And then even more silence.
My fingers twist in the sheets, praying that he'll say something, anything at all.
“I can't deal with that answer,” he says instead, turning his back on me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
“I thought we were all right? After everything we’ve been through. I can’t lose you.”
“That’s not your decision, Hope. It never has been.”
Twenty-Nine
“She should be here in around ten minutes, boss,” Luca says, opening the driver’s door. “Torino’s bringing her.” Good. I nod and back off as he slides in, and then watch him filter back into the traffic downtown.
It’s been a long two weeks, and it's time to right some of the wrongs I’ve put her through in that time. I had my reasons, my own thoughts to try finding my way through, but I doubt she’s felt that. She’ll have seen a sense of unease in me, moody fucking behaviour and barely spoken words. I wish it could have been easier than that but finding out I’m gonna be a father has ripped the guts out of me in a way I never thought possible. I heard that heartbeat when Daniel did the scan, knew it was real. She doesn’t know anything, still, but I do, and that’s been reason enough for me to stay quiet.
Snow is coming now, lightly dusting the streets around me. It’s pretty. Well, as pretty as the damned city gets with me in it. I stand on 34th, checking out the mill of cars rumbling past. No place for a kid, really. Murder, crime. Endless drug runners hitting these streets, like I used to do all those years ago. Although, I never did that here. We were too big for that shit by the time father upscaled us here, but he sent others out doing it for him.
The car pulls up after a while, and my hand reaches for the door handle to help her. She slides those legs of hers out, this time encased in fucking jeans and boots. Not sure if I like them or not, but whatever. I’ve got bigger things to worry about than clothing, or how fucking good she looks in them.
“Hi,” she says, finding her feet.
“Hey.”
She looks around her, a puzzled expression dropping onto her face.
“What am I doing here?”
“Wanted to talk to you.” Not sure how the fuck I’m gonna say it, but it needs saying. Plenty of things need saying, one being something I can’t find words for.
“On 34th?”
“No, come on.”
I start walking without her, then check myself back and hover around her side, offering her my arm to hold onto. She looks at me, and then the crook of my elbow, suspicion written all over her face. I’m not surprised. I must have seemed like a dick to her this last two weeks. She takes it anyway and we head up through the people, my presence forging a fucking wall of death to anyone who dares go near her.
“So?” she questions after a few minutes.
“Not here,” I reply, cutting and weaving through the people until I can get us to the entrance.
The heat hits us as we turn through the revolving doors, and she looks around, more suspicion on her brow. “Why are we here?” she asks.
I ignore her and head for the concierge, eyes scanning the desk for yet another person I control. Eventually, Marta Angelo comes up and smiles at me, giving a nod of recognition.
“Vico,” she says, rounding the desk and stepping through the hall to me. “I’ve cleared it out. Two hours gonna be okay?”
“Sounds good.” She leads us over to the elevator, smiling at Hope every now and then. “Mama all right?”
“You probably know Mama better than I do. She’s always all right,” she replies, pressing the call button. “I’ve tried to get her to modernise the bakery but—”
“Yeah. Old school,” I cut in. She laughs.
“Okay. Have fun up there. I’ve left some coffee out for you. I’ll send your regards to her.”
I nod and walk Hope in as the elevator opens, watching as a new breed of old school walks away from us. Mama’s daughter, one of the only ones who dared leave the old streets and smarten herself up. Thanks to me. I got her a manager’s job here after Sergio died, had her set up in an apartment.
