––––––––

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.

“Shit! We have to go to Northwestern,” Michael says to I don’t know who, and the confusion aggravates me.

“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.”

“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.