DON’T TOUCH MY BABY: Ricci Family Mafia

by Zoey Parker

  Then I saw the news.

  Yes, there was that bit about me going to the hospital because I was “so very ill” and everyone was “quite concerned” but the part that really enraged me was the fact that Asher had been arrested.

  After my father promised he’d dropped the charges.

  “What had I been thinking?” I demanded out loud, furious with him and myself both. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him!

  And more to the point, if I couldn’t trust him on that, how could I trust that he wouldn’t force me to get rid of the baby? I let my hand slide over my stomach, caressing the small bump that had finally begun to show. I wasn’t huge yet, but I was moving along quickly, and now that I’d really started to show, it wasn’t going to take long before I was the size of a watermelon.

  I was eating more already and was getting pickier about what it was I was eating. My emotions were still roiling, unfortunately, which my father was constantly using as ammunition against me. He was always telling me, “You’re too emotional to make rational decisions,” and “It’s your hormones, Caroline. You can’t trust what you’re feeling.”

  It made me angrier, which only proved his point.

  Which was exactly why I had stopped speaking to him. When we’d first gotten back, he’d insisted I take a few days to lie down and take it easy. I’d agreed for the baby’s sake. But I couldn’t be an invalid for the rest of my life or even the rest of my pregnancy, so I started to get up and moving around again. I wanted to go outside, to see Asher, to see my friends.

  And that was when I discovered the truth: my father was keeping me prisoner. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  He kept claiming it was for my own safety, but I wasn’t buying it. Not anymore. I knew now that he had broken his promise to leave Asher alone, which meant he couldn’t be trusted in any way, shape, or form.

  It also meant that if I were going to do anything about my situation, I was likely going to have to do it on my own. Asher wasn’t in any position to help me.

  But am I in any position to help him? I wondered.

  I wanted to get him a good lawyer, but my father had taken my phone and disconnected the landline. Precautions, he told me, to make sure I didn’t have outside stress affecting me. But he hadn’t gotten rid of the TV, though my computer was packed away somewhere I couldn’t find.

  I paced my room, my emotions swirling in a terrible dance. Anger, hopelessness, fear, sadness, anger again. I wasn’t sure what to do or what to think. I could escape, I thought. I could climb out my window—I didn’t dare try the front door now that my father had hired private security to make sure I was “safe”. I could climb down the trellis or maybe find some rope. I could get away.

  But where would I go?

  My father had taken my phone, but even if I could call someone, who would it be? Although Mia and Rochelle had been sympathetic, they’d both agreed unanimously that I needed to get an abortion, just like my father. They hadn’t approved of Asher even before he’d been arrested. No doubt they now believed they were right to have thought so. I would be hard-pressed to convince them otherwise, no matter what I personally believed about the whole thing.

  I could try to go to the Anarchy’s Horsemen, but would they accept me? Want me? House and hide me? That was an awful lot to ask of a group of people who were rough around the edges and barely knew me. Sure, it seemed as though they liked me well enough, but did that extend far enough that they were willing to risk themselves in order to hide me from my tyrannical father? Probably not.

  Not wanting to, but having no other choice, I resigned myself to staying prisoner at my father’s house.

  “I need to figure out what to do about the baby,” I murmured to myself, stroking my slightly swollen stomach carefully.

  I had some lingering, foolish hope that, perhaps, I could convince my father to let me keep it, but I knew it would be a hard battle and most of the leverage was on his side. After all, he’d had the father of my baby put in prison—how was I supposed to raise this baby without him? I certainly couldn’t do it under my father’s roof. Not even if he allowed it. I wouldn’t put any child, much less my own, through that.

  I won’t let this baby grow up like I did, I thought determinedly.

  Taking a deep breath, I went to find my father. I was free to move about the house, thankfully, but that was because he knew there was nowhere for me to go. With guards posted, my phone gone, and the keys to my car mysteriously missing, there was no way I was getting out of here if he didn’t want me to.

  I headed towards the back of the house where my father had his study. He liked to be able to look out over the garden, watch the flowers and the trees and the birds or whatever. Pretend he appreciated the gentle things in nature when I knew perfectly well that he’d mow over all of them and slap down some tarmac if he thought it would make him some money and make him look good.

  The door to his study was just barely opened a crack, so I knocked. “Daddy?” I tried, stomping down the fury I felt. Being angry and irrational wasn’t going to get me anywhere with him. Not this time. If I wanted him to take me seriously, I was going to have to convince him I wasn’t just being an “emotional teenage pregnant woman”.

  “Caroline, darling, come in,” he called through the door.

  I imagined him waving me over, sitting like some chortling old gentleman, or maybe like Santa Claus. All of which was rather ridiculous, given who he was actually. I knew him as the fit, attractive older man with the winning smile and the calculated movements that meant he was never really jovial.

  I pushed open the door the rest of the way and walked in.

  He was poring over some documents, file folders stacked several high and cluttering his otherwise immaculate desk. I wanted to ask snidely if any of those were about Asher, to be used to make sure he stayed in prison, but I held my tongue. Starting off kicking and screaming wasn’t going to do anything. I needed to think of the baby.

  I gave him a few minutes to finish whatever he was working on, waiting as patiently as I could. Which was definitely not easy. I was feeling achy and angry and not at all in a patient move. But I managed to hold it together until he snapped the folder closed and swiveled his desk chair around to face me.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. It almost sounded genuine, though I hardly believed any of that at this point.

  I resisted the urge to snort and offered him a small smile instead. My hand went automatically to my belly, rubbing tenderly there. “I’m… fine. A little tired.” I didn’t mention that I’d been watching the news. I didn’t think that would help me out any.

  “Then why aren’t you upstairs resting?” he demanded, doing the best impression of concerned father I had ever seen in my life. Impressive. Maybe he should have gone into acting, though I didn’t think politics was really so far off.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something,” I began, trying to figure out how to explain to him the importance of this baby. It may be the only thing of Asher I get to keep. Somehow, I didn’t think that was the best way to convince my father of my need to keep the little bundle growing within me.

  My father gave me, for possibly the first time in my life, his full attention. Part of me melted at the knowledge that I was finally worth such intense consideration. The rest of me reminded me that he wasn’t to be trusted—and I didn’t need his approval.

  “What is it, honey? You know you can talk to me about anything.”

  And that was it. If there were any doubts about whether or not I could trust him, that settled them. Never in all my life had I been able to honestly share things with my father. Any “open communication” between us always resulted in a fight. And then me being grounded. And then him ignoring me after the grounding like I was a particular bug he hated more than just about anything and was just trying to convince himself didn’t exist.

  No, I had never been able to talk to my father about anything without some serious repercussio
ns. And that terrified me now. How was I supposed to convince a man like that of anything?

  Clearing my throat, I tried anyway. “It’s about the baby.”

  There, I saw it. The hint of a frown, a flicker of it, before he put back on the concerned daddy face. Like I hadn’t seen it at all. But I had. “Are you feeling ill again? You’re not bleeding, are you? If you are, then we need to leave immediately for—”

  I shook my head impatiently, interrupting him. “No, no, the baby’s fine. I think. I don’t feel sick.”

  He paused. I could see that at least some part of him was relieved, though that was, of course, for my sake, not the baby’s. I wasn’t sure if I should feel a little good about that or not. At least he loved me enough that he cared about my wellbeing… right?

  “Then what is it?” he pressed, lacing his fingers together, elbows on the armrests of the chair.

  I hesitated. “Well, I think we need to start talking about plans, right? I haven’t even filled the prescription for the prenatal vitamins yet, and I really should be taking them.” I paused; my father didn’t even blink. “And I’ll probably need to get maternity clothes soon. I’m starting to show, and my pants are definitely feeling tight. There’s just… just so much to do. And I’m worried that we haven’t really started doing it yet.”

  The silence that filled the air after my words was so heavy, so filled with charged emotion that I felt the weight pressing down on my rib cage, threatening to strangle me. I understood then what he was about to say, what he was trying to put into words without losing the “caring, gentle, concerned father” façade.

  And he couldn’t. No matter what he said next, he’d never be able to do it.

  “You’re right. We do need to talk about plans.” He paused, considering and choosing first before speaking. Ever a true politician. “That baby is going to come quick, and we don’t have much longer before a decision needs to be made.”

  I straightened my spine reflexively, stiffening under the weight of my father’s implication. “Decision?” I repeated, my tone cooling quickly.

  If my father noticed, he said nothing. He nodded instead. “Yes. There isn’t any time left to do it at home, of course. We’ve waited too long on that. I really wish you’d come to me earlier,” he added, giving me a gently chiding look, as though I came to him with tangled hair because I hadn’t brushed it in ages. “But never mind that now. Even though we can’t use the pill, the operation is still a very viable option. Legally, we can do that up to six months along. But it’s better to get that done sooner rather than later. The procedure, of course, becomes riskier the longer we wait, and I don’t want to make this any more difficult than it already is…”

  My father continued going on and on about the abortion, where we should go to get it, how long I should be in recovery. He even started talking about hiring a personal trainer to make sure that what little baby weight I was beginning to put on would come off like melted butter. Part of this was concern over what it would look like to be standing next to a fat daughter for him, but most of it was because he didn’t want a single soul to know I had been pregnant.

  Eventually, I interrupted him, unwilling to listen to another single word. “Stop. Just stop it!”

  He looked at me in surprise. “What is it, Caroline?”

  “I’m not doing it,” I said flatly. I wanted my words to hold no room for argument, not in the slightest. “So don’t bother. I’m not doing it.”

  His eyebrows crawled up his forehead until he looked so surprised it was almost clownish. I might have laughed under different circumstances, but at that moment, I could barely see beyond the red. I was so furious with him. “Not doing what? If you don’t want the personal trainer, I understand. You’ve never had a problem with your weight before, I just thought it would be helpful to have—”

  “Shut up!” I nearly screamed at him.

  He frowned. “Caroline, don’t you use that tone of voice with me. I am your father and…”

  And so it began. He started reverting to that father I knew so well. The one who didn’t really care about my opinions or what I wanted for myself. Well, I wasn’t listening anymore. I was standing up for myself, and I wouldn’t let him push me around anymore.

  “The abortion,” I told my father firmly. I was done listening to his lectures about the importance of respect and listening to your elders and whatever else he wanted to throw at me to make me bend to whatever he wanted just then. I wouldn’t do it, not today. “I’m not getting the abortion. I’m keeping this baby, and I’m going to raise it my way. You don’t get to make this decision for me.”

  A scowl darkened his face, and he stood, anger clearly etching his features. “Caroline, please, we talked about this.”

  Talked about this? I thought incredulously. “Yes, and as I recall, I told you I was going to have the baby. And now you’re going on about how late I can get an abortion all over again! Like you didn’t even listen to me the first time around!”

  He made a frustrated noise in his throat. “You were in the hospital. You were stressed out, emotional. Asher was there, confusing you—”

  And just like that, my damn of anger broke. “Asher, who you promised to leave alone! Asher, who hasn’t done anything wrong!”

  My father scoffed at me. “Hasn’t done anything wrong?” he repeated incredulously. “Please. He’s a common criminal, and he always has been. You never cared for him before, when he became your brother, so why should you now? Oh, your brother! Think of the scandal!” He moaned as though he were in honest physical pain, which only made me laugh.

  He didn’t know anything about anything, did he?

  “The scandal? That’s all you ever care about. The scandal. How things look. Never mind that we love each other or that I’m pregnant or that you’ve just thrown my baby’s father in prison!”

  He waved me off with a flick of his wrist like I was that annoying bug. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve already told you you’re not having the baby. This isn’t up for discussion.”

  My cheeks flared red with anger. How dare he think he could make this decision for me. “Just like that? You think that you put your foot down on the matter and that’s it? You don’t even have to check with me?”

  He sat back in his chair, turning towards the desk and the folders there. Like we were done talking. “Of course. This is my house you’re living under, and while doing so, you’ll obey my rules. Getting rid of this baby is one of those rules.”

  “How can you say that?” I demanded angrily. “This is a life—”

  “Oh, don’t give me all of that blathering bullshit about the would-be life of a fetus. It can’t survive outside of the womb; it’s not alive yet. The law is clear.”

  It was true. The law was clear, and I pretty much agreed with it. I didn’t resent Mia for getting an abortion. When I first found out I was pregnant, I had been planning on getting an abortion. I didn’t think it was right to deny someone the choice to get an abortion. And that last thought was what was making me so furious now. Where was my choice to not get an abortion?

  “What about how I feel about it?” I asked in a quiet voice, a last-ditch effort to talk some reason into my father.

  He snorted, which was a bit out of character for him. He usually didn’t do things like snorts; they were too rude. “I’ve already told you. You’re overly emotional. Once you get rid of the baby, you’ll feel better.”

  “I’m not getting rid of it.”

  “Yes, you are. You are if I have to tie you up and throw you in the trunk of my car.” I flinched, unable to believe he would say that, but he didn’t stop there. “You are if I have to drag you unconscious to that clinic and strap you down myself. You are no matter what, do you understand me?”

  Oh, yes. I understood completely. My father was going to kill my baby, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop him. Not so long as I remained here.

  I have to get away!

  But how?


  Chapter Eighteen

  Asher

  The arraignment was set for two days from now, and I was getting a slightly unexpected visitor. I’d really only had Winston stop by, my only tangible connection to the outside world, and that was enough, though I admitted to myself that I most definitely craved actually being outside. I was in prison after all. How could I not want to be outside?

  But today, I received another visitor. Dean.

  “How are you faring, Boss?” he asked, cracking a cheeky smile, though I could see just a hint of worry beneath it.