by B. B. Hamel
“I want to know you,” he said, and I believed him. I don’t think I’d ever met someone as sincere as him, and it scared the hell out of me.
“I’m going back home,” I said. “I know you don’t want that, but I’m going to. I’ll tell my parents and deal with the fallout and maybe Stuart won’t marry me, but that will be fine. We’ll arrange for some kind of situation so you can see the child, and maybe there will be some money involved—”
“I don’t want your money,” he said, leaning back as if I’d slapped him.
I bit my lip. Clearly, I overstepped. “I’m only saying, we can find an arrangement.”
“I’m not taking bribes to stay away from my child,” he said, narrowing his gaze, jaw locked in a grimace. “I’m not interested in your money, Ash. You think I need more money?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know you. That’s the whole point.” I pushed back from the table and it almost physically hurt me to step away from him like that. I stalked toward the door, heart hammering, then stopped and turned. He stood at the table watching me with animal eyes, like a predator staring at his next meal, and god, it was beautiful. I loved that gaze, those hard eyes, and I thought back to the feeling of him inside of me, the way he took me however he wanted and gave me just as much pleasure in return. I knew I’d never feel anything like that again, and it broke my heart.
“You don’t have to go,” he said. “You keep saying we’re strangers. Stay and change that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Coming here was a mistake.” I put my hand on the doorknob. “Thanks for taking me in last night. I really needed that.”
“What’ll happen to you now?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I think things will be hard, but I’ll survive.” I tore my gaze from him before I started crying again. “I’ll let you see your baby. I promise.”
With that, I ripped open the door and threw myself outside. I slammed it shut behind me and hurried down the stoop as the tears fell again. My car was parked halfway down the block and I pulled into traffic, tears streaming down my face, but I didn’t stop and I didn’t look back.
I felt like I was losing something by leaving that house, like I’d never have a future that I deserved as I drove back to my family’s home, intent on telling them everything.
4
Gian
I sat over a glass of whiskey and Dean sat next to me. The bar was dead on a Wednesday morning. Even the drunks and the regulars hadn’t shown up yet, though they would soon enough. The bartender was a rough old lady that went about her usual morning routine cleaning the floors and wiping down the glasses.
“You looked all fucked up,” Dean said. “Is it true, what you said on the phone? You got some girl pregnant?”
“Yeah, it’s true,” I grunted. “But she’s not some girl.”
“Who?” he asked.
“Her name’s Ashleigh Adamson.”
Dean sucked in a sharp breath. “Can’t be the Adamson family, right? I mean, that’s a relatively common name, right?”
“It’s her,” I said. “Rich girl. Powerful family. Pregnant with my child.”
“Oh, fuck,” Dean said, staring down at his whiskey. He shot it back and asked for another.
I did the same. The bartender poured then went back to cleaning.
“She went home to tell her family,” I said. “And now I don’t know what to do.”
“Pack,” Dean said. “Start running. I’m pretty sure they’ll kill you otherwise.”
I snorted and laughed. He grinned at me, although we both knew he wasn’t kidding.
“The fucked-up part is I want the girl to stay,” I said. “I tried to convince her not to run back home.”
“That is fucked up,” Dean said thoughtfully. “You think you’re ready to be a father?”
“Definitely not ready,” I said. “But willing. With her.”
Dean nodded slowly and turned his glass. We were friends, but we weren’t incredibly close. He was the Don’s son and one of the most powerful men in the family, and I figured that I’d tell him first before the rumors started spreading. If anyone would know how getting an Adamson daughter pregnant would affect the Valentino family, it would be Dean.
“Interesting,” he said. “From what I can tell, you’re not exactly the monogamy kind of guy.”
“True,” I said. “But maybe I haven’t met the right girl yet.”
“You wouldn’t get any of her money,” Dean said. “Her family would cut her off. You know that, right?”
“I know it,” I said. “It’s not about the money.” Which was very much true. I didn’t give a shit how rich she was. If I wanted money, I could get money. I was very good at a few things, and making a lot of cash as fast as I wanted was one of them. I didn’t need a dime from her.
“This is going to complicate things,” Dean said. “We’re at war with the Healy family, and Colm Healy’s going to take any excuse he can to make things more difficult. As soon as word gets out, he’ll find some way to exploit the situation.”
“I’m sure he will,” I said. “I’ll handle the Healy family. They’re pressing in on my turf.”
“Which only makes this harder.” Dean rubbed his face and sipped his drink. “I can’t tell you what to do. If you want to go after the girl, then go ahead, you have the family’s blessing. But don’t be fucking stupid about it. No kidnapping, no shit like that. If she wants to be with you, great. But you’re not stealing the girl. She’s too rich and her family’s too powerful.”
“I didn’t plan on forcing her,” I said, glaring at him. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He waved that away. “You know how the family can be. If she were someone else, I’d say go for it, take her if you want her. But shit, the goddamn Adamson family? That’s a real mess.”
“Will you tell the Don?” I asked.
“I have to,” he said, shrugging. “I can’t keep it a secret, but don’t worry about him. I’ll handle it.”
I nodded a little and sipped my drink. Dean was taking this much better than I expected. I figured he’d yell at me, call me some names, get all aggressive and macho and shit, and maybe throw out some punishments my way. He could make my life harder if he wanted.
Instead, he seemed surprisingly fine with everything, and that set me on edge.
“I’ve got plans to hit the Healys back on the north side of my turf,” I said, nodding down at my drink. “I’ve got my guys working on a plan.”
“That’s good. You running some game?”
“Setting up a little trap for them. I’m thinking if I make it very expensive for them to try to keep fighting me then they’ll slink back over the river.”
“Not a bad idea,” Dean said. “But try to keep the bodies to a minimum.”
I laughed and finished my drink. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” I said. “I’ve got to kill a few, you know that.”
“I know.” Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “This war’s expensive and it’s making the city nervous. I’ve got politicians calling me up, business leaders getting all pissy and shit. I bet even the Adamson family’s thinking about sending a note to my father, asking him to cool it with the Healys. Like there can be some simply solution. Those Irish fucks want to take what we’ve got, and we’ll defend it. That’s all there is.”
“War’s not profitable,” I said. “But sometimes it’s necessary.”
“Cheers to fucking that.” He crossed back his drink and stood. “Good luck with the girl. Keep me updated.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll see what I can do about my father, but he might be angry. You’ll probably have to deal with a little fallout, but like I said, don’t worry too much about it.”
“I won’t,” I said, leaning back to watch as he started toward the door.
But he stopped midway. “I’m sure you’ll be grateful if I make this easy on you,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “You know, owe
me a favor or two.”
There it was. I knew there were strings. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He nodded and left. I motioned the bartender for another drink and she filled me up. I stared into the brown liquid as it rolled around in my glass and thought about owing Dean a favor, about the Don getting angry, about Ash’s family. She was probably telling them right now and going through some horrible shit.
She shouldn’t have to do it alone. We could’ve done it together, or at least I could’ve been nearby to help her out in case her parents got violent or some shit like that. Her father wouldn’t take it well, and I had to guess Stuart would vent some frustration when he heard.
Ash was going to need help, but she made it clear she didn’t want any from me.
I turned my glass around and around. What a fucked-up situation. I had the Healys pushing up against my door and now I had Ash to deal with. I hated the idea of her going through this alone, and that comment about paying me—fuck, it still stuck in my gut. As soon as she said those words, it truly struck home that she didn’t know a goddamn thing about me.
Her whole life was about money and status and power. She’d probably never known a man that didn’t give a damn about any of those things, except for maybe power. I didn’t need her cash or her status, I only wanted her and my baby. And yet she’d offered to pay me off like I was some stupid problem she could bury in a big, fat check.
I couldn’t stand the thought. I took out my phone and called Dean. He picked up right away. “Missed me already?” he said.
“If you want me to owe you a favor, I need something from you,” I said.
Short silence. “What?” he asked.
“I need Ashleigh’s address,” I said. “Her family’s house.”
He was quiet and I heard traffic in the background. He must’ve been walking somewhere. “That’s not a good idea,” he said.
“I’m not going to make a scene,” I said. “Only I need to talk to her, and I want to do it in person.”
Another silence. I could only guess what he was thinking. “You’ll owe me a big favor,” he said.
“Fine,” I said. “Get me the address.”
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll text it to you.” Then he hung up.
I sat there and sipped my drink. I knew showing up at a rich girl’s house looking like a thug was a terrible idea, but I didn’t know what else to do. That baby was mine, and I wasn’t about to let her slip away. Letting her leave my house was a mistake, and now I was going to pay for it.
Ten agonizing minutes later, her address appeared. She had a place out on the Main Line in a town called Bryn Mawr. I vaguely knew the area—it was the sort of spot men like me never bothered with. I got up, paid the bartender, and walked out into the comfortable afternoon. I felt light and the sun was bright, but I knew what I had to do.
There was no other way.
I found my truck, pulled into traffic, and headed west. Bryn Mawr wasn’t too far outside of the city. The Main Line was a series of small towns and villages that grew up around Philly’s original train tracks. The richest, wealthiest families in the region had estates tucked back down long driveways with big gates and high walls. Their world wasn’t meant for a man like me, but fuck them and fuck everyone if they thought they could stop me.
My baby. I kept thinking it, over and over again as the city turned to suburbs. Fresh green lawns, big leafy trees, nice young couples walking down the sidewalks with strollers and big smiles on their faces. My baby was growing inside of Ash. I never imagined I’d have a child, never thought that was for me, and yet now that it was a possibility, I knew that I couldn’t turn my back on her. I needed that child like I needed a piece of myself.
The address led me to a small private driveway that wound through a pine forest. Needles covered the ground and birdsong drifted in through my open windows. It was goddamn idyllic, totally different from the inner city where I grew up. I knew the scream of ambulances, the pop of gunfire, the sound of angry voices in the middle of the night. This weird forest in the suburbs was totally foreign.
The driveway opened at the end and the house sitting before me looked like a hotel. The roof was red tile and the walls were a clean slate gray. A large awning jutted out across the pavement and a couple cars were parked beneath. I slowed and stopped, climbed out, and looked around.
The place was immense. I knew she was loaded, but my god. I could’ve fit the entire Valentino family in this place comfortably, and had more room to spare. The Don’s house was similar, though a touch smaller, and this sort of wealth and opulence was like an entirely different existence.
I struggled my whole life. I barely had anything growing up. But Ash was born and bred with a silver spoon in her pretty mouth.
It didn’t matter. I sucked in a breath and marched down beneath the huge awning and toward the front doors. They were big and wooden with glass set in the middle, and I found a small bell off to one side. I hit it once, then twice, and waited.
After a minute, the door on the left cracked open. A woman looked at me, wide-eyed, confused. She had light brown skin, long dark hair, and wore simple black slacks and a white shirt.
“Yes?” she asked. “Can I help with something?”
The housekeeper, I guessed. “I’m here to see Ash,” I said. “Tell her it’s Gian, and it’s important.”
“Ash,” the housekeeper repeated. “Does she expect you?” Her frown deepened.
“No, but—”
“Marcia, who the hell is that at the door?” a voice boomed out.
Marcia stepped back, head bowed, as a young man took her place.
He scowled out at me. I’d never met him before, but I knew this was Ash’s brother, Jack. He had slicked-back hair and wore a pair of chinos and a button-down. Everything about him screamed wealth, from the tan on his skin to the glittering Rolex on his wrist. He looked at me like I was some lost puppy.
“What can I do for you, pal?” he asked. “If you’re selling something, we’re not interested. Maybe you can try the Lane family, they’re right next door.” He grinned at me, and his teeth glittered white.
“I’m here to see Ash,” I said. “Tell her Gian’s waiting.”
His grin faded. “Ash isn’t here,” he said.
“I know that isn’t true,” I said, clenching my jaw, suddenly uncertain. If she wasn’t home then I might’ve wasted a long drive out here, and might not get another chance at this.
“Who are you?” Jack asked. “Gian who? I never heard of a Gian.”
“I met your sister at a retirement party a few weeks back,” I said. “She has something of mine, and I want it back.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re thinking—”
“Go get Ash,” I said and stepped closer. “Believe me, she’ll want to talk.”
“She’s busy,” he said through clenched teeth. He didn’t back down, which was impressive. I was bigger than him, broader and more muscular, and I could see a tinge of fear in his expression, but he held his ground. Good man.
“I thought you said she wasn’t here?” I sneered and was tempted to shove him inside. I could break in here without a problem, but these people weren’t to be fucked with if I could avoid it.
“As far as you’re concerned, assume she’s never home,” Jack said, and went to shove the door.
But I reached out and stopped it. “Ash!” I called over his shoulder. I heard my voice echo off marble floors and I could only guess at the incredible wealth locked deeper inside that mansion.
“Marcia,” Jack said, “call the police. They’ll take care of this for us.”
Marcia said something in Spanish and ran off. I let out a frustrated growl but Jack didn’t step aside.
The moment hung suspended between us. I knew I was overstepping and making a mistake. Jack was her brother, and if I wanted to win her over, I should probably consider trying to win over her family, too. I’d never convince her parents to like me, bu
t her brother might be possible.
Then again, these people would never accept a man like me, and her brother looked like he was already too far down their rich yuppie rabbit hole to ever let his sister be with a mobster. No, he wouldn’t be any help, but he didn’t need to be an enemy, either.
Still, she was in there. I had to get inside and talk to her before she told her family and made things harder. Jack’s face tensed as I prepared myself—
Then heard a scream from inside.
It was shrill, angry, and scared.
And it was Ash.
“What the fuck,” Jack said, turning.
I shoved him hard. He stumbled inside, slammed against the wall, and let out a gasp of pain as I barreled into the house and ran toward the source of the scream.
5
Ash
I sat in front of my vanity, surrounded by face creams, moisturizers, hair products, makeup, old notes from friends, a couple love letters from summer camp boys, a little trophy from an equestrian competition, two swimming trophies, framed pictures of me and my friends in the band, and other small trinkets from my life. I stared into my own eyes as intently as I could.
I looked tired and scared.
God, so scared.
“You’re going to tell them,” I whispered, and hoped that by saying it out loud, I’d somehow make it come true.
But that didn’t help.
I stood and paced across my room. It was a mess and I felt like I was just now noticing all the little details: stuffed animals from my childhood, CDs I hadn’t listened to in years, clothes piled up in the corner, my old pillow and comforter. I felt like a prisoner on death row waiting for the warden to come drag me off to the electric chair. I wanted to savor everything before my parents either murdered me or cast me out of the family or did something worse—like tried to make me get rid of this baby.
I wouldn’t do it, if it came to that. I’d rather live on my own than give up my child.
