“My whore room?” I question.
“The guest room.” She sits on the chair in front of my desk. “You know, I’ve always wondered whythatroom. Why would you take someone intothatroom and not your own? I mean, we fucked plenty of times in this penthouse, everywhere, but never in a guest room.”
“You want me to fuck you in a guest room, Antonia?” I ask her. Because I will. Maybe if I do, it’ll override all the bad memories.
“No. I want to know why you’d cheat on me in the first place. And why in that room?”
“I didn’t,” I admit. I shouldn’t be telling her this. I should be going along with the lie. It’s not like she’s going to believe me anyway.
“What?”
“I didn’t cheat on you. You saw what you were supposed to see, Antonia. I needed you to stay away from me, and that… Well, it worked.” I shrug. It hurt a bit that she didn’t get mad. She didn’t try to fight for us. She simply walked away.
“Okay, sure.” She laughs.
“You don’t have to believe me.” I return my attention to the computer and start typing. What Jazzy said in Louie’s office is bugging me. I need to find her mother, or what happened to her at the very least.
“What are you doing?” Antonia asks.
I look over at her.Why is she even in here?We haven’t talked—not really—since she moved in. And now she wants to chat like we’re old friends? I decide not to question it. Maybe it’s a breakthrough of sorts.
“Looking for Jasmine’s mother,” I tell her.
“Do you really not know who your daughter’s mother is?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be looking for her, Antonia.” I sigh.
“Jeez, fine. What do you know about her?” she says.
“Her name, according to Jazzy’s school files, is Penelope Eve Morrison. She’s twenty-five, lived in a trailer. She had my daughter living in a fucking trailer, Antonia. All these years, she knew where I was. Why wouldn’t she come to me for help?” I’ve been racking my brain for the answer to that ever since Jazzy showed up on my doorstep.
“You’re not always that approachable.” Antonia laughs. “So, you were with her, this Penelope woman, when you were both teens?”
“I did a lot of stupid shit as a kid. I never thought I’d knock someone up, though. I was careful.”
“Clearly not that careful.” She snorts. “Okay, so… did you love her?”
I look at my wife, giving her my full attention. “I’ve loved one woman in my entire life, Antonia. We both know who that is.”
She swallows. “What are you going to do when you find her? Jazzy’s mom?”
“I don’t know. I’m doing this for Jazzy, not me. Personally, I couldn’t give a fuck if the woman ever shows up again. I’m not giving my daughter back.”
“Good,” Antonia says. “Look, I’m obviously not mothering material, but I don’t think any mother in their right mind would just abandon a kid. To a mobster of all people.”
“What makes you think you’re not mothering material?” I haven’t thought about having kids with her, but Antonia would make a great mother.
“You don’t even trust me to get your daughter a drink, Carlo,” she says.
“That’s not about you,” I tell her.
“Really? And where is she now? Jazzy?”
“With Sammie. He took her for ice cream,” I say.
“So, Sammie, Louie, even Emmanuel can look after her. But me you don’t trust?” Antonia asks.
I didn’t know that was bothering her. I didn’t even think she cared, to be honest.
