by Soraya Naomi
I love cuddling here with Noah, smelling his baby soap as I enjoy a romance novel on my e-reader, but when the buzzer rings, I put my e-reader down on a cushion and stand up with Noah supported on one arm, fast asleep. For a second, I see blotches, but since they subside quickly, I figure it must be just a head rush and I continue to the front door. I buzz the guy up since I already know he has a delivery from the bakery downtown, arranged by Luca every week because I have such a sweet tooth.
When the elevator opens, Noah stirs as the guy hands me a square box. “Hey, Fallon. Here are your cakes.”
“Thanks. See you next week,” I tell him right before the doors close, and I comment to Noah in excitement, “What did we get today, pumpkin?” Walking to the kitchen island, I set the box down and lift the lid. The sugary sweet aroma of three cronuts drifts up. “Yum. Too bad you can’t have any sugar yet, Noah.”
I kiss his button nose as he opens his green eyes drowsily, but before I can take a pastry out, my smartphone vibrates on the kitchen counter, displaying an incoming message.
Luca: Dolcezza, meet me for lunch at The Spicy Mexican at one.
I’m eager to meet my husband, and since I’m already wearing my black jeans and wool sweater, I tread to the couch where the car seat is placed. Sitting down, I grab Noah’s jacket and wrap him warmly before I put a knitted hat on his head. After I strap him in, I cover him with another blanket and right the handle, and then I throw on my white coat. Taking the seat and my purse, with my gun and phone inside, I move into the elevator to ride down and go out the entrance where a gust of ice- cold air blasts against my cheeks as the darkened clouds shroud the sky. I hail the first cab I see and give the address, telling him to stop at the park close to the restaurant.
AFTER I STEP OUT OF the cab with Noah’s seat in my hand, I take my time as I saunter through the park toward The Spicy Mexican. I raise my face to the fresh wind, loving the smell of winter, and touch the bare hedges I pass while I observe the people strolling by. I watch children playing ball in the grass, and when one rolls to a stop right in front of my feet, I kick it back to a young girl in ponytails. She waves and I return the gesture.
As I leave the park, I see that, unfortunately, the path toward the restaurant seems to be closed down for maintenance, so I have to take a detour around the greenery and enter a side street between two buildings to get to the restaurant. It’s deserted, but it’s short, and it’ll get me where I need to go faster. I pick up the pace, walking by a streetlight as a dog barks.
Then a sudden sense of doom crawls up my spine, and I become aware of my surroundings as Luca’s taught me. Noticing footsteps behind me, I look back over my shoulder and observe a shadow that’s also coming from the park. I’m not sure if the person is following me or simply heading in the same direction, but even so, I anxiously speed forward, creeped out.
As the footsteps gain on me, I start to sprint, but the car seat slows me down, and I’m too late. Someone jumps on me, and although I manage to step a little to the side and put the seat down next to the building, I still fall onto my hands and knees on the pavement, pain shooting through them, but I refuse to lie down.
My attacker grabs my arm and shoves me onto my back while my gaze is glued on Noah.
“Help—”
My cry is muffled by a sweaty hand, and I try to bite him, in vain. The man, who has blond hair and is wearing a beat-up leather jacket, leans forward while he sits on my thighs, his weight crushing me, and I’m unable to get my gun.
“Shut the hell up,” he orders, digging his elbow into one of my arms and slamming the other against the ground beside my ear as I attempt to scoot with my feet, my maternal instinct kicking in.
“If I remove my hand, will you scream?”
When I shake my head, he lifts his hand from my mouth and I howl, “Help!!” at the top of my lungs, spurred on by my absolute fear for my son.
He shows me a malicious smile as I purse my lips in terror and when his palm rests on my throat, I can smell alcohol on his breath. Still, I try to reason with him since I’m all alone with a man who’s much stronger than I am. “What do you want? If it’s money, I have no cash!”
Studying me, he narrows his eyes. “I want the mafia wife,” he slurs. “And that’s you.”
Dread grows as I realize this is Syndicate related. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?” I buy time as my fingers search the ground for something to hit him with while his elbow pushes painfully into the front of my shoulder.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he spits in my face, regarding me with contempt. “And having your son is even better.”
When I nearly get my hand on a glass bottle, my fingertips cause it to roll away from me, so I decide that my only chance is to fight him with all my bodily strength and I attempt to roll over, but he’s too heavy.
“Get off me, asshole!”
“You’re a tough cookie.” He flattens his weight on me and starts feeling for something before he reaches down and brings up the empty beer bottle that’s lying beside him. “You better cooperate or it’ll get messy, bitch.”
“Fuck you!” I can finally move my arms and try to scratch his neck and face, without luck.
The guy squeezes my throat painfully hard while I struggle against him. Then, all of a sudden, he brings the bottle close to my eye.
I stop moving my head, unable to anticipate his intent before he raises his arm, smashing the bottle against the pavement, and I scream bloody murder when shards of glass fly into the air with Noah nearby.
“NO!!!” I shout, sheer agony coursing through my veins as my only concern is my son.
Abruptly, I hear a thud before the man drops onto me and the air deflates from my chest. Biting through my pain, I heave him off me, but he’s already being dragged away. I blink to distinguish what’s happening, and I witness someone in an expensive black suit hurling my attacker against a stack of crates. The wood cracks and splinters beneath the body as I leap up and dig into my purse to get my gun, extending my arms when the second man spins around and aiming my pistol at his forehead.
“Stay there!” I roar like a caged animal right before I recognize his ashy-grey eyes as Noah’s wails invade my eardrums.
Holding up his palms in surrender, he says, “You know me. We have to help your son!” Then he glances at Noah in the car seat behind me.
I swing around and the tremble in my knees becomes a shake when I see blood.
CHAPTER 9
Luca
AFTER SPENDING THE weekend with Fallon and the kids, I’m more relaxed. She’s still my solace amid an anarchic existence, and she’s the only one who can pull me out of my incessant worrying. Her presence calms me, which is why our apartment is our safe place. So when I need to visit Club 7 on Sunday with Carmine to talk to the architect, I feel at ease. Especially when our plan for the remodel is finalized with a crew that will work daily once we shut down the club in three weeks, on February first. However, construction on the underground can start next week, so Adriano and I have to check all the financial details with Carmine.
Once we’ve finished, it’s almost one p.m. and I’m looking forward to going home as I throw on my suit jacket. But my phone rings, and as I dig it out of my inside pocket, I frown when I see that Michael’s calling me.
“Michael?” I answer.
“Luca, where are you? There’s been an accident with Fallon.”
“What?! How do you know?” Anxiety surges inside.
“I’m with her. She’s okay. But we have a dead body I need to dispose of.”
“Where?” I ask, striding out with haste.
“Lincoln Park Lane. I’ll hide the guy behind the crates,” he responds as I rush down the stairs and cross the dance floor before running out the exit to my car parked at the curb.
“Call Logan and he’ll have a soldier pick up the body ASAP. But what the hell happened? Let me talk to Fallon,” I demand, noticing muffled voices in the background.
“Michael! You said Fallon was okay. Let me talk to her!”
“Fuck! I need to hide the body because someone’s coming and she’s panicking. Luca, your son was with Fallon and he got hurt, so we’re going to Northwestern. Meet us there. I have to hang up – sorry. Go to Northwestern!”
“Michael!” I bellow, but he’s already hung up.
Infuriated, I hurl the mobile on the passenger seat while horrifying emotions flow through me, and I drive away with screeching tires, turning right while I ignore a honking vehicle. Since I have no idea to what extent Noah’s hurt, I’m paralyzed as I race to Northwestern Hospital, cursing everyone who gets in my way and recklessly ignoring red lights while my concerns grow to extreme proportions.
WHEN I ARRIVE AT THE hospital, I park close to the entrance and leap out, going to the tenth floor where Dr. Calderone’s office is located, knowing Michael and Fallon will have brought Noah to the Syndicate doctor.
As I reach his door, I hear a frantic voice I’d recognize anywhere, and I run inside yet stop cold, blinking due to the bright white colors of the room. My heart sinks to my feet when I see Marc leaning over little Noah who’s lying on the gurney, quietly crying. Marc swipes a cloth down Noah’s right cheek, leaving red stains on it. And similar stains are on the collar of Noah’s green jacket, causing me to clench my fist as I glance at Fallon and Michael standing beside Marc, all with their backs to me.
“Oh my god!” Fallon clutches her hair.
“Fallon!” I bark, and then she and Michael both spin around while Marc glimpses at me before continuing to soothe Noah.
“It’s okay, little man. Shhh...” Marc murmurs as Fallon meets me halfway and jumps into my arms.
Cupping the back of her head, I hug her to me firmly. “Dolcezza, what happened? Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m just worried about Noah. Someone attacked us, and he smashed a bottle and a piece of glass hit Noah’s face,” she cries, peeking up with swollen eyes.
At that moment, I notice a purple mark on her throat, which is undoubtedly the beginning of a bruise, and it makes my mind swirl with questions; however, Noah’s my first priority.
“Is he okay?” I ask, tucking her into my side and walking to Marc.
“I don’t know,” she almost howls, but thank god, Marc explains while dabbing Noah’s chin, “Noah’s fine, Luca. He doesn’t need any stitches. It’s just a superficial cut.” Tossing the cloth onto the tray next to the stretcher, he takes a jar to screw off the lid and slathers his finger with white cream before smearing it on Noah’s cheek as he fusses yet barely makes a noise.
Then I note that my son unmistakably has a one-inch cut right underneath his cheekbone just as Marc places a Band-Aid over it and turns around to address us, “All clear. It looked much worse because his tears made it seem like there was more blood, but he merely has a cut. To him, it feels as if he scratched himself.”
I round the bed and bend down to Noah so that he can clearly see me. “Hey, buddy. Daddy’s here. You’re fine. Everything’s okay,” I whisper and reach for his hand, letting him wrap his fingers around my thumb as I stroke his belly and he calms, sucking his lower lip in a way I’ve come to love. Needing to comfort my son, I grip Noah beneath his underarms to lift him up and cradle him on my arm. In turn, he lets out a soft sigh, as if he realizes that he’s in the shelter of my arms where he’ll always be safe.
All of a sudden, Fallon comes up behind me and kisses the crown of his head, mumbling with tears pouring out, “I’m so sorry, baby.”
With my free hand, I wipe them away, and as she gazes up, her lips tremble. She loops an arm around my middle and clings to me in a desperate way like she’s never done in the past. Which is when I gather that I should be a husband and father before I’m the underboss, so I store my questions for later and inquire, “Can we go, Marc?”
He speaks to Fallon, “You didn’t get hurt at all?”
“No, I only fell and feel bruises forming on my knees. I’m fine.”
“Then, yes, you can go. You can remove Noah’s Band-Aid tomorrow, and the cut will heal, although it might leave a faint scar.”
To my surprise, Fallon gasps and she’s shivering so severely that I need to get her home to talk. Even though she’s my solace, I’m the one who takes care of her as well, and I’ll hold myself together for as long as I can.
“Let’s go,” I tell Fallon before directing my attention to Michael, who’s waiting in the doorway. “Are you going home? Can you come to our penthouse?” Naturally, I must interrogate him too.
“Yes. I’ll follow you,” he replies, and as I pass him to leave the office, I dip my chin to Marc while Fallon’s plastered to my side.
WITHIN TWENTY MINUTES, we’re at the Blackhall when the elevator opens into our apartment. I move left to pass the kitchen and go down the hall toward the bedroom with Fallon clutching my hand and Noah asleep on my arm.
Craning my neck, I say to Michael as he trails us inside, “I’m changing Noah’s clothes. I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” he insists with an empathetic look before I walk into the bedroom to release Fallon’s hand and lay Noah down on our king-size framed bed.
I take off my jacket and throw it on the chaise, going toward the dresser next to Fallon’s vanity and sliding open the top drawer to take out Noah’s blue onesie. But when I turn around, Fallon’s watching me as she sniffles, so I cock my head.
“I’m sorry,” she cries, yet I don’t understand why she’s apologizing.
Hurrying over to her, I pull her close as sobs rake her body.
“It happened so fast and I fought so hard to protect Noah!”
“Shhh...” I stroke a hand down her hair. “You did protect him, Fallon. He’s home and safe now.”
Nonetheless, frenzied rage burns inside me as I stare at Noah, gritting my teeth.
Fortunately, Fallon’s trembles lessen while I embrace her and commend, “You did well. I don’t know how Michael helped you, but you were smart enough to trust the right Syndicate person.”
She looks up and swipes her hand under her nose. “Thank God he was there.”
“Why were you two even together?” I wonder aloud, more curious than I should be.
“I think Michael followed me,” she responds, confounding me.
Yet since I’m eager to find out how this could’ve happened, I let go of Fallon and sit down on the bed beside Noah.
“I’m getting him out of these clothes. You change as well, and then we’ll talk to Michael.”
She nods and disappears into the bathroom. I slowly remove Noah’s jacket with bloodstains and his cotton shoes. Bunching up the jacket, I fling it into the trashcan next to the nightstand with a clenched jaw. Luckily, he remains asleep until I have to lift his head to pull off his shirt, and he stirs. With his eyes closed and his lips turned down, he begins to fuss, making small noises of objection, so I lean to my right side and grab a diaper from the night table to quickly change him. Then I slide on his onesie to keep him from getting cold while he sucks his lower lip.
“Sleep, Noah. You’re fine.” I rub his tummy, my entire palm covering his small belly, and I swear he grins for a second.
It almost breaks my heart as I stroke his sparse brown hair, making sure not to touch his cut. Right before I lift him up, he curls into himself so that he looks even smaller, and instead of placing him in his crib, I hold him against my chest with one hand beneath his butt since he weighs nothing.
When he snuggles into my neck, I peck kisses on the crown of his head, promising, “No one will ever hurt you again – Daddy will make sure of it.”
At that moment, Fallon returns to the bedroom, dressed in a white nightgown and robe that she’s tying closed.
I jerk my head toward the door, and she rapidly follows me out to go back to the living room where Michael’s waiting
, standing at the windows and staring at the sun that hangs low in the blue-grey sky.
“Michael,” I start, and he spins around as I go to the kitchen island.
Since our living room spans half of the penthouse, he rounds the wide beige couch in the center of the room and stops across from me, next to Fallon.
Before I can continue, he informs, “By the way, Logan called me, and the body has been disposed of and taken to the warehouse up north. The soldiers also cleaned the bloodstains on the pavement and there are no cameras on that street, so we’re in the clear.”
“Bene.” Good. “But what were you even doing with Fallon?” I ask instantly, the leash on my emotions relaxing, and now that I’m in the sanctuary of my home, I need answers. Then I look at my wife. “And what were you doing in the park?”
Fallon’s perfectly plucked brows rise as if she’s astounded by my question, which makes no sense because she knows me. She knows I need to be in control, and this is a loss of control for the second time this year already.
Nonetheless, Michael answers first, “I was coming home, and I saw Fallon leaving the front entrance with your son. I also noticed that there wasn’t a guard shadowing her. Now, I happened to remember you and Adriano talking about your guard issue on Friday”—he glances at Fallon standing beside him—“so when you hailed a cab, I got in my car to see if, indeed, no one was guarding you. I lost you in the park with all the children playing, but I caught up with you in the alley, where I saw the man fighting with you on the ground. And I saw him raise the bottle and smash it right beside your head, close to Noah’s car seat. So I shot him once in the back of his head, which is why he fell on you.”
