by Soraya Naomi
“Oh, okay,” Fallon murmurs, lost in thought.
“Then what?” I pipe in, and Michael’s gaze returns to me.
“I pushed the body off her, and when I was asking her if she was okay, she recognized me,” he replies. “Then we noticed the shards of glass that hit Noah, so we rushed to Northwestern.”
Immediately, I say to Fallon, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was in a panic in the car.” She tucks her bangs behind her ear with a quivering hand. “I’m still panicked. It all happened so fast.”
“Did you get his ID?” I ask Michael.
“No time for that, but I’m sure your soldiers have stripped him. He was drunk though.”
“Did he say anything, Fallon? What did he want? Money? Your jewelry?” I carry on, wanting to get to the bottom of this situation.
Her eyes round. “No, this wasn’t a robbery. He wanted the Syndicate wife; that’s what he said to me.”
Michael and I share an astonished look before I probe, “Do you mean that he mentioned the Syndicate?” Abruptly, I wave my hand to dismiss my own question and switch topics, “But why were you outside? You told me this morning that you were staying home.”
The crease in her forehead deepens as she opens her mouth, closes it, and then counters, “What are you talking about? You texted me to meet you.”
What?
For a second, I’m shocked silent. “What are you talking about?”
Fallon rears back, completely mixed up. “Y-you texted me to meet you.”
Michael’s eyes move from me to Fallon while Fallon’s glancing back and forth between us, and all of us seem to be in a state of utter confusion. However, I don’t need this private conversation to continue with an audience, so I instruct Michael, “I need to talk to my wife alone.”
“Of course,” he answers as I start toward the elevator and he falls into step next to me.
“Did you actually see Fallon fighting with her attacker?” I whisper to him.
“Yes, it was rough, Luca – I’m surprised she said she was okay.”
“Hmm...” is all I say as he presses the button.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the club, right?”
“Yes. And, Michael, thank you.”
“No problem, man. Call me if you need me.”
“I will,” I comment when the elevator glides open and he moves inside.
I quickly stride back to the couch and place Noah in the bassinet next to it before stopping opposite Fallon as she stares up at me in hesitation.
My mind in total disarray, I tell her, “I didn’t text you today, so what’s going on, Fallon?”
Again, she draws back with a questioning gaze, as if I’m crazy. “Yes, you did. You messaged me to meet you for lunch at The Spicy Mexican, which is why I was in the alley; it’s around the corner from the restaurant.”
Our eyes lock, and the outright bewilderment in mine is mirrored in her brown irises.
Becoming more irritated, I order, “Give me your phone.”
She passes me to go to the kitchen island where her purse lies and zips it open, digging out her phone. Swiping the screen, she scans it, looking up in amazement and then down before continuing to swipe. “I-I don’t see the message.” She casts me an uncertain glance. “Maybe I deleted it?” Again, her finger moves over the screen as her brows knit together. “Huh?! Wh-where’s that message...”
I throw up my hands in frustration, and her focus shifts to me when I bark, “I already told you I didn’t message you!” Still, I attempt to stay calm and inhale a breath. But because I don’t understand what’s happening, I yank my phone from my pocket, unlock my screen to find our last text from yesterday, and bring it up. “Look. I never messaged you today.”
Fallon merely stares at me as though I’ve grown a second head. “But-but I’m sure I saw a message.” And she begins to relay out loud, gesturing down the hall. “I was in the library, and the cronuts were delivered right before my phone chimed in, and I read a message from you asking me to lunch at The Spicy Mexican at one.”
“Did someone else text you perhaps and you misread the message?” I search for explanations.
“No, I just checked. No one else texted me today.”
Regardless, why didn’t she confirm our supposed lunch date or call for a guard? “Why didn’t you text me back then?”
“What?”
“You say that you read a message from me to meet, so why didn’t you message me back to confirm?”
Her lips tremble as she hesitates a beat. “I-I was just eager to meet you.” She clutches her hair, her eyes pooling with tears.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, assessing the chaotic way she’s acting in contrast to her usual graceful manner.
“Yes, I was freaked out, but...I don’t know,” she cries, and I want to wind my arms around my wife, yet the uncertainty of the circumstances prevent me.
“Are you getting things confused, Fallon? Or are you lying to me and do you not want to say why you left the apartment? Because we both know I didn’t text you. And look what happened!” Heatedly, I point to Noah. “My three-month-old son has a cut on his face!”
Her mouth contorts as she weeps louder than I’ve ever seen before, and it pierces my soul.
“I’m not lying, Luca. This is Syndicate related and not my fault,” she defends, flinging her phone onto the kitchen island.
I scrub my hand down my mouth while she edges closer and I deliberate how to proceed. “Maybe your attacker’s ID will clarify things? I need to update Adriano anyway.”
Fallon lays her hand on my chest, the warmth of her palm heating my skin through my dress shirt, and with tears scalding her skin, she pleads, “Please don’t go now. Maybe I am in shock and confused – I don’t know, Luca. But I feel like the worst mom in the world, and I need you. If you tell Adriano, the entire Syndicate will get involved, and I can’t go through your interrogations right now. I’m still flustered. Please...not now.” She fists my shirt.
On its own volition, my hand cups her cheek, her tears dripping over my thumb while her sad yet beautiful amber eyes captivate me.
Although I’m bursting with questions, the husband who vowed to honor and protect Fallon prevails over the underboss who wants his answers. Besides, her stricken behavior tells me she might very well be in shock and drilling her now will get me nowhere. Perhaps she needs to relax first before she can recall what happened?
I expel a sigh and relent, only for Fallon. Looping my arms around her waist, I pull her flush against me while she grasps my middle and nuzzles my neck. “Okay. Calma. I won’t inform Adriano until tomorrow. I’m staying with you and Noah.”
As I embrace her, she whimpers, so I guide her to the couch and sit down, arranging her astride me and kissing her temple. “Ti amo. Don’t cry.” And I stroke her back for several minutes, realizing I need to take care of my wife at the moment, so I say, “I’ll ask Cam to keep Milana tonight, and we’ll stay with Noah and give him some extra attention.”
With that, she looks up and nods as I dab her tears, feeling her sadness seep into me because as husband and wife, we have a bond that no one can break. “I don’t want Milana to see me like this.”
“She won’t. I’ll call Cam later.” As I take in her swollen eyes, I suggest, “Noah won’t be hungry for an hour, so let’s shower and get you cleaned up.”
The suggestion is not only for her sake but for mine as well. Regardless of everything, I need to ease her mind as much as I need to be comforted myself. And Fallon understands it perfectly because she rises, entwines our hands as I grab the baby monitor from the coffee table, and leads me through the bedroom to the bathroom.
After I set the monitor on the sink, we round the raised platform in the middle of the bathroom that holds the marble tub and stop at the built-in glass shower stall. Fallon opens the door and leans in to turn the knob, causing a stream of water to spray from the showerhead on the ceiling.
I wind my
arms around her from behind to untie her robe and slide it off her shoulders. Then I hook my fingers under the straps of her nightgown and slip them off, making it pool at her feet. Drawn to her naked skin, I sweep her hair over one shoulder to kiss her nape, my palms traveling over her bare sides and hips before I nudge down her lace panties just as she turns around. I tuck her hair behind her ear, and when she removes my shirt and unbuckles my pants, I kick off my shoes and push down my boxers before guiding her backward into the stall that’s now steaming up.
Together, we stand beneath the hot stream, our eyes meeting. Yet as I tangle my hands through her hair, she tilts her head back and my nostrils flare when I see the purple mark on her throat. I trail my fingertips over the discoloration and she flinches, so I kiss her forehead. Then as I look down her smooth, toned body, I notice that the bruises on her knees have become darker as well.
Fallon follows my gaze but appeases me by saying, “It doesn’t hurt much. I’m okay.” Palming my cheek, she pulls me out of my worries; however, I should be the one comforting her.
So I hug her to me, pressing my mouth to the top of her head while she rests her cheek on my chest, and we stand there for soundless minutes. Without realizing, I tighten my grasp on her as the water rains down us, keeping me warm. While I hold her, I wonder what the fuck happened today, but I can’t figure it out, so I just pull her closer while she clings to me. Nonetheless, deep down, a seed of distrust begins to grow.
After ten minutes, I finally break the silence, “Let’s get out.”
“Okay. Noah may wake up soon,” she mutters, and fortunately, she’s stopped shivering.
Stepping out, we dry off, and as Fallon puts on her nightgown, I step into clean boxers before we return to the bedroom. I instantly walk to the living room to check on my son, who’s in dreamland, thank god. Still, I lift him up and go back to the master suite where Fallon’s perched on the side of the bed, smearing cream on her knees. I lie down with Noah on my chest and when Fallon’s done, she joins us, meshing our legs. I slide my arm under her neck and wrap it around her, and at this point, we don’t need words, just each other. Gently, I rub her back until she starts to feel heavier, and I’m glad she’s dozed off because she needs to relax.
In the meantime, I stare at the ceiling for an endless amount of time until I finally get out of bed after laying Noah beside Fallon. I quietly go to the kitchen and lean against the island, raking a hand through my hair. Getting Fallon’s phone, I check her messages myself to see if she maybe did misread someone else’s text, because I don’t understand how else this miscommunication could have occurred. Unfortunately, no one texted her. Gripping the phone in aggravation since I want to get to the bottom of this mess, I wonder if I should break my promise to my wife.
Making my decision, I open her contacts and click on Adriano’s name before bringing the phone to my ear.
“Fallon?” Adriano answers, and I hear Amalia singing on the background.
“It’s Luca. Fallon got attacked earlier.”
“I know,” he says, not surprising me. “Logan informed me he disposed of a body for her and Michael. I was expecting your call sooner.”
“I needed to take care of my wife first, Adriano. I decided to go ahead and call you, even though I promised her that I wouldn’t involve the Syndicate yet because she’s freaked out and needs me.”
“Was her attack Syndicate related?”
“I’m not sure. She’s confused. Adriano, I’m asking you as my friend to let it be for now and keep my daughter tonight, and Fallon and I will come in tomorrow to discuss what happened and figure out what to do.”
For a long moment, he’s quiet before responding, “Bene. Come tuo amico, concederò la tua richiesta.” Fine. As your friend, I’ll grant your request.
“Grazie.” Thank you.
“Don’t worry about Milana. Amalia’s having a blast and will be ecstatic to hear that she’s spending the night. I’m not sure you’ll get her back.”
Thankful that he tries to lighten my mood, I retort in a mock threatening tone, “She’s my daughter and I can assure you that I’ll get her back.”
Chuckling, he instructs, “Go to your wife. But, Luca, we meet first thing in the morning. Be at the club at nine.”
“We will,” I agree before cutting the call and tossing the phone on the counter.
Suddenly, the silence feels oppressive. Dipping down, I open a cabinet and take out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. Although, for the most part, I stopped drinking years ago because being intoxicated by drugs or alcohol is forbidden in the Syndicate, I need to unwind. Screwing off the top, I pour a generous amount and toss it back, slamming the glass onto the counter before placing the bottle back into its original place and the glass in the dishwasher.
Then I return to the bedroom and lie down next to Fallon and Noah, watching them continuously.
During the night, I get out of bed once more and down another drink, trying desperately to calm my nerves. However, I don’t sleep for one second. I’m anxious to know what the hell’s going on in Fallon’s mind. But when I finally do find out, I’m not prepared for the ramifications in the slightest.
CHAPTER 10
Fallon
THE ENTIRE NIGHT, I’VE been going over and over what happened yesterday, positive that I received a message from someone and probably deleted it by accident. The guilt that consumes me because Noah got hurt forces me to stay clearheaded, and I have to convince Luca that I’m being truthful. Regrettably, once we’re in the car, I have to sit in the back seat with Noah, who’s a bit fussy, so Luca and I don’t get a chance to discuss it before we arrive at the club at promptly nine a.m.
Luca wanted to bring Noah with us – he doesn’t seem to be in pain since his cut is already scabbing; he’s just hungry – so I’m feeding him his bottle when I step inside Adriano’s office.
In the dim lighting of the chrome standing floor lamps, I see that all the high ranking men are present – Michael’s talking to Adriano as they sit behind his desk with Logan, Henry, and Carmine situated across from them. For some reason, I suddenly wonder why Michael always wears black clothes because, once again, he’s in a fitted black suit and dress shirt.
Luca occupies the last seat opposite Adriano, and I can tell he’s lost in thought since he’s barely said a word all morning besides asking me repeatedly if I’m feeling okay.
“Fallon!” Cam greets us, and my attention shifts to my right as she comes from the adjacent security room, cuddling Milana.
“Good morning,” I say and peck a kiss on my daughter’s head.
“She slept perfectly fine and just drank her entire bottle,” Cam informs before she hands over Milana to Luca and he hugs her gently to his chest, stroking her back.
He presses his mouth to her hair as our gazes meet and hold, yet he has a guarded look covering his features.
“Why does Noah have a Band-Aid?” Adriano glances between Luca and me while Cam plants herself on the armrest.
“There was an incident yesterday,” I answer, standing next to Luca’s chair. “I went to meet Luca at The Spicy Mexican, but when I passed the park, a man jumped on me from behind. I managed to place the car seat on the pavement before we struggled, and he said that he was looking for the mafia wife. Then he smashed a bottle, and a piece of broken glass hit Noah’s face. But Michael had followed me, so he killed the attacker and took us to Northwestern.”
Adriano watches me keenly. “Why were you meeting Luca without a guard?”
“Actually, she wasn’t meeting me,” Luca puts in, and all heads turn to him, yet he focuses on me as his eyes narrow into deep impenetrable slits. “I thought you said you were feeling better, so why are you still claiming you went to meet me?”
Apprehension clamors inside as I defend, “I-I’m feeling perfectly fine, and I’m sure I got the message.”
When Luca scalds me with an incredulous look, Adriano interrupts, “What’s going on between you two?”
&n
bsp; Luca expels a loud sigh as I pop the bottle out of Noah’s mouth while he squirms before I carry on feeding him.
“Fallon claims that she received a text from me, but I never texted her,” Luca states point-blank, causing the muscle in Adriano’s forehead to tick.
“So did someone else message you? Let me see it.” Adriano motions for me to hand over my phone.
Biting my lower lip, I confess, “I can’t find it anymore,” which makes Adriano and Luca exchange an inquisitive glance.
Adriano then asks, “How do you know the attacker wanted the mafia wife?”
“Because he literally said that to me. He implied he was instructed by someone to get to me and that having my son was even better.”
Carmine pipes in, “Did he say your name?”
“No.”
“And the message isn’t on your phone anymore? Did you delete it?” Henry probes.
“I must have.” I give the only logical explanation.
Nevertheless, all the men glimpse at Luca, who steels his jaw. Then there’s a moment of uncomfortable reflective silence when even Cam is staring at me with doubt.
All of a sudden, Luca comments in a low voice, “I need the attacker’s ID to see if there’s a connection to the Syndicate or Fallon.”
I release a breath because this means he’s inclined to believe me – I hope. Although, in that second, I catch Logan sneakily shaking his head once at Adriano, who may have mouthed something to him. And I become nervous, not knowing what any of these men are thinking.
Which only intensifies when Cam suggests, “Come on, Fallon, we’ll take the kids downstairs and talk while they get the attacker’s ID.”
Are they silently communicating behind my back?
Cam takes Milana from Luca as he rises to follow us to the door.
Struck mute, I wait until we’ve slipped through the doorway and mutter to Luca, “You believe me, right?”
“We’ll dig into the attacker’s past and talk later.” He ignores my question, kissing my forehead – not my lips – and ushering me out. Then he immediately closes the door in my face.
