The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition
Page 34
I sighed, brushing away my tears, his thoughtful gesture breaking the scraps left of my heart.
“Shit! A, don’t cry,” Nikki said behind me.
“I’m not crying,” I lied sniffling.
“It’s the hormones,” another lie.
“Bullshit,” she cursed, calling my bluff as the door opened and my parents stepped inside. They were both wearing the proud grandparent grins. I expected my mom to be over the moon, she had been talking about being a grandmother for what seemed like forever. However, I didn’t expect my father to be such the doting grandfather.
“Where’s my boy?” He announced, as he side-stepped my mother making his way to my son before she could. Nikki and I exchanged a glance and I gave her a slight nod as she handed my little boy over to our father’s waiting arms.
“I think someone stole your father’s heart,” my mother said, as she stood over my father’s shoulder, peering down at Luca. “Yes you did my sweet boy; you’re grandma and grandpa’s little angel.”
I stared at my parents for a moment, mainly my father, as my fist closed over the bag of candy. I should’ve been elated watching that endearing moment between my son and my father, but all I felt was rage. It was bizarre, that this man could incite so much hatred inside of me, even on one of the happiest days of my life. I guess there was no hope in me erasing the horrible person he was from my memory. No pretty little image of him holding my son would tarnish the image embedded in my brain. The image of a vicious man who wanted me to abort my first pregnancy.
I used to think my mother was crazy, when we were kids she would pin little red ribbons to mine and Nikki’s undershirts and tell us the ribbon would keep the evil eye away. Later, when we were teenagers, our father bought us gold rope chains that had a gold Italian horn pendant, another thing to ward off the evil. It was an Italian superstition I never believed in, not until the day I told my dad I was pregnant. There was no red ribbon or gold charm that would save my baby from the evil my father radiated onto my pregnancy.
Anthony ran his fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of me as I stayed seated on my parent’s sofa. I could tell he was nervous, no matter how much he tried to hide it. He was meeting my father tonight as per my dad’s request, to talk about business. We both knew what he would say. He was going to lay it all out there for him, the confession to a crime Anthony didn’t commit, the sentence, and the plan behind it all.
Anthony never spoke of my dad’s business with me. There were certain things I couldn’t know, didn’t want to know, and then there was the fact that I absolutely despised he worked for my father. My girlfriends used to tease me, telling me that I got off on Anthony being a bad boy; that I was turned on by his tough exterior and the fact he walked a crooked line. The truth was, his bad boy tendencies appealed to me, but not in the way everyone thought. I wanted to take the bad boy and I wanted to make him realize he was so much more than what he believed. I didn’t want him to think he wasn’t good enough to have goals or dreams. I wanted to repair the damage his father instilled in him the day he walked out on him and his family.
Anyway, he had no choice but to tell me the plan my father had for him. Years ago, Uncle Val, my father’s underboss, had been brutally murdered in place of my dad. Since that day, he has been trying desperately to avenge his death. An eye for an eye and all that bullshit, and that’s exactly what it was, bullshit. If my father really wanted to avenge the death of his best friend he should do it himself, at his own hand not at my boyfriends. He is forcing Anthony to confess to a crime he didn’t commit. All in the hopes that Anthony will get his hands on the man who ordered the hit on Val and ultimately bring him to his mercy.
I don’t know if Anthony has ever killed anyone on my father’s orders, nor do I want to be privy to that information. I do know, that is the plan for him now. The thing is that’s where the plan ends. My father doesn’t speak of what will happen to Anthony once he kills the man who ended Val’s life. He doesn’t offer any insight to the mental anguish he’ll suffer or what the punishment will be for his crimes. Which leads me to believe, what I’ve always known to be true, Victor Pastore is a selfish bastard.
I begged and pleaded with Anthony to change his mind, to tell my father to go fuck himself. I needed him to prove I meant more to him than some fucking order, but Anthony was fiercely loyal. His loyalty was both a blessing and a burden.
The front door opened and closed softly, signaling that my father had arrived home. I glanced at Anthony, watched as he remained perfectly still, listening to my father’s footsteps in the front hall. He turned around to face me, dropped on one knee and took both my hands in his giving them a slight squeeze.
“It will be okay,” he whispered, his crystal blue eyes holding me captive as they reassured me. I could tell his mind was racing, I could almost see the wheels turning behind his irises, but still he seemed so completely composed. He bit on the inside of his cheek, dropping his gaze to my flat stomach, releasing one of my hands to place his flat palm over the fabric of my shirt that draped over my belly.
I knew without a shadow of a doubt he would be an amazing father. Our baby is going to be loved more than either of us could ever imagine loving someone. He’s going to right all the wrongs his father did as a provider and role model. I can see it all right there in the way he gently splays his hand over my stomach and stares at me in awe. He’s always looked at me like I was some sort of gift from God. Since I told him I was pregnant he’s been looking at me differently, like the sun rises and sets over me, like I’m the reason he breathes.
His hand dropped as the heels of my father’s shoes sounded more pronounced against the wooden floor. Anthony rose to his feet, crossed his arms against his broad chest, his stance as lethal as the job my father has asked him to do.
My dad stepped into the living room, taking one look at Anthony before turning his attention towards me, offering me a warm smile. He looked as if he was confused by why I was there but didn’t say anything. Instead, he made a detour to the liquor cabinet and fixed himself a scotch.
“Hi sweetheart, I didn’t know you’d be home,” he greeted as he swirled the amber liquid in the crystal glass. I wanted to rip it from his hand and pour the scotch over his head. He was so completely unfazed by what he was doing to us, making all the love and admiration I once had for him morph into hatred.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I mumbled, earning me a warning glance from Anthony.
My dad took a long sip of his drink.
“That’s good,” he said more to himself than to us before placing the glass back on top of the cabinet and turning around to face us.
“Sweetheart why don’t you go upstairs for a few moments, Anthony and I have business to discuss,” He said, condescendingly.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Anthony responded, his tone stern.
I watched the exchange between the first man I ever loved and the one I’ll love for the rest of my life. They looked as if they were in the middle of a standoff. Anthony matched my father’s cold hard stare with one of his own.
“Excuse me?” Daddy dearest said. “I don’t discuss business matters in front of my daughter.”
“You won’t be discussing much. I have something to tell you and you’re just going to listen to me speak.”
“Watch your step,” my father warned.
“Change in plans, Vic,” Anthony said, holding my dad’s gaze, ignoring his warning.
“Adrianna’s pregnant and I’m not leaving her. You will have to find someone else to get inside.”
My father’s eyes widen and pierce me.
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” I said, meeting his gaze.
“For crying out loud!” he roared, slamming his hand against the marble cabinet his drink sat upon.
“Does your mother know?”
“No,” I said flatly. I could see the veins in his neck and I knew that this was about to go very bad.
My father turned to Anthony and laughed.
“Something funny?” Anthony asked, but I know behind his cool exterior he is just as puzzled by my father’s reaction.
“Yeah, the fact you are dictating how this will work is pretty fucking amusing. First you knock up my daughter and then you tell me how this will pan out? I’ve buried people for saying a lot less offensive shit to me, so watch your step boy! I don’t give two fucks about what you know, or who you planted your seed in, I will not hesitate to make a fucking example out of you.”
“Go right ahead old man, but you’d be leaving your daughter broken-hearted and alone, raising our baby.”
“There will not be a baby,” he turned and pointed in disgust towards my stomach.
“You will get rid of it, no fucking questions asked!”
“The fuck she is,” Anthony roared dropping his hands to his sides, balling them into fists as he advanced towards my father.
My father’s eyes narrowed at Anthony.
“Mind your fucking business Bianci or so help me God, I will put you in a fucking wooden box.”
“Stop it!” I shouted, rising to my feet.
“You don’t have a say in what happens to our baby.”
“Really? How are you going to support this baby when he’s rotting in jail? Because I can guarantee you if you don’t do as I say you’ll be on your own trying to figure it out.”
“You’re not listening, I’m not going to jail,” Anthony cut in.
“No that’s where you’re wrong. You can’t just retract your statement after confessing. You’ve signed a deal, a binding contract that says you will do time in a federal penitentiary. What do you think they will do, sweep the case under the rug? No! I’ve put too much time and money into this operation, you’re fucking going to do as you’re ordered.” He turned around to face me, fixing me with a hard look. “The both of you are.”
“I love this little boy more than anything,” my father announced, settling his soft gaze on me and bringing me back to the moment.
“Thank you, Adrianna, for making me a grandpa,” his voice is laced with emotion and for a moment I almost believe that he’s sincere.
March 14, 2010
Dear Anthony,
I am sorry it’s taken me so long to write to you. I don’t have an explanation as to why I waited, maybe writing this first letter was admitting to myself that you really were gone and we really are over. It’s a harsh reality, one I’m not ready to succumb to just yet. I keep thinking about us and how happy we were in the beginning, telling myself it wasn’t fake, that you really did love me. You did love me didn’t you? People tell me it’s easy to tell someone you love them; that they are just words, but I swear it was so much more. I was the one on the receiving end of your love. I saw the way you looked at me, I felt it down in my soul so that can’t be a lie.
I realize my head is my worst enemy, one minute the memories rush through my mind like a movie and the next I’m analyzing everything, doubting it all, and trying to make sense of it at the same time. I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s the best way I can describe what’s going on in my head.
I wish to God things would’ve gone differently for us. I wonder if we would’ve had a chance if my father was the one to skip out and not yours. I blame him. I blame him for me loving you then losing you. I blame him for tainting you the way he’s tainted the rest of us and most of all, I blame him for the baby. Anthony, I blame him for everything.
Aside from writing you to let you know I’m thinking of you and you’re not alone, I’m also writing to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have turned you away and shut you out. I said some really cruel things, things you didn’t deserve all because I was hurting, but that isn’t an excuse. I didn’t have a right to tear you down the way I did. Especially when you were hurting just as much. We both lost the baby, but I let my grief of losing the baby and knowing I was about to lose you too consume me. I’m sorry. I know they are just two words but know I mean them with my whole heart. I’m sorry for the way I acted. I’m sorry for the way I blamed you. I’m sorry for your loss and most of all I’m sorry I never said goodbye to you.
I know you are reading this apology and you get where I’m coming from because you are the only person who knows the pain I felt at the time. We are the only two people who share a gaping hole in our hearts, where the pain of losing a child lingers. I didn’t know then, but I do now and I hope you can forgive my selfishness. I’ll always regret we never mourned our loss together – I think it would’ve helped the both of us.
I think about our baby all the time. I wonder what he or she would’ve looked like. I think it would’ve been a girl. I dream at night a lot and in my dreams, we have a daughter and she completely has you wrapped around her finger. She’s beautiful, Anthony. She has all our good parts; the best of me and the best of you. I pray to her at night, asking her to look out for her daddy, that she gives you the strength you need to overcome this and turn your life around.
I don’t know why you never thought you were good enough for anything other than the mob. I wish you would’ve seen all I saw in you. You were so much better than this life, you still are, but you need to see for yourself. Maybe our guardian angel can lead you to that discovery.
I love you Anthony. I always will no matter what happens. The love I feel for you isn’t something that can be erased, or something that will fade in time. It’s just something that will live even long after we both have passed. It’s that kind of love, a love that has a life of its own.
I hope you’re okay. Stay out of trouble and when you feel alone, remember I’m thinking of you.
Love Always,
Adrianna
Your Reese’s Pieces
Chapter Five
2013
I threw my keys on the kitchen counter before reaching into the refrigerator for a beer. I screwed the cap off and tilted my neck back taking the first refreshing gulp, letting the ale work its way through me. The events of the last day and a half were catching up to me, making me exhausted. Aside from getting used to being free again, I was processing that I had bared witness to Adrianna becoming a mother. If someone held a gun to my head, I wouldn’t be able to describe what I was feeling. I was numb from all the emotions running through me.
Not that long ago I’d lay my head down on the cot inside my jail cell and dream of her and moments just like the one we shared last night. They were the dreams that got me through my sentence and the same dreams that made me hate myself and the choices I made. Dreaming of Adrianna, the life we could’ve had, the baby we lost split me in two. I couldn’t decide if they were the sweetest dreams or the most beautiful nightmares.
I glanced around my empty apartment, hating how quiet it was and how alone I felt. It was strange how being home made me feel more isolated than when I was in jail. It was knowing I wasn’t locked away, I was free to be around the people I wanted in my life that fucked with me. Adrianna and her son were just at arm’s length. I could reach out and grab them, force my way back into her life. There wouldn’t be anything or anyone who would hold me back. But I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that to her or her son despite the pull I felt towards the both of them. That pull brought me back to the hospital and my conscience forced me to turn the fuck around and walk away from them.
The doorbell sounded breaking me away from my thoughts, saving me from picturing that little boy in my arms. I placed my beer on top of the counter, walking through the apartment to pull open the front door. I mentally noted to thank whoever was on the other end of the door for breaking me out of my impossible thoughts. If I let myself go down that road, I’d have a long fucking night ahead of me and no heavy bag to get me through it.
I opened the door, staring into the familiar aging eyes that belonged to my mother. It was going to be a long
night no matter what the fuck I did. I hadn’t seen my mother since before I went to jail. She didn’t visit me or write me one damn letter. I tried calling her a few times, but she never accepted my calls so I was baffled as to why the fuck she stood on my doorstep now.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked, bracing my hand on the doorjamb above the door as I kept a steady eye on her.
“Is that anyway to talk to your mother?”
“Excuse me if I don’t remember how to talk to my mother, I haven’t had much contact with her in the last three years,” I declared, my voice sounding bitter.
She glanced down, her shoulders slumping as if she didn’t expect that blow. She raised her head, sighing heavily before staring into my eyes.
“You look different,” she whispered, her eyes travelling the length of me.
“Harder.”
“Colder,” she continued.
I sighed, dropping my hand from the doorjamb, watching as her eyes zero in on all the ink covering my arms now.
“Why’d you come by, mom?” I asked.
“You’re my son,” she said, her voice breaking by the third word. I studied her for a good moment before taking a step back and opening the door widely welcoming her and the lashing she was surely here to deliver.
My mother and I never saw eye to eye, but that didn’t make her a bad mom. Maria Bianci was far from a bad mother, she did the best she could with the little she had after my old man skipped out on us. To be honest, she was the strongest person I knew. However, our differences eventually caught up to us and wounded our relationship.
She stepped inside and I closed the door behind her before turning around to face her. I watched her eyes travel around my small apartment, taking it all in and then turned around and met my gaze.
“Were you planning on paying me a visit now that you’re home?” She asked curiously, as she placed her pocketbook down on my couch and took a seat.