“I wanted to tell you as soon as possible,” Gabriella said. “I took the test this afternoon at the doctor’s office. That’s why I was rushing Grace to bed tonight, so we could be alone and talk.”
“She’s got a right to know, too,” Donovan said in a dead voice Gabriella didn’t recognize. “She’s got a little half brother or sister coming now.”
“That’s not fair. You don’t know that,” Gabriella said, but she did know. If you thought about it, did the math, it was more likely it was Nico’s than Donovan’s.
As if reading her mind, Donovan asked, “How far along are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re having it for sure?”
“I wanted to talk to you about it.”
“It’s not really my decision, is it?”
“You’re my husband. We are a family. I want to talk to you about it.”
“I’ve got nothing to say,” he said. He leaned over and poured another large glass of bourbon, downing that as quickly as the first. Then he stood abruptly, setting the glass down sideways so it tipped over, nearly rolling of the table onto the cement. Gabriella lunged for the glass, catching it in time. When she looked up, Donovan had already disappeared inside the penthouse.
Staring at the stars peeking through the drifting clouds, Gabriella tried to calm herself and push down the bitter disappointment she felt over Donovan’s reaction. She knew he wouldn’t be overjoyed, but she thought he would understand. She thought he would still stand by her and they could rebuild their family. But it might be too late.
When she finally composed herself enough to go inside, Donovan was gone.
THE NEXT DAY, HE WOULDN’T answer her calls. The following night, he didn’t show up when he was supposed to take Grace out to dinner. Gabriella made an excuse for him. She told their daughter he had called earlier and said he was sick.
“Why did you let me get dressed and wait until the last minute to tell me,” Grace shouted, face red, fists clenched at her side.
“I’m so sorry, honey. I forgot.” Gabriella looked away as she said it.
“You’re a mean mother. You only care about yourself.” Grace stomped into the other room.
Gabriella looked over at Alejandro who was sitting at the kitchen table doing English homework. “Mi dispiace,” she said. I’m sorry. Gabriella was taking a refresher course in Italian so she could help the boy feel more comfortable even as he learned English.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Donovan eyed his service weapon. It would be quick and painless.
He didn’t think he could stand the pain anymore. It was more than he could take.
Gabriella would be better off without him. He didn’t deserve her. And how could he face his daughter when she grew old enough to hear and realize what he had done – how he had not only slept with another woman, but fallen in love with her.
Because that is what hurt the most. He loved Monica. But he also loved Gabriella. It was ripping him apart.
And worse. He had done what he vowed to never ever do: He had become an adulterer. Just like his father, that son-of-bitch.
He had done to his wife what his father had done to his mother. He was no better than that loser who had turned his sweet mother into an angry bitter woman.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Four days after Donovan stomped out, he didn’t show up for the counseling appointment.
“Do we need to worry?” The therapist asked.
“No. I’ll make sure he’s at Thursday’s appointment,” Gabriella said and left. She knew why the therapist had asked that. It was that crack Donovan made a few weeks ago during therapy:
Everyone I wish dead in this situation is already dead. Except me.
She fought off her increasing dread during the drive to Donovan’s apartment. Once there, she knocked and rang the doorbell for ten minutes. Nothing. She took out her lock pick set and popped open his door.
From the smell that whooshed out of the room—sour sweat and alcohol and mustiness—it was clear he’d been here the whole time. The empty booze bottles scattered everywhere told the story.
He’d been on a bender.
Making her way through the messy apartment, she headed to the bedroom. He was naked in bed. At first, when she couldn’t see his chest rising and falling in sleep, her heart skipped into her throat, panic overcoming her in an ice-cold chill.
Then he moaned in his sleep.
Thank God.
Leaning over him, she gently smoothed the hair back from his face. He gave a small sound of contentment, but stayed asleep.
Despite herself, she kissed his forehead lightly and then drew back, pulling a wadded-up blanket over most of his body. Several empty water bottles were on the nightstand. At least he knew enough in his drunken stupor to stay hydrated. She threw away the empty bottles and left three large glasses of water in their place on the nightstand. Gabriella left a note under one glass of water on the nightstand asking Donovan to please call Grace because their daughter was worried about him.
The apartment was a disaster.
Pieces of broken furniture, torn clothing and shredded paintings littered the floors and every available surface. He had been in a destructive rage. The flat screen TV was smashed into shards.
Several slips of paper on the counter showed he’d been having bottles of whiskey and sub sandwiches delivered from a local store. The last one was dated the day before.
Gabriella was tempted to start cleaning his apartment, but realized that was enabling his fucked-up behavior. So instead, she slipped out of the apartment, locking the door behind her.
During her appointment earlier that day, the one that Donovan had missed, the therapist had said Donovan couldn’t accept the fact that she was pregnant. Because to him, a baby was living forever proof of Gabriella’s infidelity. Although Donovan had finally accepted that when Gabriella slept with Nico because she truly believed she was a widow, he couldn’t accept that that union had resulted in a baby.
Well, tough shit. It was time for him to grow up and get over it.
Gabriella slammed the front door as she left.
THAT NIGHT THE PHONE rang and Grace answered it. “Daddy!”
Grace paced with the phone smiling at Gabriella, talking excitedly about her day. Gabriella hovered nearby in case Grace seemed upset by something Donovan said, but it all seemed to be fine.
After ten minutes, Grace pushed the end button and skipped off into her room.
Donovan never asked to speak to Gabriella and she never reached for the phone.
Two days later, Donovan showed up at their next counseling appointment. He never mentioned missing the previous appointment, nor his bender.
When the therapist tried to bring up Gabriella’s pregnancy, Donovan stood up and headed for the door. “I’m not ready to talk about that.”
The therapist conceded, putting up her palm. “Sit back down. We’ll hold off on that for now.”
“This is bullshit,” Gabriella said, standing up. “He doesn’t have to deal with any of this? Is that what you’re saying? He gets a free pass?”
The therapist swallowed and started to talk, but Gabriella continued.
“Guess what? I’d like a “get out of jail free,” or “go directly to go and collect two hundred dollars’ card,” too. But I obviously have to fucking deal with it. I can’t just check out and drink myself into oblivion. I have to be an adult and deal with it. When I married you,” now she turned to Donovan. “It was for better or for worse. Well, guess what? This is the ‘for worse,’ part. You are chastising me for breaking my marriage vows, when you did the same damn thing. You are a hypocrite. I’ve forgiven you. But I’m telling you now—you have one more chance to live up to your marriage vows, Sean Donovan. This is it. If you can’t handle this—this baby—then we might as well just stop coming here altogether because I’m fucking done apologizing. The ball is in your court.”
She stalked out, slamming the door be
hind her as hard as she could.
EPILOGUE
Sitting alone in the gynecologist’s office, Gabriella steeled herself for the exam ahead. With Grace, Donovan had been there for every pre-natal visit. He’d held her hand during a tense moment when they couldn’t find a heartbeat right away. He’d been there during the first ultrasound where they could see Grace’s profile in 3D and watch her sucking her thumb in the womb.
But for this pregnancy, she was on her own.
Gabriella grew angry thinking about it. So much for through thickness and thin.
The wind howled outside the window and dark clouds made the day seem even more ominous. Rain began to splat on the window loudly. It was a shitty day and she was in a shitty mood.
She placed her palms flat on her stomach. Even though the baby was too young to kick and be felt, she wanted some reassurance that it was still healthy and alive inside her.
She’d had miscarriages before. She knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until she was further along.
That hadn’t been her first reaction upon learning she was pregnant this time around. Her first reaction was to get rid of the baby. But she also knew she couldn’t live with that decision. Now, she didn’t even want to admit that losing this baby was a possibility.
She wanted this baby and wanted it badly. And she knew she would sacrifice the life she had now for it. Because that is what she was doing by choosing to have the baby. Because having this baby meant her marriage was over. It would ruin any chance she and Donovan had to save their relationship. But it wasn’t her fault. It was his choice. He was making the decision.
Already, Grace was getting used to living with parents who kept separate homes and even said yesterday she was looking forward to a little brother or sister. She loved having Alejandro around and once in a fit of anger told Gabriella she had been selfish for making Grace an only child.
This morning she talked excitedly about getting to decorate her new room at Donovan’s place. With so many of her classmate’s parents divorced, it wasn’t that big of a deal to her. Or at least that’s how she was acting.
Any way that Gabriella looked at it, choosing to keep this baby marked the beginning of the end. Donovan would never accept this baby as his own. He could barely accept that she had sex with another man. Which was total bullshit. He hadn’t had any problem fucking another woman over and over in that basement below her. They both had made mistakes.
The worst part was that her heart ached for Donovan every single day. More than anything she wanted the life she used to have. Before everything went to hell.
But it wasn’t the same and wouldn’t ever be the same again.
She got her husband back only to lose him again.
Now, on this dark dreary day, she would be able to see the baby inside her for the first time. Once she looked at that little curled shrimp-like body on the ultrasound, that baby was hers forever.
Looking around the waiting room, Gabriella realized she was the oldest mother there. The other pregnant women looked to be in their twenties. That’s okay. She could handle it. So what if she were a little more tired than she’d been with Grace. She’d probably also be a little more patient, right?
The petite nurse in the Hello Kitty scrubs opened the door from the inner offices. Everyone in the waiting room looked up expectantly as she consulted the clipboard she was holding. “Gabriella Giovanni?” The nurse looked around the room with a smile until Gabriella gave a small wave and stood, smoothing her skirt down.
She was nearly to the nurse when the outer door slammed open, letting in a whoosh of rainstorm-scented cold air along with a long eerie howling sound from the wind. Everyone turned to look.
It was Donovan. He stood panting, his hair wet and sticking up from the rain and wind. The front of his shirt soaked.
Gabriella met his eyes.
“I’m here,” he said.
WANT MORE?
Read on.
PROLOGUE
Miami, Florida
Shadows flickered across his face as the dark, swirling clouds blotted out the sun.
Outside, the sea roiled as the shoreline disappeared, the water sucked violently out to sea. Deep on the horizon I knew that waves were gathering in a white frothy wall of death headed our way.
In the distance, a warning siren blared.
Tsunami.
It wouldn’t be long.
Inside the ostentatious mansion, we were mere yards away from the beach, a knee-high wall the only barrier. The rest of the gated community had evacuated long ago.
I turned my attention back to the man’s face. He was on his knees ten feet away with his hands up in the air.
“Nobody is coming to save you,” he said.
“That doesn’t matter.”
For a second, he looked fearful, but then he smirked and jutted his chin at the Glock 19 9 mm I pointed at him.
“You cannot do it.” He shrugged, his shoulders reaching up to his ears, his head tilted, a smug look on his face.
I tried to ignore the ache in my arms, strained from being extended as I held the gun firmly between both hands, pointing directly at his head. My palms grew slick with sweat.
I lowered my aim to his chest, a larger target. I hadn’t shot at the range for months. Even though I could clearly imagine it, could almost feel it and see it, I wasn’t positive I could put the bullet right where I wanted it—between his eyes.
The gun wobbled a little more. But not enough so that I’d miss.
I fought the temptation to wipe away a rivulet of sweat dripping down my brow. In the distance, the horizon had vanished, replaced by a white-capped wall of water.
We were running out of time. I concentrated on the man in front of me. Dark stains appeared on his T-shirt underneath both arms. Perspiration dripped down the sides of his face, giving it a sheen.
“You don’t want to shoot that gun,” he said in a firm, commanding voice.
I didn’t respond.
My finger was on the trigger. I could hear my instructor’s voice in my ear. Don’t jerk the trigger, squeeze it slowly and steadily, counting to five.
I’d killed before.
But never calmly.
And it had always been in self-defense.
This time, it would be pure, cold-blooded, premeditated, first-degree murder.
CHAPTER ONE
San Francisco
A few days before ...
The baby, Stefano, screamed bloody murder from his high chair. Nine-year-old Grace chatted excitedly to her father about some new app to animate photos. Alejandro, also nine, sat at the table eating cereal and winced with each shriek. He didn’t have as much tolerance for the baby’s wails.
Another typical weekday morning at our San Francisco penthouse. While other people might consider this scene a nightmare, my heart was overflowing. It was only a little more than a year ago, that Grace and I sat in this same kitchen alone, grieving.
Having my family safe and sound was all I ever wanted. Now that my mother’s cancer was in remission and she lived nearby, I had everything I needed—even though I was severely sleep-deprived and getting a slight headache from the screams of my red-faced eight-month-old.
I was too busy mopping up my own mess to deal with Stefano’s explosive temper. I’d spilled an entire carton of orange juice. It had flooded the table and then had seeped onto the floor. I kneeled to mop up the sticky mess, but then paused, glancing up at my beloved family.
Although Donovan was graying at the temples, he still had the good looks that landed him a spot on the Sexiest Bay Area Cops calendar several years ago. He still had those thick eyebrows over dark eyes, messy hair, and a low voice that made my heart skip a beat.
I watched him talking to Grace. He juggled a plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes at the same time he leaned over to retrieve the bottle that Stefano had flung to the floor in a fit of rage. The past two days Stefano had staged a full-on protest to ending nursing by chucking bottles of fo
rmula every time he was handed one.
A surge of guilt swarmed through me when he looked at me so sorrowfully, but I had to stay strong. A few days ago, after being caught out on assignment for the Bay Herald in Napa—far away from my breast pump—I’d held up the white flag.
Stefano could live on formula just fine. Millions of babies across the globe did it every day.
But try convincing him of that, right? As soon as Donovan handed him the bottle, he howled, scrunched his face up, and let it fly. It swished into the open trash can nearby.
“Kid’s got a good arm,” Donovan said.
We all erupted in laughter. For a second, Stefano paused in his crying to look at us in astonishment and then burst into tears again.
It was great to see Alejandro laugh. He’d lived with us for a year, but he was haunted. Being kidnapped and having your father murdered did that.
After the laughter died down, I watched Donovan pull Stefano out of the high chair and hold him, patting his back trying to console him. It worked. Soon, Stefano’s crying was reduced to sniffles.
Donovan was an amazing father. But there was something there—some distance he kept between himself and the baby.
It was if he looked upon Stefano as a nephew.
Because he wasn’t sure Stefano was his son.
It was one of the dark shadows that haunted our marriage. We never spoke about it. But I could tell by the way Donovan interacted from the baby. It was not how he’d been with Grace.
It kept a small wedge between us that I wasn’t sure would, or could, ever disappear.
I loved my husband, and we’d been through hell and back, but unless he could love Stefano like I did, there would always be something ugly between us. I only hoped it wouldn’t eventually grow larger and tear us apart.
GET BLESSED ARE THE MERCIFUL
GET YOUR FREE BOOK here.
If you like Gabriella Giovanni Mystery Series, you’ll love the Gia Santella Crime Thriller series. Read on for more!
Blessed are the Peacemakers Page 20