I sat in front of my vanity and brushed my hair, stroke after stroke, trying to find calm. I could hear the first guests downstairs, could hear laughter and music.
I needed to go down. Taking a deep breath, I stood. I’d chosen a floor-length form-fitting dark blue dress matching the color of Samuel’s shirt. I touched my stomach, still flat, but I knew in a few months I couldn’t wear dresses like this anymore.
Remo’s baby. I closed my eyes. I was happy and sad, terrified and hopeful. What would Remo say if he knew? Would he care at all? I had been a means to an end, a queen in his chess game, and he’d won.
He had let me go as if I was nothing.
I’d heard the rumors of his cage fights. He was back to fighting, back to living his life. I wondered if he’d already moved on to one of the many whores at his disposal? Probably.
I had been stupid.
Sam was right. Remo had twisted my mind so he could control me, and I had let him.
A familiar knock sounded and Samuel stepped in. We hadn’t talked since I’d revealed my pregnancy to my family. It had become obvious that they needed time to let it sink in, time to put on their public masks so our guests wouldn’t find out the truth. Not yet.
He stopped near the door, watching me like I was breaking apart right before his eyes. I turned around myself, showing him my dress. “We match.” I wanted to see his smile, anything but the soul-crushing darkness.
“You are beautiful,” he said, but he didn’t smile. I walked toward him, and as I did his eyes were drawn to my stomach. “Fina, get rid of it.”
I froze. Sam stepped up to me and gripped my arms. “Please, get rid of it. I can’t bear the idea that something belonging to him is growing inside of you.”
“Sam,” I whispered. “This is a baby. It’s innocent. Whatever Remo did, this baby won’t suffer for it.”
Samuel ripped away from me. “But you will! What do you think people will say if you give birth to his spawn? And the thing will remind you of the asshole every fucking day. How will you ever forget if you see the result of Remo’s fucking sins every day?”
I turned away and moved toward the window, clutching the windowsill in an iron grip, trying to hold on to my composure. If I wanted to show up at Dad’s party, I couldn’t lose it now.
Samuel came up behind me and touched my shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay,” I said. I put my hand over Samuel’s. “I need you at my side, Sam. The baby and I … we both need you. Please.”
Samuel put his chin down on my head and sighed. “I’ll always be there for you.”
We stood like that for a while until I turned and gave Samuel a firm smile. “Let’s go down there and show people that we are strong together.”
Samuel held out his hand, and I took it. We moved downstairs together, and Samuel’s grip on me tightened when the attention shifted to me. People were trying to be discreet about it but failing miserably. Every Underboss was there, even Danilo. He stood off to the side, next to the bar, nursing an amber colored drink. Our eyes met briefly, but then I looked away.
Samuel remained glued to my side. My shadow, my protector, but even his harsh gaze couldn’t stop the pitying looks or the whispers, and people didn’t even know about my pregnancy yet. I could imagine how much worse the gossip would become then.
I’d been known as the Ice Princess, meant to become the Ice Queen at Danilo’s side.
Now I was the woman whom Remo had defiled. The men could hardly look at me. Somehow I had become all of their failures.
Samuel’s hand on my lower back twitched, and one look at his face told me he was close to losing control.
“Dance with me,” I pleaded.
Samuel nodded with a small, tight smile and wrapped me in his embrace then stiffened when my still flat stomach pressed up to him. His eyes darted down and anguish flashed across his expression before he could mask it. As if he could already see my pregnancy when it was still safely hidden. I tightened my hold on him briefly, and finally he met my gaze. We began to dance. All eyes were on us.
Samuel held my gaze because he was on the verge of losing control. One look at the others and he’d snap. I smiled up at him and he relaxed. I, too, felt the glances. Could practically hear the whispers. A few women my age who’d always resented me for my status looked almost … triumphant, happy to witness my fall from grace.
I lifted my chin higher, angry and then worried … because how would all these people treat my child?
After three dances, Dad took over and Samuel moved over to the side to watch.
“You are beautiful, dove,” he said quietly. His expression was controlled, calm. His public face. Mom, too, looked poised and elegant as she stood beside Sofia, Anna, and Valentina.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said then added, “I’m sorry I don’t have a present for you.”
I hadn’t left the house since my return, and to be honest, I’d completely forgotten to get a present. My mind had been occupied with too many others things.
“I got my present already,” he said, and for a moment I thought he meant my child but then I realized he meant my freedom. He didn’t mention my pregnancy.
Dante danced with me next.
I met his eyes, wondering what he thought of my pregnancy, wondering what kind of future lay ahead for my child, if it was a boy. Would he be allowed in the Outfit? Or would his father’s identity close every door before it could ever be opened? I didn’t dare ask my uncle. Not in public, not on my father’s birthday party.
After the dance, I headed back to Samuel, who was talking to one of his oldest friends. He gave me a nod, but he, too, had trouble meeting my eyes. Samuel noticed and his jaw flexed. He excused himself, touched my back, and led me away.
Samuel and I walked into the entrance hall. I had a feeling Samuel needed to be away from the festivities for a couple of minutes. A few younger Made Men I didn’t know had gathered there, and when we passed them, their words managed to reach us.
“I don’t understand why they don’t keep her hidden. It’s a fucking disgrace to have her walk around as if Falcone hasn’t defiled her.”
My shock had barely registered when Samuel attacked. He broke the first guy’s nose with a sickening crunch then shoved the second to the ground, pressing his knife against the man’s throat.
“Sam,” I said firmly, clutching his shoulder.
He leaned down, bringing his face close to the other man’s. “I should cut your throat for insulting my sister. Apologize.”
The man glanced at his friends. One was nursing his broken nose, the other obviously unsure if he should interfere, considering our Dad was their fathers’ boss.
“Apologize!” Samuel snarled.
“I’m sorry,” the guy blurted.
I tightened my hold on Sam’s shoulder. He jerked back, took my hand, and dragged me outside, not into the garden but into the driveway where we were alone. He released me, turning his back to me. He sucked in a deep breath. I pressed my palms up to his shoulder blades then rested my forehead against his back. “Don’t let their words get to you. I don’t care about them and neither should you.”
“How can you not care about them? You are a mafia princess. I should cut their tongues out for daring to whisper his name in one sentence with yours.”
His name.
Remo Falcone. The father of my unborn child.
And worse, the man who filled my nights not with nightmares but with longing.
The next morning, Dad, Samuel, and Dante wanted to talk to me.
When I walked into Dad’s office, I knew from their expressions that it wouldn’t be an easy conversation and definitely not one I’d like. Dad sat behind his desk, Sam perched on its edge, and Dante stood with his hands in his slacks beside the window. I made a beeline for the sofa and sank down. My brain felt sluggish from lack of sleep. I’d spent all night trying to come to terms with the fact that I was carrying a baby, Remo’s baby.
“What do you want to talk about?”
Three sets of eyes darted to my belly, and my hand automatically—protectively—pressed to the spot.
“If you keep this child,” Dante began.
“I will keep the child.”
Dad looked away and then at the picture frame on his desk. A photo of our family taken shortly before I’d been kidnapped.
“You will have to keep it hidden,” Dad said.
I blinked at them. “What?”
“Once you start showing, we’ll have to keep you out of the public eye, Serafina,” Dante said, his voice resolute. “I doubt Remo Falcone has the slightest interest in his offspring, but he might use it against us. The Outfit needs to be strong. This child might cause tension within the Outfit, and we can’t have that at the current time.”
“Or we could arrange a quick marriage with someone who agrees to a fake marriage and pretend it’s his child,” Dad suggested gently.
I stared between them. Samuel looked at the floor, his brows snapped together.
“I’m not going to marry anyone, and I’m not going to lie about the baby’s father. People wouldn’t believe it anyway.”
Now I was the woman pregnant with Remo’s bastard child. Soon my protruding belly would carry the guilt and shame of the Outfit.
“Eventually people will realize I have a child. Once it grows older, it’ll be difficult to keep it hidden. And what if he’s a boy? Won’t he be part of the Outfit?”
They exchanged a look.
“You haven’t even given birth yet. It’s still early,” Dante said tersely. I searched their faces, and as I did it was difficult to hold on to my indignation and anger. My kidnapping had left its marks. They were still shaken up. Maybe over time things would get better. I’d give them the time they needed to accept the situation. I owed it to them. I owed them more than I owed Remo.
This baby and I belonged in the Outfit. This was my family, my home.
Still, part of me wondered if I was lying to myself, if it wasn’t better to return to Las Vegas.
But Remo had sent me away. I’d served my purpose. How much did I really know about him? And how could I be sure if everything he’d done hadn’t been part of a show, his masterful manipulation. It had worked, hadn’t it? And how could I even be sure what I was feeling was real? Could feelings like that be born in captivity?
My pregnancy became the pink elephant in the room, an ever growing presence that everyone tried to ignore, and I did my best to make it easy for them. I wore loose-fitting clothes, glad for the cold winter days that allowed for thick sweaters and even thicker coats. I think my family often managed to forget I was even pregnant.
Only when I was alone in my room did I allow myself to admire my bump. It wasn’t big yet. I had even managed to take part in Dante and Val’s Christmas party because in my seventeenth week, if my calculations were accurate, an A-line dress still hid everything it should. If people suspected something, they kept it to themselves. It was a possible shame the Outfit didn’t want to voice aloud.
It was early January when Samuel and Mom accompanied me to my first doctor’s appointment. So far I hadn’t asked for one, but Mom had surprised me a few days ago by asking if we should check on the baby. It was her silent apology, her attempt to accept what was so very difficult for all of them to accept.
The doctor had been working with the Outfit for years. She treated most of the pregnant Outfit women and would keep the secret I carried.
Fear filled me as I stretched out on the examination couch. I wasn’t even sure what exactly scared me. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know I was pregnant. It was unmistakable at this point.
The doctor was on one side of me with the ultrasound while Samuel and Mom stood on the other. I swallowed when I pushed up my sweater, revealing the bump for the first time in front of others.
Samuel’s face became still, and Mom swallowed before she managed an encouraging smile and squeezed my hand.
“This will be cold for a moment,” the doctor warned me.
I nodded distractedly, my eyes fixed on the ultrasound.
The doctor started frowning, moving the ultrasound around on my belly. The thud-thud of a heartbeat filled the room and my own heart sped up, swelling with love and wonder. But the thud-thud was off, as if it was off-beat, two out-of-sync rhythms.
Mom’s eyes widened, but I wasn’t sure why, and fear filled me. I stared at her, then the doctor, then Samuel, but he looked as confused as I felt.
“Oh God,” Mom whispered.
“What? What’s going on?”
Mom’s eyes filled with tears. “Twins.”
The doctor nodded, and my eyes jerked toward Samuel.
“Like us,” I said in wonder.
He managed a small smile, but his eyes held worry.
The knowledge that I carried twins changed things for Mom. It was as if she could finally see the babies as mine, not as something alien.
Samuel seemed to be coming around as well. He painted the nursery and set up the furniture for me. And Sofia? She was ecstatic about the prospect of being an aunt. But Dad … Dad had a harder time. He didn’t mention the pregnancy and never looked anywhere below my chin. I understood him, couldn’t possibly be angry because his eyes reflected his conflict.
I often managed to feel like I belonged once more, managed to pretend I wasn’t forced to hide in our home so no one found out I was pregnant. What I didn’t manage was to stop thinking about the man who was the reason for everything.
Every night I lay awake in bed. Every time I stroked my bump I saw him before my eyes. And every time I was torn between anger and longing. Sometimes I wondered if I should find a way to let him know, but then I thought of my family, of their slow healing process, of what my kidnapping had done to them, and I couldn’t do it. What did you owe the man who kidnapped you? Who tried to destroy the people you cared about? The man who took your heart, only to push you away?
Nothing.
I owed Remo Falcone nothing.
These were my children, and they’d grow up as part of my family, as part of the Outfit. I’d hide the truth from them as long as I could. They would not find out who their father was until they had to. If I wanted them to have a chance in the Outfit, they couldn’t be Falcones. They couldn’t be associated with Remo at all.
In mid-May I gave birth to the most beautiful creations I could imagine and knew with absolute certainty that everything I’d wished for them would never become reality.
