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“Fuck, you think I know? You know how I partied.”
“…and fucked,” I added, even as the word made my cheeks heat.
He partied hard and fucked even harder, his trademark motto, one I’d never really understood until that night.
“I don’t anymore,” he said, but I ignored his comment. I didn’t want to know what he did when he wasn’t trying to make me miserable.
“What about the mother? Where is she?”
“Ran off.”
“What’s his name?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“And I don’t suppose you have a way to find his mother and ask?”
“She’s probably halfway to Mexico by now. I might have tried to kill her a little.”
“How can you kill someone a little?”
“She’s still alive.”
I stifled a nasty comment and drew in a deep breath. “He needs a name.”
“Call him Kid, or choose whatever name you think would fit him.”
I ran a hand through my hair, torn between wanting to help this boy (and some stupid part of me, even Nevio) and wanting to let Nevio feel the consequences of his actions for once.
I cradled the little boy gently against my chest, my heart aching for him, for what he’d been through and what lay ahead of him. He put his cheek against my chest and let out a shuddery breath as if he’d been waiting for the moment he could let go of his distrust. I stroked his back. His body was dirty and soaked with sweat and, from the smell of it, urine. At least, he looked well-fed, so maybe his unwashed state had more to do with him being out here in the desert than how he’d been treated since birth. I hoped it for him. “He needs to see a doctor to make sure he’s okay.”
“You want to be a nurse, so can’t you check him? I can’t see any obvious injuries.”
I glared at Nevio. I would have screamed at him if I hadn’t held the obviously shell-shocked little child. “I did two internships. I haven’t taken any courses, and even if I did, most of them don’t cover small children. Their bodies handle many things differently than we do. He needs to see a pediatrician. I don’t care if this complicates things for you, Nevio.”
Nevio narrowed his eyes, probably because of my tone, which was still tame to the tone I actually wanted to use right now, then he nodded. “I’ll take you to a pediatrician. But he can’t be linked to the Camorra, so I’ll have to do research.”
“You want to keep your son a secret?”
Nevio’s expression stilled when I said “son” as if he hadn’t allowed himself to think of the boy as such. Nevio certainly wasn’t the most empathetic person on this planet. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand other people’s emotions. He just didn’t care, but this, seeing his own child, must do something to him. At least I hoped it did.
“I don’t want my father or the rest of my family to know.”
I had figured as much or I wouldn’t be here. I’d carried secrets before. “So you call me? You really think I’ll help you?”
Nevio looked at the boy, then back up at me. “What am I supposed to do with the kid?”
“How old is he?”
He gave me a blank stare. “I thought you’d know. You used to babysit Adamo’s kid.”
“From looking at him? He’s your kid. When did you sleep with his mother?” I laughed, realizing how ridiculous the question was. “Never mind.”
I looked more closely at the boy. He obviously couldn’t walk yet but he could sit on his own. Even though I'd watched Roman, I wasn’t an expert on little kids. I would have guessed he was between eight months and a year old, but only a doctor would be able to tell. Unless Nevio found the mother and figured out the boy’s birthday. “So what’s your plan? How do you expect me to help you in this situation? You’re not thinking about giving him up for adoption, right?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I don’t trust strangers.”
“Then what?” I asked. If he didn’t want help from his family who would definitely gladly raise the boy, then what was there to do? He looked at the boy for a long time, his dark brows puckered, then he looked up at me. I’d never seen him like this, a little lost and almost scared of the small boy who hung limply in my arms.
