Chapter 29 Unexpected Pregnancy's
“I was with Kiara. She was going through something at home. I was trying to help her.”
“I don’t care!” I scream. “You’re supposed to know about these things. This is your job, Michael.”
My fist is flying before I know it, catching him square in the jaw. He steps back. I go to throw another punch, but Tony intercepts me, stepping between us.
“Roman,” he pleads.
I close my eyes and run a hand through my hair, trying to calm myself.
When I regain some semblance of calm, I look at Michael.
“You’re lucky to be my brother, Mikey,” I say.
He nods once.
“It won’t happen again, Don.”
I sit down in my chair, my mind whirring as I consider my next move.
“They still have the guns and the drugs. We can get it back,” Tony says.
I shake my head.
“No. They need to pay for what they did. I won’t let them get away with it.”
My fists clench as I make my decision.
“Call Christian D’Angelo,” I tell Michael. “Today seems like a good day to take down a mafia organization.”
Elena.
My period is late.
Five days late, to be exact. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve missed my period. It doesn’t happen often.
But it has happened before, says a reassuring voice in my head.
Yeah, but not after unprotected sex with a man I’m pretty sure hates my guts.
I tell myself not to panic. But the truth is, I absolutely do. I left New York a month ago. I slept with Roman a month ago. If I'm pregnant…I can't even finish my thought. I've been so busy at work that I haven't had time to sleep with anyone.
I manage to suppress the dread I feel as I get dressed for the day. I grab my car keys, my phone, my purse, whatever I need, and walk out of my apartment.
I'm perfectly balanced at work, and I'm efficient at my tasks. I don't think about the fact that I haven't gotten my period. I don't even consider that possibility.
Until the workday is over, and I find myself in front of my neighborhood drugstore. I walk in and grab a pregnancy test from the aisle. Then I take five more, just in case. The cashier gives me a sympathetic look. I ignore it, preferring to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
When I get home, I feel much calmer. If I were pregnant, I would feel it, right? But I'm fine. No morning sickness, bloating, or any of the other symptoms that pregnant women experience.
It's only been a month, an annoying voice whispers in my head.
“Shut up,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
My heart starts beating faster. I go to the bathroom to take a test. After I finish peeing, I sit down on the toilet and wait for the line to read.
Oh, God, please. I'm only twenty-five. I have a full-time job. I can't take care of another person.
I only remember to pray to God when I need something from him. Besides, I forgot he even exists. That's why I doubt he's listening to me right now.
I'm proven right when the test comes back positive. The plus sign on it can only mean one thing.
I just stare and stare, and then stare some more. I let out a maniacal laugh, reaching for another test. I take all five tests in less than twenty minutes. My body produces as much urine as I need. By the time the last one comes back, my mind is tired of delusions. I get up and go to the bedroom, then fall face down on the bed.
Screw my life.
“Okay. I’m an adult. I’m twenty-five, and I have a career. I can do this.”
When I say it out loud, it doesn’t sound so bad. But I’m an unmarried Italian girl whose family is connected to a Mafia crime syndicate. And I’m pregnant with the don of that syndicate’s child.
Before I left home, they were discussing my marriage. I had just managed to convince my father to give me a little more time. And now…
This is a fucking disaster. I turn over in bed and look at the ceiling of my room. My hand slides down to my stomach, and I squeeze it lightly.
I'm having a baby.
I fall asleep with this thought, not knowing what the next day will bring. And I have no idea what I'll do.
When the morning comes, I repeat the whole process of getting dressed and go to work. However, by the time I get home, I'm starting to feel desperate. I need to plan a course of action, but I have no idea what to do.
In moments like these, when I'm in doubt, I call my brother.
Tony picks up on the third ring.
"Little sister," he says by way of greeting. My eyes widen as I hear a gunshot, followed by a colorful stream of expletives.
"What the hell?" I ask, my heart pounding.
Several shots are fired in quick succession.
"Tony, where the hell are you?"
He's breathing heavily as he answers.
"In the middle of a shootout. Those Gallo bastards don't die easily.”
I grab my hair, trying not to lose it. I swear I can feel my sanity slipping away.
“Tony, why are you answering a call in the middle of a shootout?”
“I haven’t talked to you in two weeks,” he says. “Of course I’m answering a call from my little sister.”
I hear a gunshot, much louder than the others, and too close for comfort.
“Shit!” Tony screams.
I jump to my feet, my heart pounding.
“Tony? Are you okay?” Tony!