – and that because of it, her lifespan would be measured in hours, not days. The people she'd have to go up against would kill her as soon as look at her.