SEAN: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 3)

by Glenna Sinclair

  To think he was going to propose only a few weeks out from then. Laura’s birthday was March third, and he wanted to make it the most special birthday she’d ever had.

  Instead, he’d blown it. He knew he’d blown it. All she wanted was a little breathing room. It may have only been a week or two, who knew? But now, because he’d freaked, a narrow timeframe became indefinite. That was the most painful truth of all.

  He’d chosen to not trust her. Laura wasn’t the same twenty-two-year-old he’d played house with all those years ago. She had grown into a strong-willed woman with an independent streak a mile wide, and for some reason, he couldn’t grasp that, couldn’t trust that she had her own life and knew what she was doing.

  That’s what both scared him and made him proud of her: right or wrong, she wanted to handle her own life. The fear that there was no room for him in it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  He kicked on the British “stiff upper lip” and climbed to his feet. Wrapping his arms around himself to keep his pieces together, he approached the shattered remnants of his phone. He chuckled darkly that this was the only thing in his life he had the ability to fix and grabbed his coat. It was time for a trip to the electronics store, and to the pub. He needed to get so shitfaced the day would just disappear into the depths of his brain and never come back out.

  Chapter Forty Seven

  “Laura, honey? You’ve been in this room for two weeks. Why don’t you come out now?” Joanie Ross poked her head inside the room. The stale smell of dirty laundry and closed-off room attacked her nostrils.

  Laura didn’t move. She just stared at the blank wall in front of her. Several full boxes were tucked into the corners of her childhood bedroom. Her Backstreet Boys posters were even still on the walls.

  “Let’s maybe get you unpacked then? Come on, honey. Speak to me. I’m worried about you.” Joanie shuffled around the debris and clutter of the contents of Laura’s New York apartment to get to the full-sized canopy bed.

  Laura sighed and closed her eyes. She couldn’t seem to find the energy to move. Honestly, she didn’t want to find it.

  Joanie was at the end of her patience. Her daughter wasn’t eating or drinking much, she only came out of her room to use the rest room, and she could hear Laura crying at night. It was heartbreaking.

  She got to her feet and busied herself stacking boxes out of the way so she could get to across the room to open the windows. She yanked back the curtains and threw open the window to let the sharp, February air in to circulate around the room.

  “Ma, why?” Laura whined, and pulled her floral print quilt over her head.

  “Why? Because I’ve had enough of the moping around, young lady. I won’t watch my only child waste away and be depressed. You better be up, showered, and downstairs for lunch in thirty minutes, or I’m sending your father up to drag you from that bed. Do you understand me?” She pressed her fists to her hips.

  Laura eased into a sitting position and pressed her hand over her eyes. The sun had temporarily blinded her. “Yeah, I got it. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  Joanie waited until Laura was fully standing before leaving the room. She felt a little bit guilty for being so forceful, but didn’t want to see how her husband would have handled it.

  Laura looked around the room as if she’d landed on an alien planet. Nick Carter and her Barbie collection all looked right back at her with their judging eyes. She pointed at a poster. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’ve listened to a lot of your music, buddy. So you can take your judgments and stuff ‘em,” she spat before collecting a towel and stomping off to the bathroom.

  She stripped out of her disgusting and swampy sweats. Her legs were wooly, her roots had become overgrown, and she was offended by her own stink. The shower squeaked to steamy life, and she hopped in.

  The hot water was its own form of therapy, a symbolic baptism of sorts, cleansing the ugly and hurt feelings away with the grime from her skin. She took her time lathering her hair with her mom’s lavender shampoo. Laura didn’t realize how comforting the hippie smell of her mother was until the suds ran over her sunken body.

  As she ran the loofah over her skin, she could feel the bumps of nearly every bone in her body. She had eaten no more than a few bites and only often enough to silence the gnawing and the nausea. Otherwise, she had no appetite and didn’t even want to smell food.

  Steeping out of the shower refreshed and recharged, her appetite returned with a vengeance. Suddenly, Laura wanted to eat everything in the house. In a hurry, she dressed and beat it down the stairs, meeting her father halfway.

  “I was just coming to get you, baby doll. Your mom made chicken stew for lunch.” Robbie Ross turned and headed back towards the kitchen. He was grateful that whatever his wife had done had worked. He hated being the bad cop.

  Laura raced up behind him and grabbed a bowl. She was practically drooling on her chin to finally get food in her belly. She ladled out a huge portion, grabbed a hunk of bread, and sat at the table. She scooped up a heaping spoonful and gleefully dug in.

  The first bite went down fine, as did the second. By the third she couldn’t stomach another taste. She turned up her nose and pushed the bowl away. Her parents watched her closely as she bit off a chunk of French bread and turned green. “Ma, are you sure nothing had gone bad?”

  Joanie eyed her suspiciously. “I’m sure. I got everything fresh at the market this morning. Everything smelled normal.” She took a bite and chewed slowly. “Nope. The stew tastes the way it’s supposed to.”

  Laura sank back in her chair, stomach still rumbling. Poking around the pantry might turn up something.

  She shoved aside a box of Pop-Tarts, moved around boxes of pasta and rice. The only thing even remotely appealing was the package of peanut butter crackers. Standing there in the pantry, she tore into the box and inhaled the salty little bites as if they were manna. In short order she polished off the whole thing.

  Licking her fingers, she reemerged into the kitchen to find her parents staring at her. “What?”

  Her mother’s face broke into the biggest shit-eating grin Laura had ever seen. “What! Why are you both staring at me?”

  Joanie propped her head in her hands. “Tell me, Laura, when was your last period?”

  She waved her mother off. “That’s easy it was–” She paused and counted backwards. The math was not adding up.

  “Uh huh. I think we’d better go to CVS and get you a test. Oh, Robbie, stop it. The girl is thirty years old. Did you really think she lived like a nun?”

  Robbie had blanched at the hint of his daughter being pregnant. To a father, the notion that his daughter had been anywhere near a penis was enough to send him screaming from the room. All he could do was stare, wide-eyed, at his wife.

  Joanie ignored her husband and collected the dishes. “Go get your coat and meet me at the car.” She dropped the dishes in the sink and turned around. Laura just stared open-mouthed at her. “Go on now. Go!” Joanie shooed Laura from the kitchen then turned back to talk her husband in off the ledge.

  Pregnant? The idea was so foreign to Laura she thought it had to be a mistake. It’s not like she didn’t want to have kids; she’d just thought her life would be less of a clusterfuck when they came along.

  Now she was off to the drugstore with her grandchild-starved mother to pick up a pregnancy test. And then what? Laura had a feeling it would come back positive. Even as she climbed the stairs she felt…what? A twinge of knowing, a sign that a tiny human had taken up residence in her body. It was nothing concrete, no proof, just female intuition.

  She clutched her sunken stomach and immediately felt the wash of guilt crash over her. She had spent two weeks starving herself and more or less living in filth. Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn things around.

  She snatched her coat up and bounded down the stairs, suddenly revived. Her life felt like it had a purpose and direction again.

  ***

  In less than ten minutes,
the two Ross women pulled into the CVS parking lot. “Just stay here, Ma. It’s weird to have your mother with you when buying a pregnancy test.” Laura hopped out of her mom’s big blue Tahoe and ran into the store. In her excitement she grabbed one of every test in front of her and checked out.

  She bounded back to the truck, and Joanie took off back to the house. “Easy, Ma. The streets are slick.” A late season snow had fallen a couple of days before and had coated parts of the Northampton roads in ice. Trucks had salted, but the odd patch of black ice would still pop up.

  “I’m sorry, Laura. I’m just really excited.” Joanie gave her daughter’s leg a squeeze. “Whatever the outcome, your father and I are here to support you one hundred per cent.”

  “Thanks, Ma, but none of that matters if you slide off the road.”

  Joanie pulled into the driveway, and Laura was out of the truck and in the house before her mother had even shut the car off. Slamming the bathroom door behind her, she tore the first test out of its box, followed the directions, and set her phone timer.

  It was the longest three minutes of her life. She refused to look down at the test until the phone rang. Finally, the chimes sounded. Seized with apprehension, she held her breath and picked up the stick. Sure enough two pink lines had appeared. A positive result.

  “Mom! Come in here quick!” Laura yelled into the house.

  Joanie sprinted down the hallway and screeched to a halt in front of the bathroom door. “Well? I can’t take it!”

  Without speaking Laura held up the test and smiled. Joanie shrieked and grabbed her daughter. The two women jumped up and down with joy and excitement.

  Robbie poked his head in the mouth of the hallway. “Good news?” His thick brows were furrowed, and his high forehead was creased with worry lines.

  Laura nodded. “Daddy, you’re gonna be a grampa!”

  Chapter Forty Eight

  Mason had spent the last month at the bottoms of very expensive bottles of booze. He’d told his business partner he was going on an extended leave of absence and shut himself in his penthouse, hoping to drink himself braindead.

  He couldn’t bear to take the photos down. The image of her smiling face was all around him, constantly pouring salt in the wound. He liked it. The feeling kept reminding him what a fuck-up he was. He couldn’t allow himself to forget that.

  But that night he put the bottle down and stayed sober. He buried his feelings until he was pickled. He should have fought for her. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

  He slipped on his sneakers and grabbed his jacket. There had to be a way to get her back.

  Once on the sidewalk he hailed a cab. “One hundred Willoughby Street, Brooklyn,” he instructed the cabby, and slammed the door behind him.

  The entire drive he was on pins and needles, imagining what he would say, and kept glancing at his watch. It was only six o’clock. With any luck he could meet her at home. “Take two seventy-eight, please. I’d like to avoid the traffic as much as possible.”

  Thirty minutes later, he stood in front of the AVA DoBro building, near to hyperventilating. It took every ounce of strength to propel his body forward and through the doors. He punched the “8” button on the elevator ten times in his impatience.

  Once the lift stopped and the doors opened, Mason sprinted down the hall to her apartment, stopping to catch his breath in front of her door. He took a deep breath and knocked.

  A petite brunette who appeared to be in her mid-twenties came to the door. “Can I help you?”

  Mason was so surprised he forgot why he was there for a second. “Yes, uh, is Laura home?”

  The girl looked confused. “There’s no Laura that lives here. Are you sure you have the right apartment number?”

  That was the hardest pill to swallow, it was. “I suppose not.” Mason’s heart sank. “I’m sorry to bother you.” Dejected, he turned on his heel to leave.

  “Wait a second. Aren’t you Mason Decker?” The brunette opened the door all the way, revealing a fit little body in a form-hugging sweater and jeans. “I’ve seen you on the cover of a magazine. What are you doing in this part of town?” While the area they were in was brand new and safe, it wasn’t anywhere near the same as the Upper East Side.

  “Looking for someone who clearly doesn’t live here anymore.” He waved politely. “Thanks for your time.”

  “I’m Emma. You want to come in for a cup of coffee?” She made flirty eyes at the weary billionaire. He was still quite fetching, even with the beard growth.

  Mason shrugged. “Are you alone?” What a creepy question to ask! He flinched at his own words.

  “Yeah. Just me. No boyfriend. I just moved here from Canada. Come on in.” She opened the door wider to encourage him to enter.

  Mason ran through a list of possible scenarios and figured his life insurance was up to date, so what the hell? He took Emma up on her offer of coffee. Although, as hurt as he felt, he was going to need to Irish it up, a lot.

  “When did you say you moved in?” he asked, removing his coat.

  “Three weeks ago. Why?”

  Laura had gone. She’d left to God knew where and hadn’t told him she was leaving. Betrayal and desolation hit him like a truck. He took another look at the pretty pair of doe eyes watching him, seriously contemplating turning things into a one-night stand just to not feel so empty.

  With a shake of his head he picked his coat back up. “I’m sorry, Emma. I have to go. Thank you for the invitation, really.” He bailed before she could say a word.

  He had to tap into something to take the hurt away.

  He was glad he had been able to save the contents of his smashed phone and could upload them into his replacement. He scrolled through his contacts to find a number he hadn’t used in a long time and dialed.

  “Hello?” answered a feminine voice he hadn’t heard in years that was foreign, familiar, and shot straight to his manhood.

  “Hello, Charlotte. It’s Mason Decker. How’ve you been?”

  “Mason, my favorite client! It’s been, what, six years? Longer?”

  “About that. Listen, I’d like to meet up, your place. I assume you’re still working professionally, mistress?”

  Charlotte’s voice caressed his ear through the phone. “Yes. If memory serves me correctly, you liked humiliation, binding, and my stiletto heels digging into your back.”

  Mason could feel himself getting hard at the memory. He was going to forget his emotional pain, even if it meant feeling physical pain instead. “Yes, and bring your flogger.”

  Chapter Forty Nine

  “So here’s the head, and the little line of blips is the spine. Judging by the size I would guess you are roughly ten to twelve weeks along.” The sonogram tech squirted a little more jelly on Laura’s skin. “I just want to look at a few more things to make sure everything is developing normally.”

  Laura stared at the fuzzy black and white screen in front of her. The little blob twitched. “I’m going to listen to the heartbeat now.” The tech’s voice pulled Laura’s attention back to earth.

  When the switch was flipped and the rapid pulse came through the speakers, Laura fell head over heels in love. “Wow,” she whispered. “That’s my baby.” For once, she cried tears of joy. All these long weeks of heartache and anxiety, there was finally a reason for her to be happy again.

  “It looks like the baby is developing normally. I don’t see anything abnormal. Everything is perfect.” The sonogram tech hit the print button before turning to clean the goo off Laura’s belly. “If you want to know the sex, schedule an appointment for eight to ten weeks from now and we can take another look. The baby is too small to get a good read on right now.” She tugged Laura’s shirt back over her tiny bump.

  Laura couldn’t wait to get home to show her parents the pictures. Her mother was going to be over the moon.

  “Make sure you give the daddy enough notice so he can make the next appointment,” the tech suggested.

  Lau
ra thought the comment was a little inappropriate, but since the woman appeared to be in her early sixties, maybe she was just old fashioned. No need to get offended. “Of course. Thank you,” she said.

  Laura hopped off the table and headed for her car. Would she tell Mason? She had been shopping for jobs in Boston and Hartford to avoid going back to New York. It seemed cruel to keep this a secret from him, but with him being such a control freak, she wasn’t so sure she wanted him around calling the shots.

  She placed a hand protectively over the swell of her stomach. Counting backwards put the date of conception either early on in their Switzerland trip or just before. The baby was conceived in love; was she risking raising it in an environment filled with doubt and tension by telling Mason?

  As she pulled into her parents’ driveway, it was decided. She would just cut all ties to the man. She didn’t want or need his money, so child support was off the table. She would just quietly have the baby and raise it in Northampton or someplace nearby.

  Joanie met Laura at the door. Laura suspected she had been standing in the foyer, waiting since she’d left. “Oooh! Let me see, let me see!” She was practically vibrating, she was so excited.

  “Here. The baby is perfectly healthy, and the tech estimated I was roughly ten to twelve weeks along.”

  Joanie looked up at her daughter in shock. “That long? That means you’ve been pregnant since…” She counted off the weeks on her fingers. “Well, since Thanksgiving-ish. How did you not know?”

  Laura shrugged. “With all of the drama with Frank, and then the stress Mason put me under, I just stopped paying attention. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago in the pantry that the thought even occurred to me, and it took you to point it out.”

  Joanie eyed her daughter, the question plain on her face.