Desiree

I sleep in the back of Junior’s car, Jasper curled up in my lap. It’s not a peaceful sleep, it’s the kind I choose when I can’t deal with my thoughts and just need to escape them. I should be overjoyed at having Jasper back.

I am overjoyed.

Or I’m sure I will be tomorrow. But right now, it’s all too much emotion mixed together.

I wake up when we get into the city, as if my body was awake and knew where I was the whole time. It’s late—almost two in the morning. Jasper’s sweet face rests against my chest, his breath easy and soft.

“Junior, I need you to take me to my home,” I tell him.

Jasper stirs and I rub the back of his head like I did when he was a baby.

“Yeah.” That’s all he says. The distance between us is an ocean. We haven’t spoken the entire ride home.

He takes me to my apartment and opens up the door, reaching for Jasper and pulling him out and into his arms as I climb out.

My urge to snatch my baby back is strong, even though I know Junior means him no harm. Maybe it’s more that he seems too good a this. Too fatherly. Too familiar.

As if he knows it, he hands him to me the second I get out and reaches in for the plastic bag of Jasper’s stuff I collected from Abe’s place.

“Junior.” My voice sounds strangled and unnatural. “I really appreciate what you did for me—getting Jasper back. It means everything to me.” I swallow down the lump in my throat. Tears sting my eyes. “But I just need to be home with him now. So this is goodbye.”

Junior’s face is the same stony mask he’s worn since Indianapolis. It doesn’t change. He just nods and walks me up to the building. Takes my keys and opens the door, then leads the way up the stairs to my place and opens that door, too. He sets Jasper’s things inside the door, but doesn’t cross the threshold.

And then he pulls the door shut.

No touch or word. No goodbye.

Nothing.

It’s just... over.

I don’t know what I wanted, but I’m suddenly sobbing—heartbroken over the choice I made.

But it was the right one.

The only one I could make.

My world—raising my beautiful little boy—it can’t mix with Junior’s world. Not ever again.

Jasper will probably be forever scarred by what he saw back there. He will never forget the night I came for him and my “boyfriend” nearly killed his father.

If I want to raise my son right, I have to walk away from the powerful allure of Junior Tacone. Even if he is my personal hero.

I carry Jasper into my room and lay him on my bed.

My baby’s back. That should be enough.

That should definitely be enough.

I’m sure eventually this emptiness, this queasy panic bubbling up inside me will go away.

Junior

Letting Desiree go feels like taking my face to a grater. My entire body revolts. Every mile I drive away from her sends me into a deeper panic.

But I can’t go back. I won’t try to convince her to be with me.

It’s wrong.

As much as I want to go back there, load her and the boy up and tell them they’re moving in with me, end of story, I can’t.

She needs me out of her life.

After the way I behaved in front of her child, I can’t blame her. I would never allow my own child to see such a thing.

And just like that, the pain of losing Mia is so fresh again, it surges to the surface, mingles with the ache of leaving Desiree. Desiree and Jasper.

Because, yes, I care about that boy, too. He’s part of Desiree. He’s her entire world. I would do anything for him, same as her.

I drive home and drown myself in a bottle of Scotch.

Let her go.

I have to let her go.

Even if it kills me.

“You ever coming out of this office?” Gio pokes his head in my den, where I’ve been sitting for the past seventy-two hours.

I can’t seem to move.

Or speak.

Or do anything.

Paolo called, he’s chasing down a lead on Vlad, and he asked me what to do if he finds him. It turns out the guy was in Russia when the meet at Milano went down, so I don’t know if Ivan was operating on his own or not. Vlad only just turned up back in town to find his entire operation shut down by me.

The order should be, “kill him.”

It’s seems pretty plain, right? Vlad sent his men to kill me, so now that I’ve killed his men, I should hunt him down and kill him.

Except I can’t seem to give the order.

Desiree wouldn’t like it.

Hell, I don’t even like it. I have no proof that Vlad gave the order. And I have no evidence that Vlad is coming after me, though logic says he would. I should be prepared for an attack. I should go on the offensive and take him out.

But I don’t want to.

I don’t actually want to do anything.

“Have you eaten? Or slept?” Gio asks. He left my house the day I drove to Indianapolis—his recovery nearly complete. Now he’s stopped in without an invite. And without knocking.

Or maybe he knocked and I just ignored it.

“You sure as hell haven’t showered.” Gio wrinkles his nose.

I want to pull an old Junior and be an asshole so he’ll leave, but it’s hard for me to be a dick to him. I just keep remembering how it felt to think he might die. Or maybe I just don’t want to be that guy anymore.

“You ever think about getting out of the business?” I ask Gio.

“What?” He walks into my office and drops into a chair across from the desk.

“Like Nico and Stefano. Ever want to leave? Or hope they’ll need you over there?”

Gio’s quiet long enough that I know the answer.

“Why do you stay?”

Gio shrugs. “I’m not going to fucking leave you here to run shit on your own. That’s not fair.”

I’m floored.

One of my brothers is concerned about being fair to me? The biggest dick in the family? All I’ve ever done is thrown my weight around and demand their absolute loyalty and obedience. There’s a hierarchy here, and I make sure they follow it.

My throat closes.

“And someone has to be here to run shit.” I say flatly, although it’s really a question. Is there any chance we could close up shop?

Hang our hats up and retire? Or move onto something better—whatever the hell that may be?

Gio considers me for another long moment. “Is that true?”

“Pops thinks so.”

“Yeah.” Gio fiddles with his Rolex. “But what for? He’s gonna want to kick it on a beach with Ma when he gets out. He’s not going to want this business back.”

“It’s his legacy.”

“The Bellissimo is his fucking legacy. His money, his business—our fucking business—started that. Yeah, Nico was smart. Nico leveraged it right. Hit it big. But we can all hang our names on that project. Because we’re the ones who risked our fucking lives from the time we were old enough to curl our fingers into a fist to earn that money. We gave up our fucking souls for that money.” There’s bitterness in Gio’s voice.

The same bitterness I feel. The kind that’s mingled in with intense loyalty, so it turns inward in shame and crushing darkness.

Would I wish my fate on my own brothers? Have them stay in this business just so I’m not alone?

Hell, no.

I almost lost Gio over this stupid Cosa Nostra.

“Let’s end it.” My throat goes dry as soon as I say it. Shame washes over me. But bigger than the shame, the fear I’m betraying my father, comes relief.

So much relief.

“Yeah?” Gio sounds as shocked as I feel.

“Yeah. Unless Paolo disagrees. We make this unanimous.”

Gio cracks a grin. “I thought this wasn’t a fucking democracy.” He throws the refrain I used to always use back at me.

I can’t quite smile back, but I try. “It is now.”

“And then what?” Gio asks as he gets up.

I shrug, heaviness descending back on my shoulders. “I have no fucking idea.”

“No. Then you go get the girl. “That’s what this is about, right?”

My chest constricts painfully. Not a second has gone by since I drove away from Desiree that I haven’t thought about her. Wondered how she’s doing. What it’s like being reunited with her little boy. Whether she’s carrying my child right now.

I shake my head slowly.

“Junior. Don’t fuck this up. Or if you already did, then you’d better unfuck it. That girl made you happy. You’d better do whatever it takes to figure it out.”

I stare at Gio, not daring to listen to his advice. “But what if my happiness comes at the expense of hers?”

Gio winces a bit as he stands, his hand covering the wound. “Make sure it doesn’t.” He leaves me with that nugget and a wave.

Make sure it doesn’t. Can I?

What would it take to ensure Desiree’s happiness? Quitting the business—I’m doing that.

Divorcing Marne—that’s long overdue. I pick up the phone and dial my lawyer to draw up the papers. I’ll give her half of everything. She’ll be better off than she ever was married or separated from me.

Desiree

Junior Tacone is stalking me.

It’s been three weeks since he dropped me off at my apartment. Three weeks of getting to know my son again, loving him, playing with him, soaking up every second with him. And working my three twelve hour shifts that end at 7:00 p.m.

And every night when I walk out to my car, Junior’s black Maserati is parked somewhere in the vicinity. The first night I pretended I didn’t see him. I fully expected him to get out and corner me against my car, but he didn’t. Nothing happened. I got in my car and drove off, checking in the rear view mirror to see if he followed.

He didn’t.

The second night I marched over to his car. “What are you doing here?” I demanded when he rolled down the window.

“Just making sure you get to your car safely. I don’t like you walking out here alone at night.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Yeah, I did have trouble in this lot one time.” I watched his jaw tighten, expression turn foreboding. “Oh wait, they were your guys, weren’t they?”

He leaned back in his seat. “Well, your ex may show up anytime. I’m not here to interfere in your life. I’m just making sure you have back up if you need it.”

I stared at him, stunned. Well, if he wanted to play bodyguard, I’d let him. I figured he’d get tired of it soon. Or he’d renege on his promise not to interfere.

But neither of those things have happened yet.

And now I know for certain I’m carrying his baby. I had a blood test today at the hospital.

When Junior finds out, he’s going to put his claim on me, just like he’s kept his claim on his wife. I have no delusions that he’ll stay detached or removed.

And like his wife, I’m not sure I have the resources or the guts to fend him off.

I ignore him as I walk by, like I do every night he’s here. And like those nights, he makes no attempt to talk to me or attract my attention.

I get in my car and drive away, fighting the urge to turn around to drive back. Tell him about the baby.

His baby.

Our baby.

If he keeps stalking me like this, he’ll find out soon enough. And I doubt I’ll be strong enough to keep him away when that happens.

And that thought should be frightening, not reassuring.