Ryder was feeling anxious by the time he got close to his house. He needed to make this stop quick and get over to Fairfield Street to see what was going on. There was little time left if he was going to stop this wedding. Taking out a mob boss wasn’t going to be easy, but he saw no better way out—no other way out at all—than to kill Solano. How many guys would he have around him? Ryder would kill as many as it took. All of them if he had to. He’d take out the entire mob family. Let them come after him. So what? What difference did it make? If he had Pia, he had everything.

 

He turned into his driveway and shut the car door hard as he bolted for his house. He unlocked the door fast and threw it open, not even bothering to make sure it was closed all the way. He was headed straight for the bathroom when a man wearing a black mask jumped out of the bedroom, blocking his way.

 

“What the hell?” Ryder said. “Now what?”

 

The man lifted a crow bar and swung at Ryder, but he ducked easily.

 

“What’s the deal?” Ryder asked. This had to be one of Matteo’s guys. They knew he’d gotten out of the basement and weren’t happy about it. But really, why should they care? If he was staying away from Pia like they wanted him to—and he was, for now—then why was this guy coming after him now?

 

“You scumbag,” the man said, and Ryder recognized Lorenzo’s voice. “You think you can just knock up the boss’s daughter and get away with it? Matteo wants you dead.”

 

Two words came to Ryder’s mind. Oh. Fuck. They knew. He didn’t have time to stop and think how they knew, but they knew.

 

Lorenzo swung the crowbar at him again, and in Ryder’s momentary panic, he reacted a split second too slowly. The crow bar whacked hard into his already aching ribs. Ryder screamed in pain. He couldn’t help it. The broken ribs already burned like his chest was on fire when he was just trying to move or breathe. But to be hit there with a metal crow bar? He thought he was going to pass out, the pain was so sharp. It was like a searing white hot poker shoved into his side. If Lorenzo had stabbed him with a knife, it would have hurt less. Much less.

 

Ryder actually saw stars, and the room started to blink in black dots. He fell to his knees. Before Lorenzo could strike again, Ryder fell forward and grabbed his legs in a tight hug. He pulled, sending fresh agony through his chest, but also knocking Lorenzo to the ground.

 

He hit the ground hard, with a thump so loud and solid it sounded like he was going to crash through the floor. Ryder punched him in the gut and got a hit to his jaw before Lorenzo sat up.

 

“Let’s lose the mask, Lorenzo.” Ryder ripped it from his face. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t recognize your voice?”

 

“Did you honestly think you’d get away with this? No good piece of trash like you? You thought you’d what, marry Pia and have a baby with her?” Lorenzo laughed, putting his hand to his stomach to either mask his pain or to make the laughter seem more dramatic.

 

But Ryder wasn’t laughing. Lorenzo had dropped the crowbar when he fell. Ryder snatched it up and held it, letting the rounded end hit his palm over and over as he glared at Lorenzo.

 

“You know,” Ryder said, “you all act so high and mighty, but who does all your killing for you? Who does the dirty work you can’t handle? You’d be wise to remember what exactly my area of expertise is.” Ryder stood over Lorenzo, who looked up at him with shock.

 

Ryder brought the bar down hard on his shin, using both hands and all his weight to create as much force as possible. Lorenzo screamed out in pain when the bar hit, and there was a satisfying crunch. Bones were just too easy to break. And with a metal bar? Like a hot knife through butter practically. Child’s play. And no matter what Lorenzo thought or said, it was clear, he was the one losing this game, not Ryder.

 

“You’re dead,” Lorenzo whispered, his face white with pain.

 

“Funny you say that,” Ryder said. He lifted the bar again and brought it down on Lorenzo’s head.

 

Lorenzo fell back, unconscious. Blood streamed down his head.

 

“You’re the one who looks dead.”

 

Ryder stood up, pulled his gun from its holster at the small of his back, and pointed it right at Lorenzo’s forehead. He squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet straight into his brain. Ryder reached down and felt for his pulse. When it went still and silent, he stood up and went to his closet.

 

He pulled out all his best guns. The rifle he used for distance killing with the perfect sight and scope, the handguns he used for closer shots. He checked them all, making sure they were fully loaded. He stuck one handgun at his back, another at his ankle. His knife was at his waist, like always. He paused in the bathroom to get more painkillers. He popped a few in his mouth, then shoved the bottle in his pocket.

 

He picked up his rifle and was ready. He went to his car, full of determination and purpose, and tossed his gun in as he slid behind the driver’s seat. As soon as he sat, though, he leaned over, sticking his head out of the car to throw up.

 

The pain was too much. Every step, every inhale, sent new agony through him. His mind whirled and if he moved too fast, the black spots came back, threatening to pull him under. He needed a shower and to sleep. He needed more pills. But he had no time for any of that.

 

If the physical pain wasn’t enough, the fear was making him sick as well. His mind whirled and the most prevalent thought was that Pia was in danger. Their baby was in danger. Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe Matteo had already done something. Maybe they were already both dead. The thought made him crazy.

 

He started thinking of all the things Matteo might have done to her. Would he drag her off to some clinic and kill their baby? Would he throw her down the stairs to take care of it? Or would he just shoot her in the head and be done with her altogether?

 

He spat on the ground several times, but it seemed that he was finally done throwing up. He needed to drive. Not another second could be wasted. He may be too late already.

 

He sped off and any time a thought of how Pia might be on the floor bleeding at this very moment came into his mind, he replaced it with an image of what he wanted to do to Matteo.

 

He could slit his throat and watch his blood pour from the wound until he was pale and lifeless. He could smash his skull, making him feel every blow until he felt nothing ever again. He could point his gun at his forehead and make him beg. That idea in particular was appealing. Make him pay for what he’d done to them with his pride. It didn’t really matter how Matteo died. Only that he did. Ryder had never wanted to kill someone so badly in all his life.

 

He grabbed his phone and dialed Pia’s number. At this point, what did it matter? Everyone knew what they’d been trying to hide. Ryder was already on his way to save her and kill her father. But he wanted to know if she was okay. He wanted to tell her he was coming so she could be ready and waiting. But most of all, he wanted to hear her voice.

 

That sweet lilt, that prissy tone. He wanted to see her cock her head and put her hand on her hip in some display of dramatic outrage. He wanted to feel her tiny body in his arms and her fingers running through his hair. The first chance he got, he was going to throw her down and take her. He needed to feel her tight body wrapped around his.

 

The phone rang and rang. Her voice mail came on. “You’ve reached Pia, you lucky thing. Leave a message, and if I feel like it, I’ll call you back.” She ended her recording with a kissing sound. He called back just to listen to her voice mail greeting one more time.

 

He called her other phone, the disposable one that might still be secret. She didn’t answer that one either, and this one didn’t have a voice recording.

 

He threw his phone back down. He hadn’t really expected her to answer, but he’d been hoping for it. His heart, stomach, and mind needed to know that she was okay. Or that she was alive at least. Once he knew that, he could breathe again. Until then, he was existing in the space between knowing and not knowing, where only anxiety lived.

 

***

 

“Wake up.”

 

Pia stirred at the sound of her father’s voice. He shook her shoulder roughly, making her head jump and flop until she sat up.

 

“Stop it,” she said groggily. “I’m awake.”

 

“Get up. The doctor’s here.”

 

“The what?” She rubbed her eyes. Her mouth was sticky and tasted disgusting. She needed water and to brush her teeth. She needed a shower, too. She felt dirty all over. And now she was starving, not having eaten all day.

 

“The doctor is here to see you.”

 

“I’m fine,” she said, pushing the covers back and kicking her feet over the side. “I don’t need a doctor.”

 

Her father reached out and yanked her to her feet. He shoved her forward, toward an older man standing there, watching with a stern look on his face. She’d never seen this man before. He wasn’t dressed like a doctor. No long white coat or anything. He wore jeans and a button-down shirt and didn’t look professional at all aside from the briefcase at his side.

 

“He’s here to take care of your…situation.”

 

“My what?” Her voice came out as a squeak.

 

“Just get this over with, Pia. Then maybe I’ll be able to stand to look at you again.” Her father turned from her and shut the door hard behind him, leaving her alone with the doctor.

 

“I feel okay,” Pia said. “I don’t know why he called you. It’s just morning sickness. No big deal.”

 

The doctor set his leather briefcase on her dresser and opened it, then took out a small pill bottle. He pushed and turned to remove the lid, then poured out two round yellow pills. He put the bottle back, and stretched out his hand to her, presenting the pills to her as a gift.

 

“What are those?” she asked.

 

“This is what I came for. They will make you feel better.”

 

She took a step back. Something about this did not feel right. “I feel fine.”

 

“You’ll feel even better after you take them.”

 

She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

 

The doctor gave her a frustrated look. “Your father sent me to you to take care of this. And I fully intend to.”

 

“Take care of this?” She put her hand instinctively to her belly. “What are those pills?”

 

“They will remedy your situation.”

 

“Why does everyone keep saying that? You mean they’ll kill my baby, is that it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No.” She backed farther away. “I’m not going to do that.”

 

“You don’t have a choice.”

 

“You’re a doctor! You can’t force me to do this. I don’t want to kill my baby. Didn’t you take an oath to only help people?”

 

He glared at her and his lip twitched up in a snarl. “That doesn’t apply when a mob boss asks you for a favor. And I’d rather not have to answer to him and tell him why I was unable to do it. Now take the pills.”

 

“I won’t! You can’t make me.”

 

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong.”

 

She watched in horror as he opened the briefcase again. He set the pills carefully beside it on the dresser. Then he took out a syringe and a glass bottle. He filled the syringe with the liquid and closed the briefcase.

 

Pia backed up to the door. She turned the knob, intending to run as fast and as far as she could before they caught her and brought her back. But the knob wouldn’t turn. She faced the door and used both hands. It wouldn’t budge.

 

She banged on the door, tears now streaming down her face. “Let me out!” She screamed at the camera, “You can’t do this to me!”

 

“Pia.” The doctor stood calmly across her room, holding the syringe in one hand and the pills in the other. “You can make this much easier on yourself if you just take the pills. I don’t want to have to force you.”

 

“Then don’t.” She forced herself to calm and made her voice softer, trying to be persuasive. “I know you may think my father is powerful, but he’s just a man. Do you really want to live the rest of your life with murder on your hands? Knowing that you forced an innocent girl to kill a baby she dearly loved and wanted more than anything? Do you really want to face the guilt from that?”

 

“It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” he said coldly.

 

She was sickened at his words and careless tone and expression. She had to think quickly. There had to be a way to convince him. She walked closer to him and dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “Look.” She glanced toward the camera in the wall and turned so that they couldn’t read her lips. “We can pretend like I took the pills. My father won’t blame you. You’ll get paid and whatever. He’ll think it’s done and that’ll be that. When nothing happens, I’ll just say the pills didn’t work. Or I’ll tell him I spit them out or something. Just don’t make me do this. My father is mean and crazy. He’s trying to marry me off to some mob guy I don’t even know. Help me. Please.”

 

They looked at each other for a long time. This had to work. Had to. If she couldn’t convince him, it was all over. He’d overpower her easily. She wasn’t that strong and she was weak from throwing up and not eating. They hadn’t brought her food today yet. Were they now trying to make her weak? Was this just part of her father’s game? Starve her and torture her into doing what he wanted? When she had the thought, her chest went cold. That was probably exactly what he was doing.

 

How long had it been since she ate? A day? More? She cursed herself for skipping meals when she had had the chance to eat. Who knew when she would be fed again? Maybe they’d just let her starve to death. Maybe he thought it would kill the baby. And it likely would do something awful to it. It couldn’t be a good thing, right? Growing babies needed nutrition. They were both in trouble if she didn’t eat something soon.

 

But that was the least of her worries in this moment. If he made her take those pills, it wouldn’t matter what she ate or didn’t eat. The baby would be gone. Her throat burned and went thick. She couldn’t let that happen.

 

She almost laughed at the idea that she’d considered even for a moment that she could give up the baby and marry Paolo. The second her baby was in danger, it was clear that she would never be able to do that. There was so much love in her for this baby and its father, and it ignited the motherly instincts she didn’t even know she had. Forget the money. There was no way that would be an option because giving up her baby was not an option.

 

The only thing now was to survive. She would not go down without a fight. She may not have much, but she would give it all she had. Would do anything she could to protect her baby. She’d die trying if she had to.

 

The doctor held up the syringe and took a step toward her.