by Nikki Chase
Terror chills my bone, spreading its chill through my bloodstream, cooling my rage.
“Your dad will disown you, and your future husband’s family . . . Well, they’ll be so offended there’s no telling what they’ll do.” Mom stares into my eyes, fear reflected in her dark eyes. “You could start a war, Grace.”
My body freezes.
I knew that. Of course I did. But I was hoping I could will it away, forget this problem ever existed and let it disappear on its own.
“I can’t do it, Mom.” I grasp her hand. My chest squeezes. “I could give the baby up for adoption instead. We could do that, right? Delay the wedding. Hide until the baby’s born and I stop looking pregnant.”
The grim shake of her head crushes my hope. “We can’t push the wedding back. You can’t hide from your fiancé for nine whole months.”
“But Mom,” I cry out, my world spinning violently. “I don’t know him. I’ve never even met him. How could I have cheated on a stranger? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“No right or wrong, Grace. Only consequences,” she repeats.
“I’m so sorry.” Sobs wrack my body at the thought of sacrificing my baby for this pointless cause. “I can’t do it, Mom. I just can’t.”
She sits like a statue beside me. My mom has never been very expressive.
In our world, emotions indicate weakness—even for women. We’ve been trained from birth to hold it in, to hide our true feelings.
That’s why I’ve never been a crier. Yet, in this moment, my shoulders shake with grief.
And idea pops into my head. “I know what to do. They’ve never seen me, right? We could hire someone to pretend she’s me. We could even find a woman who’d actually like the guy. Not someone like me. I’d hate being a mobster’s wife.”
“You don’t always get to choose in life, Grace.”
“I never get to choose,” I snap.
Mom gets up to her feet. “We’ll talk when you’ve calmed down.”
Matteo
“She still hasn’t called, huh?” Damon shoots me a provoking grin.
I tip my head and empty my shot in one gulp, letting the brown liquid scorch my throat. “Fuck you.”
“How long has it been again? Refresh my memory.”
“Two weeks.”
He laughs as he pulls out a stool next to me and orders a drink. “You know, maybe this is karma for all those girls you never called back.”
I glare at him.
Damon and I grew up together. He’s also just had a baby with my sister. Oh, and he hates my dad so much he tried to kill the old man, but everything’s cool now. It’s a long story that would take an entire novel to tell.
The point is, he’s one of my best friends, but now I’m regretting ever telling him about Ashley. “What are you doing out anyway? You’re abandoning my nephew at home?”
He chuckles. “Of course not. Your parents are there, cramping up the place. I just thought I’d get out of the way, thought maybe I’d find you here, moping. Lo and behold, I was right.”
I drag air into my compressed lungs and let it all out. “It’s not just about the girl, Damon.”
He picks up his glass of whiskey and takes a sip. “Yeah, I know. Sorry about the wedding. If I knew, I would’ve warned you.”
“What the fuck was my dad thinking? This is twenty-first century America.” I gesture to the bartender, ordering another shot. I need a fog of alcohol so thick I’d forget how fucked up everything is.
Damon shrugs. “Elena’s against it as well. But you know how Enzo is. He’d probably say something lofty about peace and the good of the family.”
“Fuck the family.” I down another shot, the burn spreading through my chest.
Damon laughs. “If it weren’t for Franco and Hector dragging you to that club, you wouldn’t have had any fun at all.”
“They didn’t do it for me,” I scoff, thinking about my two bodyguards who insisted on taking me to the club where I met Ashley to celebrate my coming home. “I’m the only one who can get them in there.”
“Wow, you’ve changed.” Damon presses the glass to his lips and takes another swig.
I used to spend all my free time at the club. But after a while, the shows on the stage got old. And none of the girls ever caught enough attention for me to want to spend more than five minutes with them . . . until Ashley.
Who the fuck is that girl? And where is she? What is she doing that she doesn’t even have time to call me? Was she lying when she told me she would.
I rake my hair. “I think she’s in trouble.”
“Who?” Damon frowns, knitting his eyebrows together.
“Ashley.”
“That girl you met at the club?”
“Yeah.”
“What makes you say that?”
I heave a deep sigh. “She would’ve called otherwise.”
Damon puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, maybe she’s not that into you.”
“You didn’t see her, man. She was . . . I saw it in her eyes. She wasn’t lying.” My reasoning sounds lame even to my own ears.
Concern gleams in Damon’s eyes.
“I’ve got to rescue her,” I insist. “Her family sounds insane.”
“You mean just as insane as yours?” Damon asks. “You know what? I think I know what’s going on. You’re projecting.”
“What?”
“You’re projecting your own problems onto this girl.” Damon finishes his drink and slams the glass down, his eyes gleaming and his hands gesturing wildly. “You feel trapped by your own family—so did this girl, according to your story.”
“Hey, that’s literally what she told me,” I protest.
Damon wasn’t there. Franco and Hector told me the same thing, but they didn’t see her either—not clearly.
The fracture I saw in the hard shell hiding her true self . . . I didn’t imagine that. She was opening up for once, lowering her guard . . . for me.
“Okay. But listen to me. There’s a chance she’s just busy, right? Or maybe she’s met someone else.”
“No.” My chest clenches at the thought of my kitten with some other guy. Jealousy ignites in the pit of my stomach and incinerates all doubts.
“Okay. I’m just making guesses, man,” Damon says. “Look, all I’m saying is . . . you need to fix your problems first before trying to solve hers. You can track her down—or not. But first, you’ve got to tell your dad to fuck off.”
“It could re-start the war.”
My family has been feuding with the Espositos for as long as I can remember.
There was some kind of a dispute between my great-grandfather and the Esposito patriarch, and since then, we’ve deceived, stolen from, and killed one another. Too much blood has been spilled for us to just smoke a ceremonial pipe and forget about the war.
But apparently, a wedding between me and an Esposito girl would solve everything. It would blend us into one family. And in our world, blood is everything even if there’s bad blood in the past.
It’s an ancient solution to an ancient problem. One that might just be crazy enough to work.
“I did tell Enzo I wasn’t going through with it.” At that moment, blood rose to my dad’s face, and he screamed at me in his office, slamming his fist against his desk. Spittle spraying across the wooden surface, he gave me a lecture about the responsibilities of a Guerriero man, especially one who’s the only son in his generation.
“What did he say?” Damon asks.
“Shut up, and grow up.”
Grace
I managed to keep my composure as I sat through family dinner. But now, alone in my bedroom, a million thoughts race through my brain.
Maybe my mom’s right. I have no other options. The baby needs to go.
Be practical, Grace, her voice echoes in my mind. Don’t think of it as a baby; it’s not a human life yet. Think about it. If you get your way, and it causes another conflict, multiple lives could be lost. Your dad�
��s life. My life. Your siblings’ lives. Your nephews and nieces.
My mom is always logical. Reasonable. I don’t want the blood of my family on my hands.
But I can’t shake off the dread in my gut whenever I think about going through with it.
It’s as easy as swallowing a pill, my mom told me. Think of it as a vitamin or a supplement. Before you know it, it’ll be over. Life will go back to normal.
Except I’ve never wanted “normal.” For me, that has always meant strict rules and restrictions. I’ve never known privacy. Even my trash is an object of interest for my family.
Maybe I should talk to him.
Matt.
That night, when Harvey called for the bouncer, it backfired on him. Whoever Matt is, he must be powerful. Based on the fact that he has a private room in the club alone, he’s definitely wealthy.
Maybe I can go to him. Hide away somewhere safe. Fly to a foreign country together.
And then what? I ask myself. I can’t honestly believe he’ll just whisk me away so we can be a family.
He seemed interested, for sure—to see me again; not to marry me. Jeez. We’ve only met once. Way to get ahead of myself.
Besides, I could put him in danger. Money and power can’t shield him from bullets, especially when two entire families hunt him down.
Be practical, Grace.
The door opens. My mom looks over her shoulder before stepping into my bedroom.
This time, I don’t complain about her not knocking. There are bigger things to worry about.
“Mom, I’ve been thinking about what you said, and . . . you’re right.” I prop myself up to sit against the headboard.
She presses a finger against her lips and shushes me, pushing the door until it closes with a soft click. Sitting on the bed, she speaks in a conspiratorial, hushed tone. “No. I was wrong. I’ve grappled with this exact scenario in my mind for years—I have daughters, after all. And I decided on a course of action a long time ago.
“But it was always hypothetical. And this is reality.” Her gaze fixes on me.
I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t find the words. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
“I went straight into damage control mode when I found your pregnancy test stick. I had to fix it before anyone else found out,” she says. “But I’ve had some time to reconsider.”
My heart pulses with hope. “And?”
“I can’t go through with that plan and live with myself,” she says, grasping my hand. “Grace, I have a plan. It’s crazy. But it’s the only thing I can think of.”
“I’ll do anything.” Anything to save my baby.
“It’s not ideal. It’ll change everything, turn your life upside down.” She lets out a big sigh. She lowers her voice into a hush. “You’ll have to die. That’s the only way the Guerrieros will ever accept a cancellation of the wedding.”
“What do you mean?” I’d die for this baby if that’s what it takes, but I’d still have to carry it for nine months.
“You won’t really die, of course. But you’ll have to convince everyone you’ve died.”
“How?” I ask, my heart racing. Fake my own death? That sounds like something out of a Hollywood spy movie. “Drown in the sea?”
Mom shakes her head. “That would raise a red flag when your body doesn’t wash up on the shore. I’ve talked to someone I trust. All you have to do is take a hike and never come home.”
My jaw drops. “That’s all?”
“That’s all.” Mom nods. “It’s simple. It’s easy. It’s also believable because you’ve gone camping before with your sisters.”
I nod, the plan taking shape in my mind. Still, doubt gnaws at me. “Is it really that easy?”
Mom nods. “I asked the same question. I’ve been assured that it is.”
“Who did you talk to?” My dad has a ton of advisors for all kinds of criminal activities, but my mom has stayed firmly out of the family business, as is tradition.
“Don’t worry. He’s helped many people disappear. He’ll arrange for your new identity. It will work.” With a serious expression, Mom looks me in the eye. “The difficult part is cutting ties to your old life. Once you walk away, you can never turn back. You can’t slip up and use your old name. Can’t call, text, or even send a letter home. Can’t Google yourself.”
“Grace Esposito will die, and I’ll be someone else.”
“Yes.” Mom’s gaze softens as she nods. “I’m sorry I can’t come up with a better plan. If I want my grandchild to live, I have to let my child die.”
In the morning, I clench the smartphone in my hand as I sit in bed. I saved Matt’s phone number in the cab ride home from the club, but I haven’t gone further than hovering my thumb over the green call button.
Deep in my gut, I feel like he needs to know. Yes, we’ve only met once. But I’ll give birth to his baby. It feels wrong to just leave him in the dark.
At the same time, what’s the point of him knowing? After I disappear, I won’t be able to ever get in touch with him. I’ll move to the other side of the country and forget about my old life, about everything I’ve ever known.
Mom specifically told me to never reach out to the baby’s father. She didn’t even want to know who he is because she was worried they’d get the name out of her and hunt him down.
Currently, nobody knows I ever went to that club. But what if they look into it and figure out who the father is? What if they torture him to find out where I am and hurt my baby, all while a war rages between the two families?
The risks are too high.
But at the same time, it’s just a phone call . . . right?
I don’t even have to tell him anything. I just . . . need to talk to him, hear that deep, smooth voice again.
It’ll make me feel better. I feel like I’m drowning in a pit of crap, and I need something to make life suck a little less.
I take a deep breath, but it only makes the throbbing in my throat more intense.
Okay, I’m doing this.
My heart races as I press my phone against my ear and listen to the electronic tone.
Oh, God. I’m really doing this.
What am I going to say?
Hi, I’m Ashley. Remember me? We had sex doggy style, oh, two weeks ago? By the way, I’m pregnant with your baby.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice from the other end of the line jerks me back to reality.
Who am I talking to? Why does this woman have Matt’s phone?
A dull ache hits my chest as I think about him in bed with someone else, soft sheets wrapped around sweaty, naked bodies. Maybe Matt has just fallen asleep next to her, his brown hair tousled after a vigorous session of morning sex.
That wouldn’t be my business. It’s not like we’re exclusive, even if I am carrying his baby.
“Hi, uh . . . is this Matt’s phone?” I ask.
“Matt?” The woman sounds puzzled.
Maybe I punched in the wrong number. The spark of hope in my chest is short-lived as it dawns on me that maybe his name isn’t really Matt, or maybe he gave me a fake number on purpose.
No. He wouldn’t do that. He seemed so eager to see me again.
“Yeah,” I say into the phone. “Matt told me to call this number. We met at the club?”
A lump wedges itself in my throat and throbs as the woman remains silent. Is she his girlfriend? His wife? Was Matt cheating on her with me? The thought fills my stomach with acid.
But I have to find out the truth. I won’t be able to call him again tomorrow. “Hello?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” the woman says. “Matt can’t come to the phone right now.”
Who picks up someone else’s phone if not a girlfriend or a wife? Is it possible this is a landline number?
“Can you tell him Ashley called?” I ask, just in case.
“Sure.” Judging from her neutral tone, the woman is probably a secretary or something.
“Thanks.” I give h
er my phone number. If this isn’t a cell phone, then there’d be no caller ID, and he wouldn’t be able to call me back.
“No problem, Ashley. But just a word of caution, woman to woman, don’t be alarmed if he doesn’t call you back.”
“Why is that?” My heart pounds.
“Well, he’s getting married. Maybe he just wanted to have one last night of fun, I don’t know. But don’t get your hopes up. Men pull this kind of shit all the time.” In a cheerful voice, she adds, “But I’ll be sure to let him know you called. Bye, Ashley.”
I stare at the wall with the phone pressed against my ear as the disconnect tone morphs into silence.
What just happened? I’d imagined multiple different ways the call could’ve gone but that was . . .
He just wanted to have one last night of fun.
I guess that’s it, then.
I was dumb for thinking Matt might be the knight who would save me from my fate. But that’s okay. I’ll just have to save myself.
Matteo
“What the fuck are you so happy about?”
My sister, Rosa, who’s grinning as she paints her fingernails, filling the living room with the chemical fumes. “Cheer up, Matteo. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. It’s a beautiful day.”
I seize my phone on the coffee table before I take a seat. So that’s where I left it. Pressing the button, the screen flashes to give me the disappointing news.
No missed calls. No text messages.
“Expecting someone?” Rosa asks in a cheerful tone.
“None of your business.”
My two sisters can’t be more different if they tried. Elena is the sweetest, kindest girl, while Rosa would fuck you up just to amuse herself.
Even when we were kids, she used to do shit like trashing our rooms or spilling our drinks just to get us into trouble.
One time, she even scattered my toys all over Dad’s office—a forbidden area for us kids at the time because that was where he stored his weapons and drugs—and smirked as he told me I was grounded, his face red with fury.
