Raising Riker (Hells Saints MC)

by Paula Marinaro

  Valentina was first to reach the horrifying conclusion—a sinking feeling hit her stomach like a freight train.

  She slumped down on the edge of the bed and waited for it.

  Her cousin was about halfway to the bathroom when it came.

  Gia’s footsteps halted midstride in the hallway and she shrieked out in a tightly strangled voice. “OH MY GOD!” Suddenly she was standing pale and wide- eyed in the doorway. Valentina watched on in horror as Gia’s throat worked convulsively as she tried to speak. Finally, she gave up and just covered her face with her hands. A full minute went by before Gia was composed enough to whisper.

  “Valentina, since the night of the wedding, how many times have you had…?”

  “Twice, Gia.” Valentina whispered back mournfully. “I’ve had it twice.”

  “Oh.” Gia said weakly then sat down hard on the edge of the bed. She felt the blood drain from her face and her knees turn to jelly. As Gia held her throbbing head in her hands she shook like a cornered kitten.

  “So…there was a guy in Italy?” Valentina crossed her fingers and prayed.

  Gia shook her head. “No guy in Italy.”

  Valentina bit her lip and asked hopefully. “So… the guy on the plane? That NFL player going to Rome for an endorsement photo shoot? You two crazy kids joined the mile- high club?”

  “No mile- high club.” Gia moaned.

  “Well, then let’s look at the calendar together. You know, I could be wrong about dates.” Valentina pulled out her phone.

  Gia closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m tired all the time, and for the last couple of weeks I haven’t been able to hold anything down until about midday.”

  “This all could be stress, Gia.” Valentina put her arm around her cousin’s shoulder. “You have a sensitive stomach anyway, and we’ve been through a pretty crazy time.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I’ve been thinking too. And stress can mess with your cycle…but…”

  “But what?”

  “That night at the clubhouse, we sort of got carried away.” Gia looked down at her feet.

  “By we you mean...?”

  “You know who I mean.”

  “By carried away you mean…?”

  “You know that too.” Gia sighed in misery. She felt as though she was going to vomit and could feel the bile as it rose up from her stomach and flooded her mouth. As she swallowed down her despair, Gia looked at Valentina with eyes that stung with unshed tears.

  “So, what you’re telling me is… if there is a baby… then...?” Valentina’s shoulders slumped in commiseration and defeat. She tried, but she couldn’t make herself say those next fatal words.

  Tears burned their way down Gia’s cheeks and a sob was caught in her throat. “Yup. If there is a baby, then he’ll come out with black hair, dark eyes and wearing a little leather vest with the Hells Saints MC emblem sewn onto it.”

  Then Gia began to cry.

  After their horrifying epiphany, Valentina and Gia had raced out of the driveway on screeching tires in hopes of making it to the market before closing time. While the end of your shopping pleasure announcement echoed through the near empty aisles, the two women cleared the shelves of every pregnancy test available. Then, in apprehensive silence, they drove slowly home.

  Between gulping down what felt like gallons of water, then peeing on a stick, Gia played let’s make a deal with God. If I’m not pregnant I swear I will go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life. I will do the Stations of the Cross every year for Lent and I’m talking the long version. And God, I am done, absolutely, positively done with the whole carnal knowledge thing. No sex before marriage. None! I know I have said it before, God, but this time I really, really mean it…

  For the next hour and in five- minute intervals, Valentina ripped open packages while Gia peed for no less than three seconds, but no more than five seconds, on a wide variety of pregnancy indicator tests. Then together the girls watched in heartfelt horror for the results —two lines, no line, a plus sign or a negative sign or simply the words pregnant or not pregnant.

  “There must be something wrong with these tests!” Gia cried out woefully as the tenth one proved positive.

  “Here let me try one.” Valentina grabbed the last of the unopened packages and flew to the bathroom. With heads bent together they looked on as the minus sign slowly appeared. Now Gia cast a furtive glance across the room where the small waste basket was filled with a dozen sticks of desperate despair.

  Gia collapsed against the bathroom wall and slumped down to the floor, her head in her hands.

  “Well, the good news is that this is the twenty- first century and there are options.” Valentina stressed the word as she slumped down beside her cousin.

  Gia felt those words like a shockwave throughout her system. Her body shuddered, and her head shook strongly in denial because the only thing she could imagine that would be worse than having a baby was not going through with the pregnancy. Although she supported pro-choice for others, Gia’s Catholic heart weighed heavy in her chest and would just not allow her to take that kind of out.

  “Not for girls like us, there isn’t.” Gia fiddled with the small gold cross she had worn around her neck since her Confirmation many years before.

  Valentina considered her cousin’s words and sighed. “No, I suppose not.”

  It was just after the break of dawn and the girls had been up all night. Valentina had called Hal and told him that she would be ready to catch the flight bright and early, but that the cousins wanted to spend their last night together. Because the girls were so close, and the trip promised to be a lengthy one, the request seemed reasonable and Hal was fine with it.

  The two girls didn’t even attempt to sleep but stayed up hatching and then discarding plans in rapid succession until their throats burned and their heads hurt. Finally, the sun rose on the new day and it was time for them to part and begin very different journeys.

  “You can still come with me.” Valentina stood at the doorway unwilling to leave.

  “And give birth to the baby in a third world country? I don’t think so.” Gia shook her head while she waved at Hal who was waiting in the car. She began to push her cousin through the door. “Besides, you’re going to have enough on your hands without worrying about me. I made this bed, now I’ll just have to figure out how I’m going to lie in it.” Then Gia added with a tone of confidence that she absolutely did not feel. “I’m gonna be just fine. Now get going. I’m sure Father Mike is pacing a hole in the church floor waiting for you to pick him up. I won’t be responsible for you missing that plane!”

  Valentina shook her head and opened her mouth to say something, but seeing the determined look on Gia’s face, she closed it again. Valentina patted Gia on the back and murmured words of reassurance as if Gia was six and Valentina was ninety- six.

  Gia watched from the end of the driveway until the car was out of sight. Then she headed down the street to her own house and towards a very uncertain future. She had just barely made it home when the nausea hit her. Gia ran to the bathroom, collapsed on her knees and leaned over the toilet trying to breathe between the dry heaves that wracked through her body. Her nausea had gotten worse over the last week or so. Now the vomiting was so severe that Gia feared it would never stop.

  God help her.

  Because getting herself knocked up after a one-night stand at a wild biker party wasn’t enough, let’s throw in some marathon morning sickness. Gia rested her head against the cool tile floor and tried to still the rapid pounding of her heart. Then she slowly gathered herself together and stood on shaking knees. With trembling hands, Gia ransacked through the medicine cabinet until she found some mouthwash. After brushing her teeth for a good five minutes, the awful taste in her mouth began to subside.

  Carefully, Gia stepped into the shower and let the steaming water envelope her in a mist of warmth and comfort as the hot water streamed over her sore back and stomach muscles. After co
cooning herself in a soft, plush, fleece bathrobe, Gia crawled into bed and swallowed around the lump of worry in her throat. Among the millions of things that she had to consider was her Uncle Gianni’s reaction. Uncle Gianni was her mother’s brother. When Joe Bonzini had died in federal prison on a RICO charge, Uncle G had stepped in to fill that fatherly role.

  Gia would be the first to admit she had not been easy. She had made mistakes, that was for sure, and the most recent had been a doozy. It was the night that Gia had talked her cousin into attending a Hells Saints MC party. That night had not only almost cost Valentina her sanitary but had resulted in Gia having unprotected sex with Riker Devlin. Bad, bad, very bad idea.

  After that night, Uncle Gianni had sat Gia down and had a very serious talk with her. He had warned Gia that one more screw up and he would be done with her.

  And this would definitely qualify.

  To her Roman Catholic family, a pregnancy out of marriage would be a shame of epic proportions. In her heart, Gia knew that her uncle would never disown her, but she feared the alternative may be worse. And that alternative had a name …Julian Boscovi. Gia had made the mistake of getting herself entangled with the deceptively brutal mafia soldier once and had managed to escape marriage from him. She had no doubt that if she didn’t take matters into her own hands, her uncle would see that this time, Gia went through with the marriage to one of La Familia’s most loyal soldiers and top earners—if only to save face and give the child a name.

  There were no good choices here.

  There was only a bad choice and a very bad choice.

  God help her.

  It was only after Gia arose from the stupor of hours and hours of staring at binge-worthy television, eating meals that consisted solely of ice cream, and days of refusing to do even the lowest form of personal hygiene—like showering— that she was able to think clearly and rationally. After she got a firm hold of her emotions, Gia pulled herself up by her boot straps, and decided on her course of action.

  Now armed with her plan and her last grain of courage, Gia sat across from the pretty, pale yellow, Cape Cod style house. The front yard was filled with a profusion of wild flowers—Black-eyed Susan, Yellow Daisies, Cinnamon Fern, Fringed Orchid, Mountain Laurel, Pink Lady-Slippers, and Johnny Jump ups—their colorful blossoms all corralled behind an honest to goodness white picket fence. At the end of the short stone path leading up to the house was a periwinkle blue door on which hung a huge lavender wreath.

  Everything about the home screamed come in, come in! But despite the cheery welcome implied by the gracious curbside appeal, Gia sat glued to the black leather seat of her blood- red sports car. It was the third time, in as many days, that she had parked across from the house watching the comings and goings of the owner, like some weirdo stalker skulking down into her seat at the smallest chance of being discovered.

  Despite feeling like a creepy psycho in a low budget movie, Gia simply had not been able to summon the courage it would take to walk down that stony path. Knocking on that door would be a game-changer for sure and one that Gia needed to do in small steps. Unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to get to the point where she could actually get out of the damn car and knock at the door. But Gia also knew that she could not go on like this forever and she was quickly running out of time

  As the familiar wave of nausea hit her again, Gia dug into her purse for the crackers that she had started to carry everywhere she went. She moaned when a cold perspiration wet her brow and her stomach rolled inside her like a stormy sea. By Gia’s estimation, she was a little past three months along in her pregnancy and she seemed to just keep getting sicker and sicker. Shouldn’t the morning sickness have eased up by now? She lamented as she chewed on the last of the crackers and sipped carefully from the bottled water.

  Gia caught her reflection in the rearview mirror and shuddered at the pale ghost- like creature who stared back at her. She rifled through her purse again, pulled out a tissue and set out to repair the runny mascara that slid down her cheeks courtesy of the near vomiting episode.

  Gia’s exhausted eyes stared back at her in cool reproach as she pushed the ignition button.

  Feeling every bit like the coward that she was, Gia started to pull the car away from the curb. But just as she was about to enter the road, the door to the cottage flew open and the woman who stepped outside pinned Gia with a laser look. With her hair tousled high in auburn curls, Dolly stood out like a beacon of hope amongst the riot of colorful blossoms. With a wide smile she waved Gia to a stop and hurried down the stone path to the wooden gate. Gia embarrassed that she had been caught in creeper stalk mode, had no choice now but to pull over and get out of the car.

  Gia walked haltingly towards Dolly McCabe and in a matter of only a few steps found herself enveloped in a tight hug.

  “Gia! What on earth are you doing here?” Dolly asked happily. When Gia answered with a shrug and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Dolly’s own eyes narrowed slightly in concern. “Oh, never mind that! Who needs a reason, right? I’m beyond thrilled to see you! Please come in! I tried a new recipe this morning for the bakery—banana bread with dark chocolate chips and crushed pineapple! I just took it out of the oven and I hate to eat alone.” Dolly linked her arm around Gia’s and walked her inside.

  Although it wasn’t the first time that Gia had been in Dolly’s house, the difference between Uncle Gianni’s home and Dolly’s always hit her like a ton of bricks.

  Much like the man himself, Gianni Abruzzi’s home was a testament to uncompromised elegance and old-world tradition. With its rich mahogany paneling, crystal chandeliers, and smooth marble floors the interior was cold, intimidating, and impressive.

  In sharp contrast, Dolly McCabe’s house seemed to explode into a colorful confetti of welcome. The cottage style home, with its bright country garden and steepled roof, gave the impression of having been plucked from the lane of an English Shire, or the steep cliffs of Ireland’s coastline.

  Much like Dolly herself, the interior of the quaint home was a mix- match of things that were interesting, eclectic, and unique. The living room featured a stone fireplace set against walls the color of spring buttercups. Blue gingham fabric covered a deep cushioned love seat while two cerulean arm chairs completed the set. The white curtain lace that covered the custom windows was light and airy—with every soft breeze it danced and blew about as if made of gossamer wings.

  But there was also a sense of sturdiness about the house. Wide floor boards lined a hallway that was partially covered with thick wainscoting. The kitchen— while cheery with its cornflower blue walls and light oak table — was large and no-nonsense. All the appliances were high quality stainless steel, the countertop was smooth granite and the flooring was covered in thick Mexican tile.

  Just like its owner, the house was a lovely mix of strength and whimsey. Dolly McCabe was a stunning woman made even more beautiful by contradiction. Her nose was patrician, and her brows were imperiously arched, but her hair was a soft tumbling mass of auburn and gold curls. She had the full round breasts of a Vegas show girl, and the long, toned legs of a Russian ballerina. In her early fifties, Dolly had the dimpled smile, the impish grin and the bright eyes of a young girl.

  But Gia also knew that underneath all that beauty and charm, lay a fierce jungle cat with the killer instincts of a lioness protecting her cubs. As the sister-in law of Prosper-Worthington and mother of Reno McCabe — Dolly was no stranger to the violent and dangerous world of men. Gia had no doubt that Dolly had what it took to navigate through that world—a world that was not unlike her own. Gia had been sad when the relationship between Dolly and Uncle Gianni had ended. Gianni left for Italy soon after and Gia had wondered if it was business or a broken heart that kept her uncle away.

  After almost an hour of drinking tea, catching up on all the latest gossip and polishing off half a loaf of warm banana bread, Dolly reached out and gently gave Gia’s hand a squeeze.

  “Now,
honey, we can sit and drink tea and catch up on gossip until we burst and I’d like that just fine. But that’s not why you’re here, is it? You want to tell me what’s so bad that it’s taken you almost a week of driving by my house and sitting curbside instead of walking on up and knocking at the door?”

  Gia sighed. “And here I thought I was being all cloak and dagger!” She blushed uneasily at the thought that Dolly had known all along that she had been out there.

  “Not much gets by me, honey. I wanted to give you the time you seemed to need—but when I saw you pulling away again, I thought enough was enough and that maybe you needed a little push to get you where you needed to be. Now talk to me, honey.”

  And for the next hour, Gia did just that. She talked and talked and talked—telling Dolly everything. By the end of the afternoon, Dolly had given advice, provided a shoulder and a box of tissues and had agreed to help Gia with her plan.

  “You think it will work?” Gia asked through red eyes bright with tears and in between sniffles.

  “Yes, it will definitely work. Just leave it to me. I can count the times I have asked Prosper for a favor on one hand over these many years, and as further guarantee, I’ll have a talk with Pinky. He won’t dare say no to the two of us!”

  “Absolutely… fucking… not.” Prosper growled at his sister-in-law from across the table.

  Dolly’s mouth formed a hard line. Then she crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest and narrowed her eyes.

  “Oh Prosper, stop being such an ass. What if Gia was your daughter and facing this predicament?” Dolly huffed then went on with eyebrows raised. “Have you forgotten how that felt?”

  “No fucking idea what you’re talkin’ about, woman!” He growled.

  “Didn’t Raine find herself in this exact same position not that long ago?”

  “She has a point.” Prosper’s wife, Pinky, weighed in to support Dolly’s argument.