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"Knowing that you were raised in the mafia, itisstrange that you didn't suspect anything."
His words flay my conscience and I sigh. There is nothing like willful ignorance. "I didn't put the pieces together, that's for sure. I didn't want to."
He cocks his head, like he's wondering about that but he asks, "Are you happy about the baby?"
"Yes."
"Even though I am the father?"
That is a question I'm not ready to answer. Atlas being my baby's father means I cannot walk away from him completely. That should not cause a flutter of relief in my heart.
Avoiding that emotional quagmire, I say, "You aren't the only one who decided not to use birth control."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes, it is. I am an adult and I take responsibility for my choices."
"And you chose to get pregnant with me."
"Yes." I trusted him too easily, but that is on me. "What I don't understand is why you chose to get me pregnant."
The door opens, interrupting whatever answer Atlas would have given. Part of me is thankful. I'm not sure I want to know if I'm a convenient womb to carry the next generation for the Rokos mafia.
A tall woman with long blond hair and wearing glasses comes into the room. "Hello, I am Dr. Lida MacGowen."
"MacGowen is an Irish name," I say suspiciously. Don't tell me that the Irish mob is moving in on Portland too.
"Yes, it is. And Esposito is of Spanish origin."
"Italian," I correct, still looking at her with suspicion.
Atlas cups my neck. "Relax,ílios mou, she's not part of an Irish syndicate," he tells me in perfect Italian.
"That day when I told you to get out of my house, you understood me fine," I accuse.
That triggers another memory. Him calling me good girl in Italian. I was so lost to passion, it didn't register then, but now I realize he's understood every word I've spoken in Italian since we met.
"Why didn't you tell me you speak Italian?"
"Calling youbrava regazzadidn't clue you in?"
"I was too far gone at the time to register it," I admit. But I remember now and I also remember how good it made me feel.
Why this man? Why does he have the key to my every lock?
"That is good to know," he replies in English, reminding me it is rude to carry on a conversation the doctor cannot understand.
"I apologize," I say to her.
"It's fine. It must be nice to be able to share a private conversation in front of others. But I didn't realize Rokos is an Italian name too?"
"It's not," I say.
"It's Greek," Atlas adds, pride infusing his tone.
"But you speak Italian?" she asks as she sets up the equipment.
"Yes." Atlas makes no attempt to explain.
