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I’d do anything for this woman—for us.
For our baby.
Unfortunately, I swore myself to secrecy, so she has no idea what’s to come. “And when the center erupts into justified outrage?”
“I take Juliet, find Luca, and leave. Benito will be waiting curbside in your town car.”
“That’s right. And I’ll stay behind to make sure everything’s worked out, that your father’s adequately ruined, and meet you at the airport.” I disconnect our bodies, running a hand through my hair as she turns to face me. “And you won’t do anything crazy that puts you in jeopardy.”
“Right.”
Cocking my head, I study her: the soft makeup around her eyes makes her look delicate, though I know she’s so much more than that. Fierce, bold. A protector. A goddamn warrior. “Are you going to be okay with this? I know you had pretty distinct plans for the men on that list of yours.”
“Plans change, right?” She shrugs, smoothing one of her hands over the left lapel of my suit jacket. Pausing over my breast pocket, on top of my heart, she smiles. “I mean, I no longer want to killyou.”
“Cristo, I should hope not.”
She taps me three times, a gesture I’m coming to recognize as her way of telling me those three little words she’s yet to utter. Holding her hand over my heart the way I imagine she’d hold it in her hand, Morse code that speaks to my pulse. It makes my chest swell, even if I wish for vocalization. I’ll settle for this, for now.
I know the truth, anyway.
If there were any doubt in her mind, I wouldn’t know a baby was growing in her. Wouldn’t get the chance to feel that joy, to convince her to stay with me.
She steps closer, leaning up on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to my lips, and then moves to the exit, flipping the lock. My father and Marco stand just outside the door, annoyance lacing their brows.
“Sorry, boys, Mr. Montalto needed some help with his bowtie.” She winks, dashing past them and disappearing into the crowd.
Marco gives me a once-over. “You’re not wearing a fucking bowtie.”
Ignoring them, I sweep out of the bathroom and make my way to our assigned table, situated right in front of the stage. Dominic’s ugly mug is plastered around the ballroom over photocopies of the American flag, which feels blasphemous for a myriad of reasons.
Mrs. Harrison sits at the opposite side from me; her nose turned up in conversation with another middle-aged socialite. They cut a glance at me, and then quickly divert their gazes. It’s just as well. I don’t have a single fucking thing to say to that woman.
My father settles into the seat beside me, taking a sip of water. “Politicians,” he spits, returning the glass to the table and glaring around the room. Even the napkins have Dom’s face on them.“Fucking dogs, the whole lot of ’em. Give me hardened criminals over a sell-out bureaucrat any fucking day. At least they’ve got a sense of modesty.”
“That’s an insult to dogs,” I note.
“Dogs will lick their dicks in front of anyone. Politicians debase themselves in front of anyone. It might be an insult, but the vein is the same.” He glances at me, leaning back in his seat, an odd look on his face. “You seem different, son. Less ghastly.”
“Oh, gee, thanks Pops.” I chuckle, unbuttoning the top button on my jacket. The room is abuzz, reporters snapping pictures everywhere, and I want to make sure I appear as relaxed and aloof as possible, since I know I’ll be implicated later.
“It’s a compliment, Elia,Gesù Cristo. I know these last few months have been difficult for you, on account of our shit, and then adding Caroline’s problems in on top of it... I was worried about you, all right?”
“You have a weird way of showing it.”
He nods, grasping his napkin in his fist. Unfolding it, he drops it into his lap, sighing. “It’s hard, without your mom. She was better at this kind of thing.”
“It’s been twenty-three years, Pop.” I cock an eyebrow. “Don’t blame it on just being bad at reaching out. You didn’t make an effort, didn’t want to, and that’s the whole of it. Thefamilywas your life, and you’ve worked hard to make sure you left it in good hands. But at some point, I think you forgot that you had a son, not a simple protege.”
“You’re right. I’ve been an ass. I’m sorry.”
I shrug, picking at the tablecloth. Silk, lavish like everything else for this campaign.Where the fuck did Dominic even get the money to throw this gala?My guess is he cashed out the money I sent him and didn’t spend a single dime repaying anyone.
“Don’t apologize to me. Try to get to know my wife, the woman I love, so you get to be a part of your grandchild’s life.”
His gray eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, forehead wrinkling under the movement. “My grandchild?”
Nodding, I stay silent, eyes trained on Mrs. Harrison to see whether she heard me or not. I don’t particularly care one way or the other, but it’ll be a nice little send-off when I exile her ass from town to know she won’t ever get to meet the baby.
