Phantom's Baby: A Mafia Secret Baby Romance (Mob City Book 3)

by Holly Hart

  And they'd all be prettier than me, younger than me, thinner than me…

  My shoulders hunched over as exhaustion took me. I lifted up the rope, opened the gate, and then released it. The gate closed with an angry squeal, metal on metal, but it didn't register. My palm was a fiery red, but I didn't feel it. As I walked towards the cottage, a sense of acceptance came over me. My mind was made up.

  The next time I saw Val, I'd end things: for good.

  But the second I turned the front door handle and pushed it open, everything went to shit.

  The cottage was coal black inside, even though it was the middle of the day. Every curtain was closed and every blind drawn. But I didn't have a second to puzzle over why before my ears were attacked by a deathly battle scream, and my brain screamed at me to run. But I didn't, and I don't know why.

  Maybe it was because I'd heard that sound before.

  Or perhaps because my brain was done with fear, it was done with flight.

  Either way, all I did was duck.

  "You good-for-nothing, abusive, alcoholic, asshole, ASS WIPE!"

  A formless shape escaped the darkness, swinging something in a jagged figure-eight pattern in the air.

  "I told you, if you came back, you were going to get hit! Are you stupid, or just drunker than normal? She ain't here; she never was, so get out before I call the police!"

  Everything clicked into place. I knew that voice.

  "Lex?" I croaked, taking a step back as the swinging object came too close to my face for comfort. I felt the air move as it brushed past my nose. "Is that you? It's –"

  "You asshole, Russell, you come back here you’re gonna get a beating, you hear that? You're –," she paused, and the swinging object thudded against the floor. When the voice returned, it was softer, and almost apologetic.

  "Cara? That you?"

  I groped for the light switch to my left, heart thundering in my chest. I felt like it might explode from the exertion at any second. "Yes, it's me! Jesus, Lex, what the hell happened here?"

  Light from the open doorway poured into the room and exposed a battleground. Shards of smashed porcelain littered the floor, and the couch in front of the TV lay on its back. In front of me, my oldest and best friend Lex let out a huge sigh and collapsed, squatting down onto her haunches, using a chipped and jagged baseball bat for support. She bowed her head. I rushed over to her.

  "Lexie, what the hell? Did someone –?" I stopped mid-sentence, my heart missing a furious beat and sinking like a stone. Something she'd said in the midst of her rage floated into my consciousness. "You asshole, Russell…"

  "Jesus, Lexie, my dad didn't come here, did he? Tell me he didn't hurt you. Is Kitty okay? The kids?"

  The words tumbled out of me like boulders down a mountain, crashing down onto Lexie's exhausted face. She looked like she'd run a marathon – face drawn, eyes lined with shadows.

  "Tell me it's okay?" I croaked my voice plaintive with worry.

  "Shit, Cara, you scared the hell out of me. You know that?" Lexie fell onto her ass, collapsing onto the ground as she spoke. "I thought he was back…" She grabbed my hand, pressing it to her breast.

  "You feel that, my heart beat? I thought it was going to pop out of my rib cage, grow wings, and fly the hell away from here!"

  "Lex," I hissed, feeling a desperate worry building in my chest for my daughter's safety. "What –"

  She waved her hand. "Kitty's fine; Maisie and Poppy, too. They're hiding in the basement. But it's fine, now."

  "It was Russell, wasn't it?" I breathed quietly, not wanting my suspicions to be confirmed. I sank onto my ass, joining Lex on the battered, dark wooden floor. "He came here looking for me?"

  "He had a goddamn gun, you know that?" Lexie said, half-hyperventilating as the adrenaline high began to fade. Her pupils widened, and her light blue eyes turned pale with exhaustion. "A revolver, like something out of a Second World War movie."

  "Oh my God," I said. It was all I could say. "A gun? Where the hell did he get a gun? Was he drinking?"

  "It was hard to tell. Either he was, or he had been. He stunk of booze, I'll tell you that. Hell, I doubt the gun was real, or if it even had bullets in it. He was waving it around like he didn't know which end went bang. Still, sure scared the shit out of me…"

  "Did you call the police?" I couldn't believe that Lexie had knowingly gone up against a man with as fierce a temper as my dad with nothing more than a baseball bat. She was crazy – hell, that's why I liked her so much. But Jesus was she crazy.

  She stared at me, seriously this time. "No girl. Are you crazy? You want CPS involved? This is the kind of shit that gets Kitty taken away quicker than you can blink. Hell, Maisie and Poppy too, if they decide to be mean."

  My heart stopped, gripped in a vice, and my stomach clenched so tight couldn't have been more than the size of an orange. "Taken away?" I gasped, throat as dry as the Sahara. Kitty was all I had left. No home, no husband, no lover nor mother – if Kitty went, my life would follow.

  "I'm sorry, Cara," Lexie said, eyes watering. "But…"

  The words she couldn't bring herself to say hung in the air between us, but it didn't matter. I knew what she was asking. We'd been friends so long I could read her like a book, every tic and frown giving away as much as an entire chapter.

  I knew what she was asking, and I didn't blame her one bit.

  "But I can't stay here," I murmured, closing my eyes. I felt as much as heard Lexie shake her head, her silky blonde hair whispering across her shoulders.

  "I'm sorry…" She sighed. "But I can't put the kids –"

  I cut her off, opening eyes bright with conviction. "You're sorry?" I squealed, more by accident than design.

  "What the hell have you got to be sorry for? You did more than I had any right to ask. If it wasn't for you, Kitty would've been, hell, God knows where. I've seen what Russell's like when he drinks. When he's in one of his moods…" I tailed off, barely daring to picture where she might have ended up.

  "No," I continued, "Don't be sorry. We'll find somewhere to go; somewhere safe; someplace he can't hurt us – or you."

  I didn't know where that would be. I had a thought, but no way it could work. That's gonna be like jumping from the frying pan into the fire…

  Silent tears poured down Lexie's face. "I am sorry," she repeated, letting the baseball bat fall away and gripping my hand tight. "That I didn't –"

  "Do more?" I finished, with a bitter laugh. "Lexie, you're five foot nothing and a hundred pounds soaking wet. Half the guys in my phone book wouldn't have even come close to doing what you did. Don't you dare beat yourself up over this!"

  "I guess a momma bear’s gotta protect her cubs…"

  Lexie's words rang in my ears as I lay on the pullout couch in her basement, stroking Kitty's rich auburn hair. My baby girl's chest rose and fell like a metronome, up and down. Up, and down. The sound both soothed me and terrified me. Kitty was all I had, and if I lost her…

  I couldn’t even bear thinking about it. She was my responsibility – no one else's – and right now I was failing.

  I couldn't blame my friend for kicking me out. I didn't. She's just doing what she's gotta do. And in her place, I couldn't honestly say I'd do any different. When your kid's life's on the line, you don't think the same as normal people. You realize that you're just a guardian, with one sole duty – to keep your babies safe. Hell, Lexie hadn't even kicked me out yet. Not for real. She was a good friend.

  The problem: I had nowhere else to go. Russell's door was closed to me, and his was the only home I knew. I wouldn't go back there, anyway. I didn't trust him not to snap, to beat me, to cuss at my daughter, or cuff her with anger.

  Hell no, we're not going back.

  I thought about heading to a woman's shelter. They had places for people like me, people with a kid to take care of. But that was out, too. I used to volunteer at a place downtown, and I saw what happened there when the lights went out. It made me sick.
Maybe there were good places, too.

  But I can't risk you, baby.

  I was lost: cast out in the middle of an ocean without so much as a rowboat to help me float, or an oar to guide me.

  I was sinking, fast, and if I didn't come up with a plan soon, then I was gonna end up on the street.

  And the street's no place for a two-year-old.

  A crushing realization weighed down on my shoulders, and tightened my throat until I knew I wouldn't be able to weep, let alone speak. It was what every mother feared, and worse for me, because I was doing everything I could to stop it.

  I looked back down at Kitty, and a tear burned its way down my cheek, carving a path like a drop of molten lava.

  "Maybe it's best if they take you, hon," I whispered, choking. I looked around the room, at the faded couch, at the mold forming on the walls.

  "This ain't no place for a baby. What kind of life is this? What kind of life am I giving you? Maybe they'll put you with a nice family. A rich family, who'll love you like their own. Be able to pay for nice clothes, and summer camp, and all the stuff I can't. Maybe –"

  I broke off, choked up, silent tears streaming down my face. I couldn't imagine a world without my baby by my side, a world where I couldn't kiss her to sleep at night, a world where someone else cooked her food and tied her shoes.

  Maybe it's for the best…

  I shook my head, fierce conviction burning inside me. I didn't believe that. Maybe another woman could buy Kitty nice things, dress her smart and give her a good life.

  But you can't have two mamas.

  And just like that, I knew what I had to do. Truly, I had no other choice. I couldn't stay here; I sure as hell couldn't go home.

  I had to go to Val, and beg for his help.

  8

  Val

  "Where the hell is she?"

  A fleck of spittle escaped my mouth as my worry threatened to overwhelm me. It was irrational, I knew – but I feared it wasn't. After all, Cara's life clearly wasn't all sunshine and roses. I knew little enough of what had happened to her while I'd been gone, but it didn't take a genius to realize that something was wrong. Not in the state I found her.

  The man, Anatoly, I thought his name was, shrugged. He did it at an almost insolent pace, rolling his shoulders and cocking his head to one side, perhaps still seething from the way I’d brushed his hand aside to save Cara from his bullet.

  "Not sure, boss," he said. Or was it a lie? As ever, when the adrenaline surged through my body it was hard to tell what was real. The chemical, natural though it was, was as addictive as any drug I'd ever tried – and I'd sampled more than my fair share. It made the world clearer – and turned everyone into an enemy, just to be sure.

  "She left the hotel?"

  "She did."

  "On her own?"

  He shrugged again. "I think."

  So I couldn't tell whether the man standing in front of me, with his sharp, wolf-like features was telling the truth…

  or not.

  I knew that I was losing control, and along with it, my men's respect. I knew that no one who'd ever led them before would have allowed himself to fall apart like this, especially not over a woman.

  But she's not just any woman.

  Cara made me want things, think things, desire things that I thought I'd mastered. I told myself the lie that my body was my servant, and my mind too. I told myself this, and I believed it, because it had always been true –

  – always, until Cara.

  She did something to me, broke the wall that protected my innermost thoughts. It terrified me, because I'd built the wall to protect me from them, and she risked letting them loose.

  This is good. She's gone. Focus on the task at hand.

  The voice that drove me forward whispered now, as always. It thirsted for revenge, hungered for the taste of my father's blood on my blade. Even now, it pushed me to forget about Cara, and I knew that it was right.

  If the darkness inside me scared even me, then how could I let it out into the world?

  If Cara was the key, then it was my duty to hide from her. She was most at risk of my madness. When I closed my eyes, I saw the marks I'd left on her body branded on the underside of my eyelids. An acidic well of shame rose in my throat until I bit it back.

  But I couldn't resist her call, no matter how I tried.

  I folded, my resistance crumbling like chalk, not finely honed steel. She had disappeared, someone was chasing after her, and she was at risk. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t act.

  "Find her!" I ordered hoarsely.

  Anatoly hesitated just a second too long, nodded his head a second too slowly, and left.

  Seconds turned into minutes turned into hours turned into days, at least in my head. Seasons turned, gray hairs sprouted, grew, fell away and I aged a decade in an afternoon. The maid came to clean the room, and left without a word, casting a worried look at me from deep brown eyes.

  I assumed the position that had carried me through years of torment – cross legged on the floor. I closed my eyes, deepened my breath. I searched for that place inside my mind – that refuge from all my earthly fears.

  I filled my lungs.

  I inhaled.

  Nothing.

  Again.

  My brow furrowed with confusion. Behind my eyes, instead of darkness I saw light – and Cara's face. Heart racing, I blinked, and cracked my neck. My mind was a sanctuary, had to be, but Cara had even wriggled in there, lodging herself in my brain. I closed my eyes again, breathed deep again, but as before her face appeared behind my eyelids as light and bright as a beacon flaming in the night.

  Hours passed like that, as I struggled to force my mind to meditate, to return to a place it had been so many times before. A place that, until now, was as familiar to me as breathing.

  My cell phone rang.

  Time slowed. I feared answering it, considered simply ignoring it. If I didn't pick up, then my deepest worries could never be confirmed. Living in a torment of eternal unease – of not knowing – would surely be better than the truth.

  Unless the truth was that one thing I never wanted to hear; or didn’t know whether I could survive hearing.

  But I had to know. Hiding from hurt had never been my way. If I tried, I'd never have made it through the torment and torture of the past two years. The thought played on my mind that Cara could be hurt, in need of my help. That was the only encouragement I needed.

  I tapped the screen and brought the slim black device to my ear, making no attempt to disguise the hoarse rawness of my throat. My men already knew what this girl was doing to me, there was no hiding it. I'd only make things worse for myself if I tried.

  "Speak."

  "Boss…" A voice said. I didn't recognize it, though perhaps that was my worry speaking. "We found her. Well, she found us."

  My heart stopped dead with relief. "Where is she?"

  "She's here, boss, at the hotel. She came back. We’re bringing her up now. And boss –"

  I cut him off, not listening. "No, don't bring her up here. Take her to the apartment. My place, it's safer there. Stay by her side, you understand? If anything happens to her…"

  I left the threat unspecified. I didn't need to spell it out. A man's imagination, left alone to wonder, is the greatest torture humanity has ever devised. An afternoon wallowing in worry had taught me that, at least.

  "You got it boss."

  The man on the other end of the phone mumbled, an electronic ping reverberated down the tinny cell phone speaker. A set of elevator doors opened, then closed a half second later. "We're on our way. Is that everything, boss?"

  I closed my eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. "Yes. No – wait. You said there was something else?"

  The man paused and cleared his throat. "Ah. Yeah…" His hesitation was palpable. I gnashed my teeth together.

  "What is it?" I asked, my tone indicating better than any rebuke that I wouldn't ask twice.
>
  "Boss… She's got a kid."

  What the fuck do I do now?

  They say love is easy: that when you know, you know.

  Well I say they are idiots.

  There's nothing easy about life, and less about love. Relationships aren't a straight-line quarter-mile drag race; they're a weeklong coast-to-coast rally. You'll blister in the baking heat of the Nevada desert, and freeze as you climb the Rockies. You'll be lashed by rain and fried by sun, frozen by driving hail and then, when you're ready to quit, a goddamn sinkhole will open up right in front of you.

  It's your choice whether you turn back, or drive around.

  Or cross your fingers and throw yourself off the edge…

  I weaved through traffic on a matte black German motorbike, dodging death with every turn. I'd had it imported specially. There wasn't a bike in the state that could outrace it.

  Sure, some had more power, bigger engines, more in the tank. Still, none of them could match it. The Mercedes humming beneath my hips was a thoroughbred, not a racing nag. Light, fast, and her engine was tuned by the best in the business.

  And in a city like Alexandria, where the car was king and traffic lined back miles, nothing could cross town faster.

  In short, it was the kind of machine that demanded your full attention. Riding it was like flying an F-16. You lose control for even a second, and you're done. You'll slip, slide and tumble until your ragged body stops rolling. And they'll scrape what's left of you into a jelly jar and send it to the morgue.

  Barely watching where I was going, my thigh nicked the side of a truck. The bike wobbled and bucked – a thoroughbred turned bronco. I thought the handlebars might rip my shoulders plain off as I fought them for control.

  A roar born of sheer effort escaped my lips and filled my helmet. It half-deafened me. Adrenaline dumped into me and woke every nerve in my body as easily as a needle of meth to the leg.