Blood Always

by Ramsower, Jill

  I eased myself closer then pulled her into my lap. She relaxed into my arms, fitting as if we were two puzzle pieces made to connect.

  “This is what should have happened a week ago,” I whispered against her soft hair. “I should have held you and comforted you and assured you everything would be fine. Because it will be. You and I will do this together, and we’ll give our child the best start in life we can possibly provide. That’s all we can do—just try our best.”

  She nodded, and I felt the warm moisture of a tear on my chest.

  God, I’d fucked up even more than I could have comprehended. Seeing how much she needed me and knowing how I’d cold-heartedly threatened her instead, I wanted to shoot myself for being such a fucking idiot.

  I swore to myself, right then and there, I’d always put Maria and our child first. Fuck my pride and anything else that tried to compete for priority—even the outfit. My wife and my child—my blood—would always come first.

  ***

  We spent the day together, setting aside all obligations and worries, easing back into the closeness we had started to establish before the pregnancy. We didn’t have sex or talk about the baby. We simply enjoyed one another’s company. I threw together one of the meals the housekeeper had left in the fridge, and Maria fed me strawberries for dessert. It wasn’t easy to keep my hands to myself, but we needed the time to connect on more than a physical level.

  That night, we lay in bed with the light out and curtains open, letting in the brilliant glow of the full moon. For the first time since she returned, conversation migrated to more serious matters.

  “I went to my parents’ house for dinner last night,” she said, her body pressed against mine with her head resting on my shoulder. “My dad told me Angelo was killed.”

  “Mmm…” I replied vaguely. She technically hadn’t asked me a question, so I wasn’t inclined to offer up information. A habit I would need to break, but at a later date, when our discussion concerned a different subject matter.

  Not one to give up, she pushed for more. “What does that mean for you? Have you taken over the role of boss already?”

  “I have. I was handling a number of his affairs already, so the transition has been relatively smooth.”

  “Do you know who killed him?”

  “We think it was one of the MCs out west. We normally have little to do with organizations so far away, but he got it in his head that he wanted our family name to span from coast to coast. Some kind of Manifest Destiny shit. He went on his own to meet with some of the clubs, and I have no doubt he pissed off the wrong person. No one has taken credit for the hit, but it definitely wasn’t an accident.”

  “Will you go after whoever did it?”

  “Angelo had rabid supporters in our outfit—men who still live in the past and appreciated his ruthlessness. They’ll want revenge, but determining the culprit will be a challenge. I’m the boss now, so that decision rests in my hands, not theirs. I’ll make that call once we learn more.”

  “You don’t sound like you were among those supporters. He was your boss. Didn’t you respect him?” She lifted her head and studied my face for answers. I didn’t want her to think I supported Angelo’s brand of cruelty, but there was little I could say to clear my name.

  “It’s irrelevant. As is who killed him because I have no interest in a war with an organization thousands of miles from here. Should what happened find its way to this coast, then I’ll deal with it, but for now, I believe it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  She studied my face as I spoke, searching for non-verbal clues to what I’d left unsaid. She came up empty because there was absolute truth in what I’d told her. She lowered back down, placing her cheek close to my heart.

  “How’s your family?” I asked, ready to change the subject.

  “Good. Most of the conversation centered around Sofia’s wedding next month. I’m desperate to find a way out of going, but I know she’d never forgive me.” Her voice sounded weary.

  Unease kicked my heartrate up a notch. “Do you really hate weddings that much that you would miss your sister’s big day?”

  “Yes,” was all she said.

  “What is it about weddings that bother you?”

  “The people. There will be people attending who I don’t want to see.”

  “Like who?” I felt like a zookeeper trying to lure a frightened animal out of its cage, one tiny step at a time.

  She lifted back up, but this time, she sat fully upright and peered down at me with arctic eyes. “The Gallos.”

  “Maria, you’re part of the Gallo family now—the boss’ wife—you can’t continue to hate the entire outfit for what happened so long ago.” My voice grew in intensity as I spoke, frustration getting the better of me.

  Her jaw flexed, and she chewed on her bottom lip. “It’s not all of them. There’s one man in particular who had a hand in my brother’s death and escaped punishment. Seeing him makes me sick. I’d rather miss the wedding than watch him shake hands and schmooze with my family when he’s the one who took so much from me.”

  “Who?”

  “Stefano Mariano.” She spoke his name with such hatred, it was a tangible thing—black and tarlike, it oozed with evil sentience. “You want me to get over my aversion to the Gallos? To embrace the family and say with pride that I am the Gallo boss’ wife? Kill Stefano Mariano.”

  I made no effort to respond. How had our conversation spiraled to such a dangerous place? If she held animosity toward Stefano, why had she not taken matters into her own hands like she’d done with Rico? If Enzo knew who had a hand in his son’s death, why was the man still breathing? Perhaps he learned something after the reinstatement of the Commission and hadn’t been able to seek revenge—possible, but not probable.

  Something didn’t add up.

  We’d only just reconciled after our fight. The last thing I wanted to do was pepper her with questions and watch her pull away from me again.

  “Stefano is a made man. As his boss, I can do what I want with him, but I’m not Angelo. I won’t start my reign as Gallo boss killing my men without proper justification. What I can do is promise to look into your claims.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but I silenced her, holding up my hand to indicate I wasn’t finished.

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. Stefano doesn’t have the best reputation. He was one of Angelo’s biggest supporters. But I still refuse to put a bullet in him without some evidence of wrongdoing.”

  “Marco was only eleven years old when he was shot in the head. My father removed a ring with the Gallo family insignia from the men who killed him. Our families went to war over his death—that man deserves to pay for his crimes.”

  “And he will, if he was the one responsible. I wasn’t high enough in power at that point to know what happened, but there are people who can be questioned. I will get answers.”

  “I don’t know what evidence you’ll find. It’s been too many years. And I’m sure everyone in the family will vouch for him as a stand-up guy, so whatever.” She flopped back down like a petulant child, this time turning away from me and pulling the covers tightly around her body.

  I admired her for a minute in the incandescent moonlight. I couldn’t see much, just her cheek and the waves of her thick, chestnut hair cascading off the pillow. She was beautiful even in a tiff.

  I had no doubt she believed her arguments wholeheartedly. If she was correct, I would kill Stefano for her. It would stir up trouble in my family—after all, the incident had been years ago, and the crime was against someone outside our family. People wouldn’t understand why I would take an outsider’s side over my own family.

  But it wasn’t their job to understand.

  I was the boss, and if I sentenced a man to death, so be it.

  Chapter 19

  Maria

  Oh, hell, not again.

  I leapt from bed the next morning and raced for the bathroom, pulling my hair
back in preparation. When was this nightmare going to end? How did women ever have more than one child after experiencing the misery of morning sickness? I would rather crawl naked across a football field of Legos than voluntarily go through this again.

  My stomach clenched and heaved as scraps from dinner and acidic bile forced their way up my throat. I startled when a warm hand began to rub circles on my back.

  “Oh, God. Get out of here … don’t want you to see …” My mumbled words were cut short with another round of heaving.

  “Hush. I see men piss themselves and vomit from fear all the time. You think I can’t handle comforting my wife when she’s sick from carrying my child?”

  Tears pricked at my eyes, and I wasn’t sure whether they were from throwing up or his sweet words. He stayed with me until I could breathe easily again, then brought me a glass of cool water and a towel.

  “I think I’m okay now.”

  “You want to go back to bed? Can I get you some crackers or something?”

  “No, I actually feel pretty decent once that first wave passes. More than anything, I want to shower.”

  Matteo stepped closer and clasped the hem of my nightshirt. “Arms up,” he softly commanded.

  I followed his orders, watching raptly as he undressed us both and started the shower water. The first touch of the warm spray wrapped my aching muscles in blissful heat. We stood under the matching set of nozzles, allowing the water to run over us and the quickly building steam to blanket our bodies.

  Eventually, Matteo abandoned his water stream to join me at mine. His hand reached out, splaying his wide palm across my belly. “I can’t believe, against all the odds, my child is there growing inside you.” The awe and reverence were clear in his tone and the subtle furrow of his brow. “We used protection. I know they say nothing is fool proof, but I guess I assumed that was mostly a warning lawyers made the condom companies put on the box just in case.”

  “Yeah, must have been a persistent little bugger. But with the two of us for parents, he’d have to be.”

  “He? You think it’s a boy?”

  I concentrated for a moment, trying to tap into my sixth sense and do some Jedi mind-control to connect with the fetus inside me, coming up empty. “I have no clue, but I hope it is. You don’t have to worry so much about protecting them.”

  He chuckled, grabbing the soap and lathering my body with a thick layer of suds. “And what if it’s more than one?”

  “Jesus, why would you even say that?” I splashed water at him, but he only laughed, unfazed by my irritation.

  “As soon as we get out, I’ll call the local doc I keep on staff, and we’ll get you in to see him. I want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  I nodded, my throat suddenly tight at the thought of this new life inside of me.

  Seeing the emotion stirring in my eyes, Matteo placed gentle kisses on my cheeks, then pulled me flush against his hard, wet body. “We do it together, remember?”

  “Yeah,” I said over the sound of the shower spray.

  He held me for long minutes, not pushing for more, despite his thick shaft pressing against my belly. There was an air of nervous excitement between us. Once a doctor visit had been mentioned, we were both anxious to see the indisputable proof and solidify in our minds that this was happening.

  We toweled off before we had the chance to prune, and Matteo called his doctor who agreed to fit us in later that afternoon. The man had an obstetrician friend who would allow us to meet at her office and use her ultrasound equipment.

  In just a few short hours, I would see my baby.

  If I thought waiting until the evening of Christmas Eve to open presents as a kid had been excruciating, that was nothing compared to this. Not a single activity I attempted to distract myself with lasted long enough to draw my mind from the appointment.

  “That’s the third time you’ve sorted that same stack of papers,” Matteo said with a smirk. I’d brought in my laptop and had been trying to work at the small conference table in his office. I could have stayed in my own office, but for some reason, I hadn’t wanted to be alone. It was a strange feeling; one I wasn’t ready to tackle.

  “The wait is killing me. I feel like I’ve stepped into some alternate dimension where minutes are hours and hours are days.”

  He barked out a laugh and rose from his desk. “Come on, let’s play some pool. We could both use a distraction.”

  There was a large game room on the back side of the house, but we’d hardly spent any time there since I’d moved in with him. The room boasted an enormous flat-screen television mounted on the far wall, a fully stocked bar, several clusters of small seating areas, two pinball machines, and a magnificent pool table with a classic stained-glass lighting fixture above it. The room was truly spectacular, and I had no idea why we hadn’t taken advantage of it before.

  “You’ll have to remind me of the rules,” I said, watching Matteo select a pool cue from the rack. I followed his lead, selecting a long stick and gingerly touching the green chalky tip.

  “That one’s way too big—it’s made for someone more my height. You have to use one that’s a bit shorter.” He exchanged the cues and handed me the new one.

  I shrugged, turning toward the table. “Now what?”

  Matteo pulled a triangle off the wall then extracted the pool balls from each of the table pockets, setting them in the triangle in some particular order. Once they were all in place, he rolled the collection of balls back and forth a few times until he had them exactly where he wanted them to be. With practiced ease, he lifted the triangle form away, leaving the brightly colored balls in perfect formation.

  “I’ll break—it can be challenging if you aren’t used to playing,” he offered, leaning over and putting his sculpted back on display. In one swift motion, he sent the white ball rocketing into the others with an ear-piercing crack, scattering them across the table.

  “Try not to pulverize me; I’m somewhat of a sore loser.”

  “Have you played before?”

  “Only a couple times, and it’s been a while. So, remind me what I’m shooting at.”

  “I got a stripe and a solid into the pockets, so I’ll choose stripes. That means you’re shooting for the solids, but not the white one or the black eight ball.” He attempted to sink one more striped ball and missed, making it my turn.

  I gnawed at my bottom lip as I assessed my options. The red three ball was at a decent angle, although far from the white ball. I lined up the two as best I could and took a shot. The cue ball struck the three ball, but too far to the right to send it into the pocket.

  “Ugh,” I groaned. “Your turn.”

  Matteo pocketed two stripes before missing a third. His missed attempt lined up an easy shot for me. I whooped and cheered when the ball went in, then missed horribly on the next try. We took our turns until Matteo was left with just the eight ball to sink, and I still had four balls on the table, one of which was perfectly blocking the closest pocket to the eight. He lined up his shot, just tapping the eight and biding his time for a better lineup.

  And that’s when things got fun.

  I chalked the tip of my stick purely for show, then leaned over the table and proceeded to sink each of my balls with calculated precision. Last but not least, I tapped in the eight ball, winning the game.

  “You bitch,” he chuckled under his breath. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I?”

  “Nope.” I grinned from ear to ear.

  “Played a couple times, huh?”

  “Did I say a couple times? My mistake. I meant a couple thousand times.”

  He shook his head, and laughter bubbled up from deep in my belly.

  “Quit your cackling and help me gather the balls. This time, you’re going down.”

  We played for the next two hours. I won all but one game and never once looked at my phone to see the time. After we ate a quick lunch and both checked in with work, it was time to head to the doctor
.

  They say money can’t buy happiness, but fuck if it doesn’t go a long way. We never would have gotten into an obstetrician the same day we called had Matteo not had a doctor on his payroll. For a small sum, we would get to have the peace of mind in knowing the pregnancy was healthy.

  See? Money equals happiness.

  It also meant not spending an hour in the waiting room, which was a seriously huge bonus. As soon as we checked in, we were taken back to an exam room where an ultrasound machine sat waiting on a cart. Minutes after I’d changed into the gown, Matteo’s doctor and the obstetrician joined us. His doctor only stuck around for introductions and the basic medical background. As soon as the OB slapped a condom on a long dildo-looking wand, he bolted from the room.

  “What the hell is that?” I blurted.

  The woman smiled at me reassuringly. “This is the ultrasound wand. Your pregnancy is too early-on to use the external probe—we have to go inside to see your little one.”

  I had wondered why the gown was necessary. Now, it made sense. I rolled my eyes, triggering a chuckle from Matteo.

  “I need you to bend your knees, then drop them open to the sides.”

  I did as she asked, then tensed as the lubricated probe eased inside me. A mishmash of sounds echoed in the room, and the monitor flashed with splotches of black and white. None of it was remotely identifiable. I was the first in our family to get pregnant, and I certainly didn’t have friends to draw experience from. Everything about the process was new, and I hated the feeling of being ignorant.

  But that only lasted a few seconds. Just as a blinking dot became discernable on the screen, the steady whooshing of a heartbeat filled the room. It was just a sound like any other, but somehow, it was the most mystifying, magical thing I’d ever heard.

  “There it is,” she confirmed, snapping still images from her screen.

  Matteo’s warm hand clasped my own, but I couldn’t drag my eyes from the monitor. I was mesmerized. How could something so small already have a heartbeat? How could something living come spontaneously out of nothing? I’d heard the term “miracle of childbirth” and determined it was absurd. There was no miracle. We knew exactly how the science of reproduction worked. And yet, seeing it come alive there on the screen and knowing that it never should have happened—there was no other word but miracle.