Stitch: Crime Family Values Book 1

by Nia Farrell

  But was it the right kind?

  He hadn’t told her what it was, and she didn’t ask. She just assumed it was a morning-after pill. Had he switched it for something else, hoping that she would conceive? Surely he wouldn’t stoop that low. Surely he hadn’t picked her to be a broodmare for his possibly dying son’s baby.

  What if he had?

  What if she was?

  Jesus Christ Lord God Almighty.

  Beth grabbed the popcorn bucket, shoved her face into the opening, and wretched into it until nothing was left but dry heaves.

  Juliette emptied the bucket, rinsed it, and brought it back to where Beth lay curled in a ball of misery. “You have your phone. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

  Beth stared at her phone. She was so fucking tempted to call Giovanni Visconti, confront him, and make him confess to what he’d done, but then she’d be doing exactly what he wanted her to.

  If she were lucky, she could talk her sister into monitoring her pregnancy, off the books, where her name wasn’t listed in the computer’s scheduled appointments.

  But then she’d have to explain that she was hiding from the mob.

  Crap.

  Okay. Plan B.

  If she was pregnant, it wouldn’t stay a secret. The first time that she made an appointment or had a test run at the hospital, Mr. Visconti would know about it. He wanted to play games? Fine. But she was going to make the rules when and where she could.

  She didn’t share her suspicion with Juliette. She managed to get her stomach settled enough for the torturous drive home on Sunday afternoon. She took a bath after their weekend of roughing it, got dressed, and headed to the grocery store. If they were tracking her movements, it was the least suspicious place to pick up what she needed.

  The next morning, two positive pregnancy tests later, she made the call.

  A female voice answered. “The Skin Clinic, Dr. Romano’s office. How may I help you?”

  “Hi. This is Beth Shelton. I need to speak to Dr. Romano whenever he’s available. Let me give you my call-back number. It’s—”

  “No! No! That won’t be necessary. I’ll put you through now.”

  Interesting. The staff had orders to connect her.

  “Beth!” The familiar voice greeted her. “What’s up?”

  “I have a growth.”

  His voice turned serious. “Do you want me to take a look at it?”

  “As soon as you can work me in, please. I go back to work tomorrow.” Today was personal time off. She made it a policy to be home at least one day after traveling to rest and regroup before returning to the daily grind.

  “Sure. Of course. Let me check with Dona. I’m going to put you on hold. Don’t hang up.”

  She drummed her fingers on the table and waited. A few minutes later, he was back. “What if I work you in at the end of today? I can see you at five if you’re free.”

  “Five o’clock is fine, thank you. I’ll see you then.”

  Hours later, Beth listened to her GPS dictate directions to the address that she’d programmed into it. She was pretty sure that she could find the clinic, but she liked hearing a hot Aussie male voice. Occasionally, she turned him on for trips to well-known destinations just for the hell of it.

  Dr. Romano’s office was in the new medical plaza perched on the edge of town, built between a ripened cornfield and an asphalt parking lot that belonged to the small, rural hospital next door. Surprisingly, the offices offered a wide range of services from dentistry and orthodontics to surgery, dialysis, and cancer treatment.

  Beth parked two rows over from The Skin Clinic entrance and hauled out her handbag, filled with things that were rarely used but there if she needed them. Shouldering the extra weight, she locked her car and made her way across the sun-heated asphalt. It was a warm day. She welcomed the cool draft of air conditioning that greeted her when she pulled opened the clinic’s glass entrance door.

  Dr. Romano’s office was professionally decorated, with tasteful, coordinated furniture, a well-stocked magazine rack, and a flat-screen television tuned to a travel channel. His receptionist was younger than she sounded on the phone. And prettier. Based on her voice alone, Beth was expecting a forty-something former smoker. Instead, Dona was a Barbie doll special edition, with blonde hair, blue eyes, a hundred-watt smile that cost thousands, and surgically enhanced cleavage that would look right at home in a gun magazine or pinned to the wall of a chop shop.

  “Welcome to The Skin Clinic. I’m Dona,” she said, a bright note in her dusky voice. “How can I help you?”

  Another step closer and Beth could read the name tag riding the mound of her left breast. With a name like Dona DeLuca, chances were very good that the mob doctor had a mob receptionist, too.

  Resigned to her fate, Beth gave Dona her name. “I have a five o’clock with Dr. Romano.”

  Dona didn’t miss a beat when she handed her a clipboard with several papers and a black ballpoint pen caught in its clamp. “He’s running a bit late. I know you’re in our system, but I need you to fill these out, front and back, and sign anywhere there’s an X. Just bring them up when you’re done, and feel free to ask any questions, okay? If you have insurance, I’ll need to make a copy of your card.”

  Anticipating that, Beth had put a twist tie through the zipper on her billfold and fastened it to the handle of her purse. Finding it easily, she pulled out her card and handed it through the sliding window to Dona.

  The last patient of the day, Beth had her pick of the upholstered chairs in the waiting room. Intending to get some much-neglected reading done, she chose the one farthest from the television, set her purse on the seat next to it, and completed the standard forms, this time with exact dates of her hospitalizations. Done, she crossed the carpeted floor to the reception window and swapped with Dona, exchanging the clipboard for her insurance card.

  Back in her chosen seat, Beth put the card back in her billfold and fished out her reader. Unlocking the screen, she tapped open her current book, a sizzling dark erotica tale set in a post-apocalyptic world. She was just getting to the good stuff when Colin opened the hallway door and called her back.

  “Hello again,” he chirped, looking far too cheerful for having worked all day. But then again, his day was nearly over. She supposed that she’d be smiling, too.

  “Hi, Colin. Nice office.”

  “It is,” he agreed, his tone as bright as Dona’s porcelain-capped smile. “Let’s put you in a room and get you ready for the doctor.”

  8

  Beth followed the physician’s assistant down a long hall lined with mostly closed doors, her low heels clicking on the gleaming tile floor. He turned into the last room on the left and motioned for her to have a seat.

  Three chairs sat on the far wall. To the right, a cart with some kind of a machine sat next to an examination table, lined with crisp, white paper. To the left was another stainless steel cart holding bandages, dressings, and sterilized instruments in pouches. Beyond that was a long counter with a sink and cabinets above and below.

  Colin looked at the forms that she’d completed. “I see here that you have a growth. We need to add the location and a description. The doctor will measure it when he comes in.”

  Beth inhaled deeply and set her purse in the corner chair. “I know that you’re just doing your job, but anything that’s not completed, I will happily discuss but only with Dr. Romano. So get my height, weight, vitals, anything else like that that you need, and our part will be done, okay?”

  Colin chewed his lip, clearly torn. Seeing the set to Beth’s mouth, he caved in rather than argue. “Will you put on a gown for me, at least?”

  “Of course. I don’t want to make things any harder than they are. Really.”

  Her verbal olive branch placated him a bit more. “Good, then. Here you go.” He pulled a bundle of folded fabric from the top of a stack and laid it on the exam table. “I’ll leave you to it and check on you in a few.”

 
Beth stripped down to her freshly polished toes, folding her clothes and setting them in the middle chair as she went. Slipping into the voluminous striped pink monstrosity, she tied the openings shut in back and hiked herself onto the exam table, paper crinkling as she adjusted her seat and settled into place.

  As promised, Colin came back shortly, armed with her chart and a pen. “Step on the scales, please.”

  She eased off the table and crossed the cool tile floor to where they stood. Most people cringed at this part of a visit. Her frown was for the weight that she’d recently lost.

  “A-a-and—” Colin stretched the word as he recorded her height and weight “—sit on the table for me, please.”

  Perched once more on the end, she held out her arm when she saw the wrist monitor in his hand.

  Colin put it in place, fastened it, and pressed a button that started the inflation process. “Hold your hand to your heart,” he said. “Good.” He added her blood pressure and pulse rate to her records. “Temperature next,” he said. That monitor went in her ear.

  He logged the results and sliced an enigmatic glance at her. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

  Beth listened to the door close and released the breath that she’d been holding. There was something off about Colin, about this. She felt her stomach churn and pressed her hands against it, praying that she wouldn’t have to make a mad dash to the sink. She had barely managed to quell her nausea when Dr. Romano breezed into the room with her chart in his hands and Colin on his heels.

  The smile Dr. Romano gave her was one that he’d practiced, but the welcoming curve of his lips was at odds with the chill coming from Colin.

  “Can I speak to you alone?” she blurted.

  Dr. Romano froze mid-step, cocked his head, and weighed her chart in his hands. He didn’t take his assessing gaze from her when he spoke. “Colin, leave us, please. I’ll call you when I need you.”

  The physician’s assistant bristled. Snapping his spine straight and jutting his chin, he turned on his heel and swept out the door.

  Beth listened for footsteps that never came. She assumed that he was listening at the door, but there was no help for that.

  Dr. Romano set the chart on the counter. Taking a syringe from the cabinet, he filled it with clear liquid from a bottle, added it to the sterilized instruments on top of the cart, and came to where she sat on the exam table.

  He folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels. “Colin said that you refused to tell him where your growth was.”

  “My abdomen.” She looked at the closed door and thought, to hell with it. Sooner or later, his office staff would know. “I’m pregnant.”

  He dipped his head and narrowed his gaze, scanning her before fetching a stethoscope from a cabinet drawer. Putting the tips in his ears, he caught the bell between his fingers and put the diaphragm above her left breast. “Breathe.”

  Beth inhaled and let it out. He checked the other side, then moved the stethoscope to her back, sliding the cool disc into place and listening to her lungs. “Breathe. And again.”

  He checked the arteries in her neck and looped the stethoscope around his neck when he was done. Grasping her forearm, he pressed his thumb against her skin, checking for edema. When the dip didn’t stay dented, he crouched on the floor and checked her ankles, pressing into her skin and watching how slowly it returned. “Have you had problems with the swelling?”

  “Some days it’s more noticeable than others. I put it down to not drinking enough water.”

  “It probably is.” Straightening, the doctor got her chart and started making notes. “You need water. Plain water. Coffee and tea don’t count. Cut out the caffeine and alcohol. Watch how much caffeine-free soda you drink. A glass a day if you can’t do without it. Have you seen an OB/Gyn? Do you need a referral?”

  Beth shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen anyone. Considering the father, I figured that my choices would be limited to a Visconti-approved obstetrician. This—” she put a hand on her abdomen “—shouldn’t have happened. I took the pill that Mr. Visconti gave me. It was packaged like a morning-after pill. I can’t prove it, but I’m beginning to think that he gave me a placebo. That’s the only explanation that I can wrap my brain around. Otherwise, why am I’m sitting here with a baby growing inside me? I should be…I don’t know…sleeping with the fishes.”

  “You would have been if I hadn’t talked Dom Visconti out of it.” He said it as blithely as if they were discussing the weather. Beth clutched at her stomach, trying to quell the familiar disturbance that was quickly escalating into a revolt. “And you’re right about the placebo. The pill you took was one of your allergy pills plus filler to make it the right size. When I was prepping it, I made sure that nothing came in contact with red dye forty.”

  “Why?” she croaked, praying that she wouldn’t throw up on the mob doctor who had prolonged her life.

  He shrugged a shoulder and angled his head. His brows knit, deepening the creases in his forehead. “I don’t know. Guilt, maybe. If I had been here, you wouldn’t have been dragged into this. But if you were going to have any chance at surviving, I had to make sure that you didn’t buy a morning-after pill and take it. You have value only as long as you keep their secrets and carry Matteo’s child. Talk, and you’re a liability they can’t afford. Miscarry, and you’re easily expendable. We all are,” he said matter-of-factly, “including me.”

  She struggled with the harsh reality that he was painting. “Val said that the family owed me a debt. That it was something they didn’t take lightly.”

  Dr. Romano smiled as if he were indulging a child who didn’t know any better. Clearly, she didn’t. “He’d have made sure that your end was quick and clean,” he said smoothly. “You wouldn’t have suffered needlessly. No rape. No torture. Just a single shot to the back of the head, or a knife to your throat, or two hands on your neck, squeezing until your air was gone and your larynx was crushed. Who knows? If you were lucky, you might have had one last orgasm as you went.”

  Beth jumped when the hallway door opened abruptly. She turned, expecting to see a petulant Colin. Instead, she met the enigmatic gaze of Giovanni Visconti. Following on his heels was Paolo.

  A simple lift of the Dom’s finger and Paolo stayed in the hall, disappearing as the door closed between them.

  Mr. Visconti eyed the syringe that Dr. Romano had added to the cart. “I gather that we won’t be needing that.”

  Fuck.

  Whatever was in that syringe, it wasn’t a local anesthetic.

  Her gaze flew up to meet the Dom’s. The half smile he wore would have been the same, whatever happened. She was here to be dealt with, plain and simple.

  Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Hearing it from Dr. Romano was one thing. Facing the man who held her life in his hands made Beth’s stomach churn and her breath seize in her chest. She told herself that she’d be safe until the baby came. Right now, she was a vessel, albeit little more than a surrogate mother for his grandchild. After that, who knew what he would decide to do with her? If she proved herself, there was a slim chance that he might let her live. If she failed in any way, he’d simply take the baby and make her disappear.

  “How is she?” Mr. Visconti was looking at her like a specimen under glass.

  “Healthy, from what I can tell. We were just getting started. I’ll want blood work now and eventually a sonogram to confirm size and establish a due date.”

  “Will that show the sex?”

  “Not necessarily. Sometimes they’re stubborn and make us do it the old-fashioned way. Wait until they’re born to see if it’s a boy or girl.”

  “Have you set her up yet with Dr. Bartolotta?”

  Dr. Romano frowned. “I thought he usually took care of problems.”

  Mr. Visconti’s mouth wore the ghost of a smile. “Usually, he does. This will be a nice change for him.”

  Oh, God. Her OB/Gyn was an abortionist for the mob.

  Beth d
idn’t have time to do more than launch herself off the exam table and race to the sink. Catching her hair, she emptied her stomach, which held little more than the last glass of water that she’d had.

  Turning on the tap, she drank from her hand, rinsing and spitting into the stainless steel basin. Grabbing the exposed part of a tri-fold paper towel, she pulled it from the holder, dried her hands, and wiped her face. “Sorry,” she croaked. “It started over the weekend.”

  Mr. Visconti tsked. “No more tree houses,” he ordered. Shaking his head, he turned back to Dr. Romano. “She needs out of the hospital, too. I don’t mind if she works for a while longer but get her where she’s not going to be exposed to everything that comes along. She needs to be somewhere clean and controlled. Maybe a chiropractic office, or a spa. She’s trained in massage. Yes. A spa, I think.”

  Beth bit her tongue and said nothing. She might be naïve, but she wasn’t stupid. It was going to be his rules, his way. Any thoughts of trying to maintain a measure of control were gone, replaced by a grudging acceptance. She would do whatever she had to do to survive and be with her child.

  Matteo’s father reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a crisply folded handkerchief. “Here,” he said gently, tapping below the right corner of his mouth.

  Taking the linen, she wiped her face in the mirror of his. “Thank you.”

  “In case you’re wondering, my son is fine. He’s back to work, but distractions can get the best man killed. Right now, he thinks you’re dead. He won’t know the truth until the next time that he comes home. If his girlfriend doesn’t keep him happy, it’s possible that he may call you, for old time’s sake.”

  Matteo had a girlfriend.

  Of course, he had a girlfriend. Power was the ultimate aphrodisiac. A regular girlfriend helped a man keep free and clear of sexually transmitted diseases.

  The thought of him with someone else hurt more than it should. She supposed she should be grateful that he didn’t have a wife.