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Fifteen
Belle
I’m pregnant.
Those two words play on repeat the whole drive over to their lake house.
How in the hell am I going to tell them I’m carrying their child? I can’t even bring myself to tell them my real name.
They’re going to have a child with a mafia princess.
A shit storm inside of a shitstorm
Fuck.
I grabbed Santi’s keys to his low-key BMW. The one he uses when he wants to blend in with the other drivers on Chicago’s roads.
I have news for him. That man stands out like he’s bathed in neon paint in a rave no matter what he drives.
I point the car east and don’t stop until I am outside their home.
It’s late afternoon and the lights are off. It looks like no one is home.
I kill the engine and walk the outside perimeter of the cabin before coming up to the door. I thought maybe they were outback, but nope.
I pull my phone out and almost hit up our shared chat when I see a piece of paper tucked between the door frame and the door.
Key is above the door. We will be back from training by nightfall. Our home is yours. -G
Home. The word strikes me with a thousand volts of electricity. I read that last line again and the effect is the same. I’ve never had a home of my own. What the family owns and what I call mine are two different things.
I find the key and slip inside, closing the door behind me.
I haven’t been back since that first night I stayed. The night I gave them my virginity.
This time I have a moment to take everything in. The polished floors, the clean kitchen. Unlike a normal bachelor pad that would have clothes over the back of chairs or dirty dishes stacked in the dishwasher, their place is immaculate.
Every room I step into is the same. Tidy and well-planned out.
Soft hues of brown mixed with dark browns and various shades of blue are used in every room.
I walk the halls and take in all the pictures of those who look to be military friends. Some are dressed in fatigues with their arms slung over my men’s shoulders.
In other frames, Gage, Aziel, and Rush are dressed in their military blues.
What does change in any of the pictures is Gage’s serious, straight-faced expression. Hardcore, deadly. Rush is more laid back in every snap of him. He either has a smile or looks comfortable where he is at that particular moment.
Aziel on the other hand has a wide variety of emotions coming through. Some show his fun side. Holding up peace signs and flashing silly grins but in the more recent ones, he seems more stressed. Almost like he’s on edge wearing all his tactical gear.
I return to the living room. There are plenty of drawers I could comb through to get a better sense of who I’ve spent the last few weeks taking into my body—and heart. But that’s just not me. If I want my boundaries respected, I am a firm believer one needs to offer it first.
I continue to take in the photos on the walls and end tables. A few are scattered in various cubbies on the back wall. Their entertainment center is loaded with the obvious large-screen TV. But there are tons of books on various topics and even more photos.
In contrast, the Constantine compound has nothing that can be used as leverage against the family. No photos, no clue as to who the Constantines are and who we hold dear.
I pick one frame up. It’s of Aziel in the hospital with Rush on one side and Gage on the other posing with their brother. Aziel appears to have lost weight in the photo compared to him now. Dark circles ring the underside of his eyes and the other two look worried sick. It had to have been a serious injury.
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to imagine the world without his cocky grin and humor and it hurts just thinking about it.
