I close my eyes and inhale a breath before I slip my phone into the pocket of my black pants suit. “Sorry.”
“What’s so important that you can’t be present for the ultrasound, anyway?” She asks, fiddling with the pillow she’s resting on.
“Work stuff.” I lie through my teeth. Nothing work-related about having Scotty follow Griffin around the last six weeks. It’s been purely for my sanity. The second anyone catches wind of what that man means to me, he’ll be dead. And I won’t have that.
And by anyone, I mean Camille Sorrentino’s father. Giovanni Sorrentino is a cold-blooded killer, and one of the head five families inLa Cosa Nostra. And his daughter is an unwed middle-aged woman carrying the next heir to the Irish Mob.
So yeah, I am a little worried about the guy figuring out my weakness has a beating heart, two balls, and a dick. He’ll take out Griffin and serve his head on a gold platter at my forced marriage to Camille.
I sure as fuck won’t have that. I slide a finger into the nape of my turtleneck, suddenly feeling too hot.
“You only ever fly to New York for my appointments. We need to discuss things, Patrick,” Camille says, cutting through my train of thought.
“You’re pregnant with my child. I’m here. What’s there to discuss?”
She glances at me from the hospital bed she’s on, her mouth agape like I’ve just said something incomprehensible.
“Like where we’ll live, for starters? Have you even told your family?”
“You’ll move to Boston after you have the baby.”
She shakes her head. “No. New York is my home.”
I blink once, twice. Surely, she’s not for real. She must know that’s impossible for me. “I’m not able to move my business to New York, Camille. You’ll move to Boston. It’s the safest option for our child.”
“I’m sure Daddy can get you a job working with him.”
I draw a brow, skepticism clear on my pursed lips. My hand twitches to reach for my phone, already bored with this conversation. I can’t tell if she seriously believes that my coming to work for her father as a foot soldier for the Italians is a reasonable compromise for the second in command to the Irish mob.
“Camille. Do you understand what I do? Who I am?”
She shrugs, glancing toward the door. A line forms on her lips as if she’s determined to will the ultrasound tech to come in here and cut the conversation short. She seems to realize it won’t work, and huffs. “Yes, Patrick. I know who you are and what you do.”
“Right. So coming to take a position here won’t work. I’m very important in Boston. You’ll have to move, Camille. It’s the only way.” I don’t save my patience for her, remaining stern in my response. She’ll have to learn now that she can’t manipulate me any more than I already have been.
I can almost see the steam coming from her ears. Her cheeks turn red, and she chews on her bottom lip. Her foot taps at a fast pace. I hold my breath while I wait for her to respond with another argument. I can’t do another fight. It’s why I only ever visit on appointment days, why I’ve made it clear that I don’t want a relationship with her beyond that of co-parenting. We just don’t work.
She’s not Griffin.
My mind goes back to the night we met five months ago. Callum and I had been in New York for a wedding. We’d been seated with Sorrentino at the reception.
I don’t remember much of the night spent with her. I know she was there, that we’d been seated next to each other. The smell of her expensive perfume is clear, one of the strong points of that night.
It smelled off, too feminine, and not at all like the masculine, musky cologne Griffin wears.
I remember the way she laughed too hard at my jokes, touching my arm whenever she did. She was trying too hard to gain my attention, and despite her looks being something that I normally went for, her personality was unattractive.
It’s always been a turnoff for me. Women have always found my looks to be charming. I’ve got the dark, soft hair that they're envious of, the sparkling blue eyes, and a boyish grin that’s gotten me out of trouble since I could talk.
Now, put me next to a man or woman who isn’t interested, who doesn’t see me as just a pleasant face to look at, and I’ll throw myself all over them. That’s what attracts me.
Plus, I woke up in my hotel room the next morning. Camille hadn’t been there. There was no sign that anyone had ever visited my room. So, when she showed up on my doorstep claiming to be pregnant with my child two months ago, I’d been blindsided.
I didn’t believe her at first, but the more she spoke about the night, the more I thought she was telling the truth. And then the prenatal paternity test proved it. And there was nothing I could do to convince Griffin that I was sorry for what I’d done.
A knock sounds at the door, and then the ultrasound technician comes in. She’s short and blonde with a bright smile. Her eyes land on me, then she quickly turns toward Camille. “Hey there. I’m Holly. I’m doing your exam today. Twenty weeks, it’s such a fun one! Do you want to find out what you’re having?”
“Yes.” Camille nods. “I’m Camille. This is my husband, Patrick.”
