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“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” I ask as I feel the tension rising in my chest. I know that the other shoe is going to drop at some point. It’s just a matter of when.
“People are looking for you. Some information was leaked that proved you were surveilling him in the weeks before he was killed,” he replies, losing the cordial demeanor.
While I can’t be surprised that I’ve been suspected of having killed Franco, the knowledge that people are actively searching for me puts me on edge. I wasn’t planning on returning to Italy any time soon, but this is more of a deterrent than I need.
“Okay, I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. I have a family here in the United States,” I reply, bracing for the impending onslaught of questions.
“Wait. I’ve only been in jail for two months. How the hell did you manage to get a family for yourself? I know you’re rich as fuck, but you can’t purchase humans to add them to a collection. That’s not how families work,” he says half-jokingly.
“No, listen. It’s a long story, but basically, I knocked up a girl five years ago, and we reconnected. That’s all I can say for now. But I appreciate you, dude, and I’m overjoyed that you’re free now. I promise we’ll see each other soon, even if I have to fly your broke ass out here.”
I hear him snicker in the background. “Yeah, you’d better. I’ll talk to you later. Go be with your mail-order bride.”
“Fuck you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hang up the phone, and when I stop to really feel the moment around me, I realize that this I the first time in my life that I’ve felt any true peace. June’s presence in my life has given me something that no amount of money ever could.
As I head back into the kitchen, I’m greeted by the sleepy, smiling faces of my children as they sit at the table. June follows them in, also sleepy but with a glow on her face that I’ve learned to fall in love with.
I want to tell her about Enzo, about how we’ve achieved victory over his case, but I’m just going to let this moment happen as it's supposed to. I have everything I’ve ever needed, and I’m making it my mission to be as present as possible for the rest of my life.
The End.
Preview of The Bratva’s Baby Bump
ChapterOne
SERENA
My backpack is too heavy, but I already know there’s something I’d forgotten. I had so little time to throw everything together – some clothes, whatever is left of my shower supplies, my laptop, my medications...
I locked Cody out of our bedroom for twenty minutes while I scraped together just enough of what I needed to survive a week without him.
My whole body has been overtaken by this sensation of immense, mortal panic. It’s been bad before, but never quite like this. In the past, I could have eased him down from the mental hell he’s put himself into. Right now, I’m trapped and hopeless.
“Serena, this ismyfucking apartment! You can’t lock me out of my own fucking bedroom, you cunt!” he screams from the other side of the hollow door. It’s still somehow attached to its hinges after so many of his attempts to rip it from the wall.
His cocaine habit has rotted his brain into the floorboards. He was never the most attentive, affectionate, or considerate boyfriend, but he was also neverthis.When we met, he was a casual pill user who snorted Adderall to get through the homework he’d been putting off the night before it was due. He’d use Xanax to sleep on the weekends, maybe some Percocet to pull him temporarily out of a shitty mood that would later be inflamed again by alcohol.
“You think I won’t know where to find you?! You’re just going to go to your fucking sister’s like you always do! Fucking coward!” he continues, pounding on the door for emphasis as his rage begins to come to a boiling point.
Every time he shouts, pounds on the door, or kicks the wall, my mind blanks. I can’t focus on what I need to bring with me at all. I feel like a rabbit in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. He’s going to fucking kill me today, and my body knows it.
Cody is moments away from breaking the door down and doing twenty-five to life when he suddenly stops. I hear him drop to the floor, the silence heavy in the air right before he begins sobbing those classic crocodile tears.
“You know what’s going to happen if you leave. You know I’ll do it,” he cries, hitting the back of his head against the opposite wall. “I’ve tried before, and this time everyone’s going to know it’s your fault!”
His head pounds into the wall behind him, just like it always does at this point in his meltdowns. He’ll start with his aggressive, intimidating behavior, realize that I’m not going to give in, and then threatens to commit suicide.
He’s attempted it before, or at least that’s what he tells me. What he once said was an “overdose” ended up being nothing but a few Tylenol over the recommended amount. Of course, I came rushing to him to comfort him and bring him to the hospital. I still take him seriously because it scares the shit out of me to lose him.
But this time is different. I feel that my life is at stake, and perhaps for the first time ever, my sense of self-preservation overrides any sympathy I have left for him.
My hands are shaking. I’m barely able to grasp onto the last remnants of my getaway bag before I try to sling it over my shoulder. I force myself to take deep breaths, but my nervous system is screaming at me to bolt through the door and down the stairs. There’s no time for recalibrating, no time to rethink my steps or ground myself.
I need to leave now, or I am going to die a miserable, terrifying death.
