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The thought comes to me with the same certainty that I feel about the pregnancy itself. No matter what aching, maternal feelings stir in me at the idea of Dante being a father, I know that I can’t have a childwithhim. What he did to Rico cements that, if nothing else.
If I raise this child with Dante, it will grow up with a mafia boss for a father. If I have a boy, that son will inherit everything Dante has, following in his footsteps. His entire life will be decided for him before he even takes his first breath. And if I have a girl—
I have some idea of how mafia families treat daughters. Even Dante, who seems to be fairly forward-thinking for someone steeped in such old traditions, seems to struggle with not seeing me as a possession. I’ve seen, over and over again, how difficult it is for him to restrain his urge to not only protect me, but try to make choices for me. To wield his not-inconsiderable power and solve all of my problems.
To treat my life as something to be managed instead of something that belongs to me.
Even if I thought he would give our child choices—not force a son to inherit or a daughter to be used as collateral for power—it doesn’t change the inherent violence of his world. It would be one thing for me to accept that violence, and choose to join him in that life, turning a blind eye.
I can’t allow a child to be raised in a world where their father believes murder is a solution.
I reach for my phone, my fingers trembling. For once, I need someone to talk to. And I know exactly who will be willing to listen.
—
An hour later, I find myself on one side of a small, round, white dining table in Brendan’s one-room apartment, a sunny window behind me and a glass of iced tea in my hands. He sinks down into the seat opposite me, his normally smooth face creased with concern.
“Are you alright? You’ve literally never asked to come here before. I don’t think you’ve ever said youneededto talk in all the time I’ve known you. What happened?” He sucks on his lower lip, frowning. “Is it about what happened to Rico?”
“Yes and no.” I let out a breath, wondering if I should just blurt it out. A part of me isn’t ready to say it yet. “Have the cops been bothering you, too?”
“At first. I think we’re all out of the woods, though. I—” Brendan hesitates, getting up nervously to go and pour himself a glass of tea. “I hadn’t told you, but I saw that guy you were working with there. Dante. He was involved in it. I thought for sure I was fucked when he saw me there, but he told me to leave. I guess because he knew we were close.”
“Really.” I stare down at my glass, trying to sort through how that makes me feel. “He just let you go?”
“I mean—he definitely implied some bad shit would happen to me if I let on that I knew anything about it, but yeah. He told me just to go and pretend like I was never there.” Brendan shrugs, but there’s a tightness around his mouth that tells me how badly the encounter scared him. “He seemed to really be concerned with how you’d feel about all of it. Were you guys—” he hesitates. “He was so jealous that one day he showed up.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “Yeah, we were.”
“Were?” Brendan raises an eyebrow. “Did he break it off?”
I shake my head. “No, I did.”
“Why?” Brendan smirks, a little of his humor peeking through. “He’s hot. Intense, but I mean—maybe it’s worth it for that—”
“He’s a mafia boss, Brendan.” I stare at him, taking a long sip of my tea. “I can’t be with someone like that. Someone who does things like—”
“Yeah.” Brendan lets out a long breath, his mouth twisting as he thinks. “Yeah, I can imagine that would be tough. A mafia boss? I didn’t even think that was real shit. Like—here? In LA? I knew there’s gangs and stuff, obviously, but that’s—that’s a lot.”
“I don’t know much about his business. I didn’t want to ask. But—yeah.” I tap my fingers against the glass, feeling the panic that settled in earlier start to rise up and form a lump in my throat again. “He seemed different when it was just us. It was easy to forget that’s what he is. But all of this happened with Rico, and I just—I was already trying to break it off. It couldn’t go anywhere. But after that—”
Tears prick at the corner of my eyes. Saying it out loud to Brendan makes it feel more real, more final. I’ve finally admitted to someone else that what there is between Dante and me isn’t possible. That it doesn’t exist outside of the small, private bubble that we so briefly made for ourselves, where we pretended that we could somehow make it work in the end. But now, there’s more than just me to consider.
“I mean—” Brendan shakes his head, his eyes widening. “It sounds like you made the right call, then. If you don’t think—”
“I’m pregnant.” I blurt it out before I can stop myself from saying it again, my heart beating hard in my chest. That, too, suddenly seems all the more real for saying it aloud. But as I say it, I know that I still feel the same way about keeping the baby. However I navigate my path forward, that much, at least, I know I want.
“What?” Brendan stares at me. “I’m gonna need you to say that again.”
“Do I have to?” I look at him plaintively. “You heard me the first time.”
“Yeah, but—did you not—” He runs a hand through his hair. “Emma. There are ways to make sure that doesn’t happen, you know.”
“Of course, I know. And we used them.”Except for the last time.I don’t bother saying that—it doesn’t matter now, anyway. “But I guess it’s really not foolproof.”
“And you’re going to—” He breaks off, looking at me warily. “You want to go through with this, don’t you? I can see it in your face.”
I nod slowly. “I know it sounds crazy. I didn’t even think I wanted kids. It’s going to change my whole life. But I think—I think I can handle it. Maybe it will even be a good thing. I just—if I’m going to do that, I’m going to have to leave.”
