It just isn’t fair. Luca’s a good man. He’s vicious and violent, but he cares about me. He gives me what I need and seems to genuinely put my needs and wants ahead of his own. All the while, I’ve done nothing but plan on running away from him while hiding a massive secret.
I have to tell him about the baby.
It’s time. I can’t keep going on like this. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a bad person, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I hid this from him any longer. Maybe I’ll still run away, and maybe he’ll respect that and let me go, but I can’t do it like this.
Not with this massive secret growing in my belly.
I head out into the hallway and down the stairs. The second to last step creaks, and I hop over it, trying to tell myself I’m strong, I can handle this, and if I can fix cars, then I can tell my husband that I’m pregnant.
But as I start to head down into the basement, my resolve begins to slip.
What if he freaks out? What if he keeps me locked up in our room or something? He’s got some weirdly old-fashioned ideas. Maybe he’ll force me to stay in bed like it’s the eighteenth century or whatever. I reach the last step and look out over the basement home gym, and suddenly I don’t know how I’m going to do this.
Luca’s just finishing. He’s sitting on a bench, hunched over, in a black tank top and shorts. Sweat mists his gorgeous body. His muscles are incredible, and the ink on his arms still makes me shiver. How could a man like this really care so much about me? I want to pretend like he’s nothing more than a mafia asshole, but I’ve seen a side of Luca that I never thought would be there.
He’s warm. He’s caring. And he wants to give me a good life.
Here I am, trying to run away from him.
Slowly, he looks up. Our eyes meet. And all my resolve evaporates into mist.
“You okay?” he asks, wiping his forehead with a towel.
“I’m fine. Wanted to see what you were up to.” That sounds so lame, and I’m embarrassed the second I say it.
But he smiles instead. Like he’s happy I’m searching him out. “Just got finished. You hungry?”
I touch my stomach. “Not particularly.” Should I tell him that I’ve been getting sick most mornings? He hasn’t noticed yet because he’s usually gone before I’m up. But can I keep it from him forever? “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Anything you want.” He leans back. I admire his chest and his stomach. His lips pull into a crooked smile, and god, he’s too handsome.
“Do you have a panic room?”
I don’t know why the question spills out, but I say it before I can stop myself. My heart’s racing all over again, and my fingers feel tingly and numb. He frowns slightly and shakes his head.
“Never saw the need for one. Would you feel better if I did?”
“No,” I say quickly, much too quickly. “No, not at all. I’m kind of relieved. I mean, I hate those things.” I laugh awkwardly and wish I could fold myself inside out and disappear into the universe.
He’s studying me now. God, this was dumb. Luca isn’t stupid. He knows something’s going on. “You can talk about it, you know. If you want to tell me.”
I open my mouth, ready to make some joke or stupid comment to deflect, but I stop before I can. He looks so earnest, and suddenly I feel all that horror and sadness pressing up against my throat. What if I really did talk about it? Would that be so bad? I didn’t come down here for this, but maybe it’s a good first step. Let him see a piece of me I try to keep hidden. Let him inside, at least a little bit.
“I guess you kind of figured out I had a bad experience a while back.”
“You and your sister.”
I nod a little and sink down onto the floor. I sit cross-legged on a mat. He joins me, one hand on my knee.
“I was thirteen. Elisa was eleven…”
“What’s that noise?”Elisa stood in my doorway looking confused. She was clutching an old stuffy against her chest. A ratty teddy bear she hadn’t played with in years. Our rooms shared a door that we kept unlocked and open most of the time. “Is someone lighting off fireworks?”
More cracks and explosions from outside. Someone screams like they’re in pain, and I know what’s happening. I shouldn’t know, but I know, because I know what my family does. They try to hide it around the younger kids except I’m not that young anymore. I’m old enough to see and hear things I shouldn’t.
“Those are gunshots,” I say, jumping out of bed. “And I think they’re close.”
Elisa’s eyes go wide. She always was small and scared. I hurry over to her, not sure what we’re supposed to do, and pull her against me. We retreat back into my bed, and I hold her tight as the shooting gets louder and the screams get louder, and suddenly the whole house trembles as something explodes.
