Armando’s eyes go dead. He launches into action, his movements jerky and mechanical. He moves through the apartment and packs his things into the duffel bag he brought over. He picks Shadow up from the floor where he’s twining around his ankles. He brings him up to his face and kisses my kitten’s head. “Take care of her, you hear me?”
He walks to the door. “I’m sorry, Hannah.” His voice is tight and gruff.
I nod, closing my throat around my sobs.
It feels so wrong, but I know it’s the right thing to do. I’m not saddling this baby with a father who doesn’t want him. I’m not going to have the discussion with Armando about whether or not to keep it.
I’m keeping it. And he’s got to go. That’s all there is to it.
I don’t have room in my life for a non-boyfriend. Not when this baby’s going to need everything I have to give it.
He looks at me like he wants to say something else but then just nods and turns back to the door. He opens it, walks through and closes it without looking back.
And the moment he’s gone, I drop to my knees and sob.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Armando
The world dims the moment Hannah tells me to leave.
I know it’s for the best. I’ve known all along I should leave because I’m fucking toxic to her. I have zero to offer, and on top of that, every minute I spend with her puts her life in danger with the people who want me dead.
And Christ, when I thought she was pregnant, I couldn’t think of anything worse. Endangering a helpless infant? I’d have to leave her—never see her again, not even as a friend.
So her making the decision for me should’ve made it easier.
It should have.
But a grey haze descends around my vision as I stand out on the street with my duffel bag and try to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do.
And then, because I honestly didn’t give a fuck if the Hermanos want to kill me now, I head to my apartment.
I take the L because I can’t stand the thought of being cooped up with an Uber driver. At the apartment, I pass the landlord in the hallway, and he gives me the stink eye.
I can’t even bring myself to react. Not a look. Not a blink. Definitely not a grunt of hello.
Go fuck yourself is what I say in my head.
And then I find myself pounding on Marco’s door. Not because I need a shoulder to cry on. Fuck that. But because I’d love somebody’s face to pound, and chances are good Marco’s got someone he needs to send a message to—from the don.
“Hey, what’s up?” Marco asks, pulling the door wide and studying my face.
I don’t say anything, just stalk in without seeing him or his place.
“You got anybody to send a message to?”
Marco gives me a wary look. “You need to put the hurt on someone?”
“Yeah.”
Marco shoves his hands in his pockets and angles his body half away from mine, like he doesn’t want to bear the full weight of my focus if it’s directed at him. “Hannah?”
Some of the blur in my vision clears at having my problem named.
“I don’t want to talk about her,” I snarl because, like I said, I’m out for blood right now.
“You guys seemed super tight the other night. You’ve been inseparable. What happened?”
