AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We’ve finally turned down the road that leads to our mansion. The neighborhood, if you can call it that, has just a few properties. Each property is several acres large. Our neighbors consist of politicians, obscure tech billionaires, and a rockstar who has hidden away from the world in his retirement. The biggest draw is that the area looks completely unclaimed to the untrained eye. You wouldn’t be able to tell that there are houses among the trees. It keeps away people too nosey for their own good.
“I thought you would have recognized this tesorino. I’m taking you back to my home.”
“Please, just take me to my father’s house. I’ll be much more comfortable there.”
Her nerves are making her irate. She snaps her words at me. I don’t think she intended to. Her eyes widen in shock when she realizes her tone.
“Really now? Can’t we discuss this later, tesorino? I’ve read it isn’t good for children to hear their parents fighting.”
Chapter Fourteen- Emma
I knew coming back to New York was a bad idea.
Panic seizes in my chest, making it difficult to breathe. The entire car seems to spin and a sudden wave of nausea leaves me wanting to puke all over the floor of his car. My hands are gripping the seat beneath me so tightly my fingertips tingle from the lack of oxygen. Embarrassingly enough, tears form in my eyes, no matter how quickly I try to blink them away.
“Breathe, Emma,” Enzo tells me.
“Don’t tell me to breathe.”
He hums out, the noise so similar to the one his cousin made on his phone that I wonder if it’s a mafia thing. Communicating his judgment without words. I try to pull air into my lungs, but they reject the notion of breathing. I’m sure I’m going to pass out in this car.
“Mama?”
Matteo’s voice pulls me back. When the panic attacks started, he had only been a baby. I’d never had them before, but the midwife told me that sometimes childbirth can trigger mental health disorders. I had been hoping it would go away as Matteo got older. They never did. Between medication and therapy, I have it under control most of the time.
I glance at Enzo, who is watching me for a concerning amount of time for someone who should look at the road. “Mama’s okay, honey,” I tell Matteo. The last thing I need is him worrying about me.
With the panic attack fading, I try to act like Enzo didn’t shatter the illusion I was living in. That Matteo and I were safely away from him. We’d be able to live our lives without him ever knowing he exists.
Everything, these past five years, has been in vain.
How long has he known? Has it been years? Was he letting me raise his heir just to sweep in when he felt ready? Despite my father’s robust salary, if we end up in court fighting over Matteo, Enzo’s family has far more money and resources. My father is one of many of them. And they probably have judges on their payroll.
And that's assuming they'll decide to settle this in court. The mafia isn’t known for taking legal avenues.
Gone is the charming smile. With his secret out and Matteo and I trapped in the car, he no longer has to fake. Instead, his face is a blank canvas. Eerily nonchalant.
It reminds me of Matteo. More than one of his preschool teachers has commented on how unnerving he can be. A serious, stern-looking child who never gives his thoughts away for free. Matteo only lets in those he trusts. Which has only ever been my aunt and I. Even with my father, he has never opened up fully.
If it’s the same for Enzo, then I’m not sure I’ll ever have access. I don’t want access. His very existence is a threat to my child.
Our child.
I flinch. It’s an inconvenient truth I like to ignore. It feels unfair that he gets the same claim to the child I grew with my body. I doubt his family will feel the same.
“And my father?” I ask once I'm sure I won't spiral into another panic attack.
“What about your father?”
“I was told he's hurt. Is that true?”
Enzo lets out a sharp laugh. “Your father got off easy. He’s fine. Not that he deserves to be. Most people who face the wrath of Salvador Lombardi are not. He’s got a black eye and maybe a broken collarbone, but hardly anything that would put him in the hospital.”
I let out a sigh of relief though my heart still aches. It’s a minor relief. Being fine doesn’t mean he's safe. That doesn’t mean either of us is safe.
“He’s on lockdown. Twenty-four watch by guards. We won’t allow him to leave the property until things have been properly sorted,” he informs me.
For someone who grew up with a direct connection to the mafia, I was oblivious to the horrors of the world until after I had turned 18. Father had made sure of it. He sheltered me away from the truths of the world, from the truths of his job and his employer. It wasn’t until my father had told me about Enzo, had told me all about the Lombardi family, that I became obsessed with learning everything I could about organized crime.
