MOBSTER’S BABY_Esposito Family Mafia

by Nicole Fox

  I laughed as she hobbled away, but I set the money down on the table in front of the woman.

  “For your troubles.”

  Chapter Three

  Trip

  If I’d thought shit was going to go back to the way it was when Misha showed up, I’d beendead-ass wrong.

  She hadn’t changed in looks, but she had changed, nonetheless. She didn’t drink anymore. Didn’t party hard. She used to cuss like a sailor and now I barely heard a blip out of her mouth, especially when Rose was around. She used to put herself in my space, used to flirt and bat her eyes at me—even sometimes at one of the boys, just to rile me up and make me jealous just so that I would do her rough the way that she wanted and liked it.

  But she didn’t do any of that anymore. If anything, it seemed she went out of her way to stay out of my path. She was reserved, like it was a crime for her to have fun or cut loose anymore. Then again, it wasn’t like I was a hard partier anymore, either. I had goals … But she was back now, and it was odd that things didn’t just fall in how they used to be. It was frustrating, and I hadn’t been in this dealing-with-a-woman-properly-thing in the five years she’d been gone; I had no damn practice on it.

  It’d been about a week and a half since Misha came back. She stayed at the bar, in the back, where my room was. My home away from home, as it’d always been, where we’d made memories that only teens could even think of. I remember that we had smoked our first joints in that room, back when Bobby was still running the place and I was still a stupid little shit.

  It was odd to think that now she was in there with my daughter. I hadn’t even known she was pregnant. She said that she had planned to tell me, but I had seen the way she’d tugged her ear. She didn’t realize it, but it was always a sign she was lying, or at least holding something back from me. She hadn’t planned on telling me, at least not then, if at fucking all.

  But that was beside the point. Maybe she’d had a reason—though I didn’t know what the hell reason that was.

  Kids were never something that I wanted, but that little girl was definitely mine. The boys saw it too when they saw her, no one had a doubt that I’d made that. It was fucking terrifying. If those damn Jackal bastards –

  I sat in my office, thinking about all this. I reminded myself like I had the last couple of weeks to calm down about the whole thing. I’d called off all operations that had to do with the Jackals, for now. They hadn’t killed Misha, just fucking kidnapped her,. Five years under Holland, and then the shit that Rigger put her through.

  I needed to think.

  I had been working on bringing down the Jackals slowly, methodically, for the last five years for Misha’s death. I’d not heard word or fucking tale of Misha being with them, so clearly Holland hadn’t wanted me to know about her and the fact that he had her. Rigger had even kept that information to himself. Maybe he’d been biding his time until it was the perfect opportunity to bring her out of the woodwork.

  See here? The woman you were pining over, she was always us. Had our hands on her, all to ourselves. And your daughter too.

  There was a bottle of Jack on the table, and a glass. I’d already thrown back two, and I poured me another. This was a lot of shit to take in. As I drank, there was a knock on the door.

  “What?”

  There wasn’t an answer. The door pushed open, and in sauntered Trixie. She’d been around a few times since I’d left her at her place the night that Misha showed up, but I hadn’t given her much attention aside from a pat on the head and a promise that I’d get to her.

  It was a lie, of course. I couldn’t even think about sticking my dick in her while Misha was under my roof.

  “Hey, T,” she said. She jutted her chest out a little, as if her tits needed the help with the tiny ass tank that she wore, cleavage hanging out the top. “I’ve missed you. Brig says you been holing yourself up in here lately and I thought you could use the company.”

  I didn’t need to ask her what kind of company she meant when she scooted my chair back and situated herself in my lap. I sighed. I didn’t have time for this shit.

  She stuck her face in my neck, kissing and grinding up on me. Usually there’d have been some interest stirring in my cock by now; I could feel the kitten heat of Trixie’s pussy through my jeans, but there was nothing else going on down there to say I had a ready and willing woman in my lap.

  I pushed her away.

  “Not right now,” I said. “I’m busy.”

  She pouted, poking out one of those pink lipsticked lips of hers.

  “Come on, baby. Let me make you feel better. I know it’s gotta be hard. That girl came back and—”

  “Her name is Misha,” I said harshly, putting my hands on her shoulders and shoving her ass off me. “And I’m not in the fucking mood for you. Get the fuck out.”

  “What the hell is your problem, T? You never act like this—”

  “Well, I’m acting like it now. I said I don’t want you, now get out.”

  I felt bad the instant that I looked at her face, but she was gone before I could apologize. I didn’t want her right then, but I could have … fuck, I didn’t know.

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Bad time?”

  I started. Standing in my doorway now wasn’t Trixie and her sad expression, but Misha. She wasn’t looking at me. Her gaze was cast down the hall, presumably in the direction that Trixie had cried off to.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “You’ve got the Jack out, so I would say it has been. There enough in there for me?”

  “Always. I thought you weren’t the drinking type anymore?”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  I smirked.

  “Using my lines, I see.” Maybe some things hadn’t changed.

  I poured her a drink and she perched herself on my desk. Five years gone by, yet she still sat there with her legs crossed like she always used to when we’d come in here when Bobby ran the joint. I’d pretend to be the president, and she’d pretend to be my old lady, back when we were still little squirts that didn’t know real shit about old ladies. She’d always had the notion of being my ride or die.

  Five years … that changed a lot. We’d changed a lot.

  I cleared my throat, drinking on my own glass as she threw back a good portion of her own. I decided to bite the bullet.

  “How’s Rose settling in?” If I were honest with myself, I had said that I would get to know the girl when I offered to take the two of them in, but actually doing so had been fucking terrifying. I’d barely talked to the tyke.

  “She’s fine. She likes Travis; thinks his eye patch is cool and makes him look like a pirate.”

  “He does like booty.”

  She laughed at that.

  “He does.” Then she got a little serious. “You know, if you want to talk to her yourself, you can. She asks about you.”

  “She does?”

  “Mmhm.”

  Well, hell.

  “It’s fine if you’re not ready,” she said. She finished up her drink and slid off my desk; I wished she’d stayed perched up there. She was close enough I could smell her perfume and it’d been so long since I’d smelled it on her skin—

  “You know, I think that girl was just trying to make you feel better.”

  “What?”

  “The girl that you yelled at—um—Trixie, was her name? You didn’t need to do all that.”

  Where the hell had that come from? I got defensive.

  “I told her I didn’t want her in here.”

  “Look, she’s obviously a little sweet on you. Be nicer next time. I know you have it in you.”

  There was something more in her words, but she was walking away. I didn’t want her to.

  I stood up. My strides were longer than hers, and I caught her by the arm in one hand while closing the door on her in another. She jerked her arm out of my hold.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sta
y,” I said. I took her face in my hands. “Come on. I’m sorry. What does it matter? She’s just a club girl anyway—”

  She jerked out of my hold.

  “She’s still a person. And considering she’d probably still come back to you if you asked her to after you treated her like a ragdoll, you should treat her a little better!”

  I didn’t know where the anger came from. Why the fuck did Misha care how I treated a club girl? Why did I care how I treated a club girl? I’d never handled Trixie like she was my girl ever.

  Before I could ask, Misha was jerking open the door. She turned to me, a scathing, yet very obviously hurt, look in her eyes.

  “Don’t act like that in front of my daughter,” she said viciously.

  Two times in less than an hour that two women had stormed out of my office. I think I needed a stiffer drink. First, though, I shot off a text to Trixie.

  Message Sent – Trix: Sorry I was a dick. I’ll make it up to you.

  I waited a few moments before another came in.

  Message Received – Trix: You could just not be a jerk just because you feel bad.

  Message Received – Trix: I don’t think I wanna fuck you anymore, anyway.

  Well, that was a low blow. Before I could reply, another came in.

  Message Received – Trix: Misha’s your girl and your child’s mama. It wouldn’t be right.

  Message Received – Trix: You know I’m not like that.

  Message Received – Trix: I know you’re not like that, too, T.

  Message Received – Trix: Sorry for coming onto you.

  Messages Received – Trix: You’re still my best boy though! ; )

  I chuckled and shook my head, a bit dumbfounded. Women.

  Yeah, I definitely needed that drink something fierce.

  # # #

  “Are you sure about this, Trip?”

  “Sure about what, Brig?”

  “You know damn well what, man.”

  I sighed.

  Harp, harp. That’s the only damn thing that Brig seemed to know how to do lately. We sat at the bar, drinking on beer, watching the boys and their girls and few of the town people be rowdy. I tried not to let them, but my eyes lingered on Misha and Rose, sitting not too far away from us, eating bar food. Misha’s eyes caught mine for a moment, as if she had felt me looking at her. A blush drew up on her face before she averted her eyes. I could go over there, put myself in her space—

  “Trip, are you even fucking listening?”

  “What?”

  Brig sighed.

  “Look, man. I told you after you settled her back there, something doesn’t feel right about her story—”

  “What’s supposed to be right about anything that she said?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I did. He’d brought it up to me when I relayed everything Misha had told me to him. Brigs and I, we were brothers like that. As far as anyone else knew, all that had happened was the Jackals took her and kept her and Rose. They didn’t get the finer details because they didn’t need the finer details.

  Thing was, Brig was smart. Like, college educated smart kinda shit. Got a fancy degree and everything before deciding that he wanted something wilder. Meant that he picked up on things—holes in stories and things that didn’t make sense.

  There were a few things in Misha’s story that didn’t make sense. It was only confirmed by how many times she’d tugged on her ear when she told me her story; I knew, and had always known, that that was her tell. Meant she was lying or holding something back.

  But that wasn’t information for Brig. That was for me and Misha and that little girl sitting across from her.

  “Brig,” I said. “If you’re gonna keep wasting my time with this bullshit, you can leave. She’s back, she’s safe, she’s happy. And I got a little girl. You’re my VP. Be fuckin’ happy for me, man.”

  What could I say? I wasn’t above being a guilt-laying mother fucker.

  Brig sighed. He looked over to Misha and Rose. He shook his head.

  “Yeah, man, whatever. Something just don’t smell right. You keep your head up. I’m happy for you and all. But I’m not about you getting burnt again. Even if it’s Misha. Especially because it’s Misha.”

  He stood and left me then, going off to play pool with Travis. I could go play with them, too, but instead I stayed at the bar, watching Misha.

  She was still so fucking beautiful. She was worn, yeah. Could see it in the bags under her eyes. But she’d been taken care of … I’d give Holland that one small thing. She was full in hip and breast, hair still shiny and curly—thick. I used to run my hands through it just to feel how soft it was … used to love tugging it while we kissed and while we fucked.

  Probably not the best ideas to be getting in my head. She’d just gotten back and there was something that she was keeping from me. But how many times had I envisioned the miracle of her coming back to me despite the odds of that never happening? Too fucking often. Each time I thought of her magically walking through my bar doors always ended in me taking her by that hair of hers, dragging her to my room—but we’d never make it there.

  She’d moan about how she’d missed me so much, how it hadn’t been choice to leave me. It was those Jackal fucks. And I’d tell her it was fine, it didn’t matter, ’cause I had her now and she was mine.

  I’d take her, rough, fast, against the wall. I’d reassure her she was mine and mine alone. And she’d cum in my arms with those sweet, soft cries of hers like I was the only man to have ever touched her like that.

  Fucking filthy thoughts I had, sitting at that bar, watching the woman I loved—because, oh, I hadn’t fucking stopped, even when I thought she was dead—sit there eating with my little girl. The little girl I still hadn’t gotten the damn courage to acknowledge to her face.

  I finished my beer, downing it. No. I didn’t need those thoughts in my head. I wanted the good ones, the ones that made me feel like the man I was, the man that years ago would have taken his woman, no questions asked.

  I called it a night, saying bye to the boys. I avoided looking at Misha as I left. I didn’t know if I wanted her to see what I knew was in my eyes. How much I wanted her. Needed her after all this time, even though I knew she wasn’t entirely the same. I wouldn’t be able to control myself if I let her look me in the eye right now.

  This woman was going to drive me fucking insane.

  “Trip? Hey, Trip!”

  Well, hell.

  I turned, seeing Misha slip through the front door of the bar. I raised a brow at her. She looked very determined, like she was a woman on a mission. That would either bode well or ill for me. I proceeded with caution, especially after our … whatever the hell that had been in my office.

  “Hey, Misha. What’s up?”

  She rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet. She looked guilty. Or maybe apologetic. She was a lot better at hiding her emotions than she had been five years ago; must have been a learned thing.

  “I just—I’m sorry,” she said. “For being so harsh in there. I shouldn’t have. I know this all has to be very stressful and odd for you. I still don’t think you should have treated Trixie like that—”

  “I apologized to her.”

  “I—oh. You did?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a chuckle. “I shot her a message and everything. She’s fine. Nothing really ever fazes her for long and she forgave me. She, uh. Apologized too. Said she wasn’t gonna do it again.”

  “Oh?” That seemed to puzzle her. “But you two are …”

  “Not anymore. You’re back, aren’t you?

  Her face heated up and she avoided my eyes then.

  “Trip, you don’t have to—”

  “Misha, listen.” I stepped forward, putting my hands on her shoulders. I waited until she looked at me. I needed her to look at me. Needed her to see in my face that I meant what I said. “There’s always only ever been one girl for you. That’s you. I couldn’t even think
about getting it up back there even with Trixie in my lap, and she’s got a nice ass, too—”

  “Okay, that’s definitely TMI, Trip—”

  “Yeah, okay, but this is my point,” I said. “I apologized. She’s fine. But it’s not happening. You get me?”

  “I—”

  “Oi, T!”