by Sam Mariano
“His son still could, though. Obviously down the road, but this isn’t the kind of job you retire from. Assuming I don’t get myself killed before then, I’ll still be around, and I would be one of the first to go in that scenario. Ordinarily in a situation like Rafe’s where someone takes over power, they clean house and bring their own crew in with them. Most of us are still around this time because we all worked together and had established relationships. If Vince’s son ever decided to stake a claim for power, he would have to clean house. Keep the ones who supported his bid, obliterate everyone else. He would have to be a stronger, more ruthless leader than even your son, because he would have something to prove.”
“I’m Vince’s sister-in-law though. He will be the uncle of any kid I have. If I did have Rafe’s baby, my sister’s baby and mine aren’t going to be rivals. They’re going to be family and best friends, just like me and Carly. They would never want to hurt one another.”
Sin is already nodding like he’s well aware of that fact. “Yes, which is a point in your favor. It’s not a guarantee, by any means; men are seduced by power all the time. Vince’s son could turn on yours, which is why I was strongly in favor of more permanent measures being taken, but Rafe doesn’t believe Vince is a threat in present day, and as I mentioned, he never planned on having kids, so he didn’t have anyone to look out for down the road.”
Unease moves down my spine and I pry my fingers out of his grasp. “When you say permanent measures…”
He watches me, his gaze flickering briefly. He ends up averting his gaze before he says, “Like I said, permanent.”
“But Vince hasn’t done anything wrong,” I insist. “Well, there may have been that kidnapping thing, I never got the full story there, but you know what I mean. He’s no threat to Rafe.”
“I just explained how he potentially could be. This isn’t the kind of business where you practice mercy and hope for the best, Laurel. In a kill or be killed world, you do what needs doing to protect your interests and your people. Only the ruthless make it here. You want sweet tempers and brotherly love? Join a church, not the Morelli family.”
“Trust me, I have no intention of joining the Morelli family.”
His humorless smile is tinged with something like sympathy. “Too late.”
19
Rafe
This is perhaps the last thing I ever thought I would do in my lifetime, but as I sit hunched over my sleek mahogany desk, squinting at the glowing computer screen in front of me, I think about babies. More specifically, I think about the one Laurel is carrying and her insistence that I’m responsible for its creation.
I’ve read nothing that has changed my mind, and I’ve spent more time than I care to admit poring over articles, trying to find an explanation. Not forum posts because people are morons, and I would never trust some dipshit’s word that he used the condom correctly and still got his girlfriend pregnant. Up until and including right now, I would tell any asshole who told me a story like that if there was no user error with the condom, there’s a simple explanation: the kid is not his.
I know Laurel’s baby isn’t mine. I know because it can’t be, because I brought the condom myself, I put the condom on myself, and I know how to use a fucking condom. I’ve used enough of the damn things to know how they work.
I’ve tried to remember the specific instances. Considering maybe my own ego is getting in the way, I wanted to be fair. The problem is, I can’t. There have been too many ripped open foil packets, too many lubed up rubbers—I cannot remember the specifics of each time with Laurel. The only reason a condom sticks out in my memory at this point is if there’s a reason to—some malfunction I need to worry about. If that had happened with Laurel, I would have taken notice.
It’s late, but I’ve been drinking so I don’t care. I drag my phone across the desk and touch it to light up the screen. A couple texts from various women, but nothing from Laurel. I swipe the texts away and open up the chain of messages between me and Laurel. It’s a lopsided exchange. That’s often the case in my text exchanges with women, but ordinarily I’m not the one sending all the unanswered texts. What a fucking racket.
I tap out another one, but it’s all bullshit and I delete it.
I want to know who she fucked, but I don’t trust her to tell me. I could ask Sin to look into it, but since she’s curled up with him in his motherfucking bed right now, that asshole is compromised. I can’t believe he had the balls to snatch her right out from under me like that.
I close the message before I send her something that will piss me off tomorrow, and instead I scroll down to Mateo’s name. That fucker owes me a favor anyway.
“I need information about Laurel Price.”
I’m used to people answering me right away, so it irritates me when he doesn’t. Of course, it’s late so he’s probably curled up in bed with his wife.
What kind of alternate fucking universe have I stepped into that everyone around me is curled up in bed with a beautiful woman, and I’m sitting alone in my study like a fucking asshole?
A few more minutes pass and I decide to call him. Better chance he’ll answer a phone call than a text message.
I can hear in his deep voice that I woke him up when he answers. Knowing I wouldn’t be calling him this late without a damn good reason, his tone is terse. “What’s wrong?”
It’s certainly not the crisis he’s expecting, and I don’t expect to lead with it, but I need to talk to someone and my consigliere is for business—not shit like this. Not unless I know it’s real. “Laurel is pregnant.”
The line falls silent. “Pregnant,” he repeats, after a minute.
That apparently catches his wife’s attention. I hear an alarmed, “Who is that?”
I can’t compete with her for his attention, so instead of addressing me, he answers her. She gasps and says, “Gimme.”
“What?” he murmurs, as she apparently takes the phone from him.
Now Mia’s sweet voice rings out across the other line. “You got someone pregnant? You scoundrel.”
That brings a faint smile to my face. “Hey, at least it wasn’t you.”
“Bite your tongue,” she replies, not nearly as amused as she should be.
“I’m only sorta kidding. You’re better at it.”
“I’m better at getting pregnant? I’m not sure that’s much of an accomplishment. Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Laurel. Carly’s sister, remember her?”
Now she’s surprised. “From Easter? I thought that was just a hook-up?” The words die along with her enthusiasm. “Oh. This isn’t a pleasant surprise?”
I swish the remaining amber liquid in my drink glass. “I don’t even know if it’s mine. She swears it is, but I don’t know.”
“Well, do you like her? Laurel didn’t strike me as a manipulative person; I don’t think she would lie about that.”
The corners of my mouth tug upward. “Of course you don’t. You always think the best of everyone.”
“That’s not true. I didn’t think the best of Jessica. Or Ben. See? Right off the top of my head, two people I definitely did not think the best of. Laurel seemed pretty nice, though. And you did spend several days with her. Carly said she’s not really all about casual hook-ups and you were an exception to that rule, so if you’re not the father, who would be?”
“That’s what I want to find out,” I tell her.
“She can get a paternity test. Probably right now, if you got her pregnant during Easter weekend. You only have to be like 8 weeks along, and it’s a safe test. They just draws a little blood and test it, no big deal. If she says you’re the daddy, I bet you are, though. I think it’s going to be great. Let’s be honest, it’s probably time for you to start making mini Morellis anyway. Our babies can have play dates. It’ll be adorable.”
“I’d rather have play dates with you,” I tell her.
“I’ll have to run it by my nanny,” she quips.
I can’
t help smiling. Mia always puts me in a better mood. “I miss you, little one.”
“Then come visit,” she says easily. “Come for Sunday night dinner.”
“Will you serve me?” I tease.
“No. But you can bring Laurel and I’ll show her the ropes.”
I smile, tipping back my glass and downing what’s left. “Nice redirect. Very smooth.”
Instead of telling me she’s a married woman, which I obviously already know, she lightly admonishes me with, “Hey, you have a baby on the way, mister.”
“I don’t know whether I do or not. I need your husband to get me some information.”
“You don’t have your own info guy?”
I sigh heavily. “I do. But it’s complicated.”
“Everything is,” she says. “Don’t sound so glum. This is good news. Babies are wonderful; you’ll see. I’m going to throw you a baby shower. Oh! Carly can come. Or she might want to throw it herself since they’re sisters. I don’t know, we have a little time to figure it out.”
“All right,” Mateo says, apparently hearing enough and snatching the phone back from her. “It’s the middle of the night, asshole. You couldn’t wait until tomorrow for this?”
Since I’m out, I grab my decanter and dump a little more liquid into my glass. “Why don’t you put Mia back on? I’d rather talk to her.”
“Why don’t you go to bed and call me when the sun is up like a civilized person,” Mateo responds.
“I need dirt on Laurel,” I tell him instead. “I could get it myself, but it would be a lot easier for you. You’re already in Chicago; I’d have to send someone. Could you have Adrian poke around a little bit and get some information for me? I need to know who fucked Laurel from, say, mid-February to now.”
“I’ll get Ethan on it tomorrow.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“I don’t care,” he replies, ending the call without another word.
I pull back the phone and look at the lit up screen. Bastard. Didn’t even let me say good night to Mia. My mind strays to Chicago, where he’s putting his phone down and curling up with her in his arms. She’s so full of love, she even has enough for his rotten soul. Then my mind drifts across town to Sin’s house. I’ve slept with Laurel a few nights, so I remember the way she curls close and clutches you near, sighing and nuzzling her face against your chest. Laurel is a nuzzler. That’s how she earned the nickname kitten. She is open-hearted and rubs her affection all over you—but apparently only until you’re an asshole, then she shuts that shit off like a faucet.
It’s a bad idea, but I open up a brand new text message and find Cassandra’s name. I take another sip of alcohol and type out a message with one hand.
“What are you doing tonight?”
This is a bad idea. One of the worst I’ve had since… well, since last time I got involved with her. I didn’t know any better then, even though I should have, but I don’t have the same excuse this time.
She sends back, “His name is Rachid.”
“Nice. Glad to see your overwhelming love for me isn’t stopping you from whoring around,” I text back.
“You’re one to talk. How is your little mouse? Bored with her already?”
Caught in someone else’s trap. Obviously I’m not going to tell her that. “Where are you?” I ask her.
“At Daddy’s club,” she answers. “Why, you wanna come see if you can give Rachid a run for his money?”
What a ridiculous thing to say. I don’t know who the fuck Rachid is, but he’s no competition for me. I could show up mid-fuck and order Cassandra to crawl her ass across the floor and bow at my feet, and she would.
It’s just that after the orgasms, she would sink her claws into my life and rip everything apart. This woman is a cancer, and I shouldn’t even be talking to her.
I put the phone down and push it across the desk to allay temptation. And I am tempted. Everything feels like it’s spinning out of control, and even if I hate her—maybe especially because I hate her—I’d like to grab Cassandra’s blond locks in my fist and fuck her face until she can’t breathe and tears are streaming down that perfect face of hers.
On second thought, I glance at the phone again. Dodging temptation isn’t really my style, is it? Maybe Cassandra’s mouth around my cock would restore some semblance of sanity to my life. And I am in the mood for a blonde.
This is probably a terrible, self-destructive idea, but what the hell? Laurel’s mouth is taking care of Sin’s cock right now, so it’s not like she gets to gripe about it. Sin will, but fuck him.
I stroll into the club like I own the place. I know the impressive figure I present to any onlookers. Even drunk and without a single member of my crew with me, I exude the kind of confidence only a man with power can pull off.
On the inside I might be a little tangled up right now, but on the outside I’m just fucking fine. I offer an easy smile and wink at a hot brunette whose gaze can’t quite stay on her date. She bites her lip and smiles at me, an invitation in her eyes and she doesn’t even know my name.
I don’t care about her date, but I’m not in the mood for a brunette. I want a blonde tonight.
Cassandra isn’t at the bar, so I head out on the floor to take a look at the tables. It’s a sprawling club, but I know where Cassandra would usually be and she’s not there. I start to feel restless and uneasy. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. I’m not supposed to be working this hard, not for Cassandra. Dragging her in the back and making her suck me off is only fun if it’s effortless. If I have to keep my eyes peeled for her and some other asshole, that stirs memories of when she first left me—not the kind of shit I want haunting me.
“Are you meeting someone?”
I turn around and there’s a cute waitress with auburn hair gazing up at me, unexpectedly upbeat for someone working at such a late hour. I cock my head and she smiles, her blue-green eyes warm and friendly.
“It seemed like you were looking for someone,” she offers.
I turn my head and let my gaze sweep the floor one more time, but I don’t see Cassandra. Little cunt probably sent me on a wild fucking goose chase. Turning my attention back to the waitress, I shake my head. “Nope, just stopped in for a drink.”
With a cheerful smile, she pretends to believe my lie. “Great, let me grab you a table. Or would you rather sit at the bar?”
“Table.” I trail behind her as she moves with great energy toward a booth in the corner. I like booths, but I’ll feel a little like an asshole sitting in one all by myself. My cock stirs like it sees something it likes. I’m caught unawares, as the only thing I’m currently looking at is the ass on this waitress. I didn’t think much of her when I first laid eyes on her, but the way her pants hug her ass, the way her tucked-in shirt nips in at the waist… I kinda want to take her clothes off and see what she looks like underneath. She’s not the blonde I was looking for, but when the light hits her hair, there’s a burnt copper tone that keeps her from being a true brunette. They’re not my usual choice, but hell, a redhead’ll do in a pinch.
Fuck, I’m getting hard over random waitresses now? I really need to end this fucking dry spell. This shit is getting out of hand.
A mishmash of women float through my head and I don’t even know which one I want. Blondes and brunettes. I can’t have any of them, somehow.
“You okay?”
My gaze snaps to the waitress. Her tone is quiet, intimate, like she doesn’t want anyone to overhear. There’s no one else in the corner she put me in anyway, but I still appreciate the consideration. She seems like a nice girl, and dammit, I like nice girls. I’m not sure it would help my situation, but I want to sit this pretty little waitress on my lap and bury my cock inside her. She can straddle me the way Laurel did during Easter weekend when she was afraid someone else might be getting my attention. I liked her honesty, her willingness to walk right over to me and put herself out there. She didn’t want my attention on any other
women when she was right there to occupy me, so I tugged her little ass into my lap and showed her exactly where my attention was. Her blue eyes shone with pleasure; she pulled an Easter egg full of jelly beans out of the pocket of her huge sweater and started feeding them to me. She looked so pretty, her long chocolate waves falling around her, her soft blue sweater accentuating the color of her eyes. I don’t even like jelly beans, but I liked when her nimble little fingers slid them between my lips.
Fuck, that aches to think about. It aches because those blue eyes don’t hold affection for me anymore, and it’s my own damn fault. Laurel should be in my lap, straddling my cock and nuzzling me. Especially if she really is carrying my baby.
She should be, but she’s not.
The waitress takes a seat beside me. I glance back out at the floor, thinking about her neglected tables. She’s not very good at her job. When I look back at her, I realize she looks familiar. “You’re the waitress Sin was a dick to,” I state.
Her lips curve up in a faintly self-detrimental smile. “Yes, but in his defense, he also gave me twenty bucks.”
“Can I be a dick to you if I give you twenty bucks?” I half-joke.
Cocking an eyebrow at me, she asks, “Do you feel like being a dick to me? I only gave you a table and inquired after your well-being. I’m not sure that warrants you being a dick.”
“I have a lot of problems right now and I’d like to take my aggressions out on someone.”
That should probably scare her off for a lot of reasons, but she merely smiles. “If you need to talk, I have two ears. And I’m a terrible waitress, as you may have gathered, so my other tables won’t be shocked that I’m ignoring them.”
“Why do you want to listen to my problems?”
