Page 58 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

But I don’t walk away, either.

I stay silent, looking at him, knowing exactly what he’s feeling. Is this what it means to have a twin? To sense things without words?

Desmond’s hand comes down on my back, a brief, heavy touch- almost reassuring, but not quite. It’s strange, this unspoken bond between us, and I can’t tell if I want to lean into it or pull away.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice a little more tired now, like the fight’s gone out of him too. Then, after a beat, he adds, “There’s a pub not far from here. The Claddagh Tavern. Good whiskey. Decent enough place to talk.”

I give him a curt nod, staying silent as walk down the long hallway and out of the house.

The door closes behind us, and for the first time since the Warwicks took me in, I’m not sure where I belong anymore. I spent years dreaming of having a family, a real one… a blood family. But now that I’ve got one, I’m starting to wonder if this is what I really fucking wanted.

Chapter 28

Fantasia

Valeria has Piers’s hair and my eyes, and every time I look into them I feel my heart break all over again.

She's sitting in her high chair, methodically destroying a banana while babbling happily to herself. Her red curls are a wild mess despite my best efforts with a brush this morning, and there's already jam from her toast smeared across one chubby cheek. At fifteen months old, she's a force of nature- stubborn, curious, and completely fearless.

Just like her father.

I push that thought away as I wipe her face clean, earning an indignant squawk of protest. “I know, I know,” I murmur, smoothing back her hair. “Mummy’s so mean, making you be clean.”

She rewards my efforts by immediately shoving more banana in her mouth, most of it missing entirely.

I can't help but smile. Even on my worst days, even when the guilt and loneliness threaten to swallow me whole, Valeria's presence is like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. She saved me, in more ways than one.

The pregnancy was brutal. Morning sickness that lasted all day, complications that had me on bed rest for weeks, and the constant, gnawing fear that I would fail this child before she even took her first breath. Labor was worse- thirty-six hours of agony, faced entirely alone except for the kind midwife I hired, who held my hand and reassured me I could do it. A hospital birth without insurance would’ve cost a fortune, and I couldn’t afford that.

But the moment she placed her in my arms, red-faced and screaming... everything changed.

I had to change.

For her.

Valeria means strength. I chose it because I needed her to be stronger than me, braver than me, better than me in every way. And in her fifteen months of life, she’s already proven to be exactly that.

I spent hours in therapy with her in my arms, my baby tucked safely in her carrier while I worked through every trauma, every fear, and every regret. My therapist, Dr. Halston, was a no-nonsense woman who had seen it all. Her experience with addiction and recovery was exactly what I needed. She didn’t sugarcoat things, didn’t let me off the hook with excuses. She helped me face my demons head-on, and that wasn’t easy. Sometimes, I’d leave her office shaking, but I always felt stronger after.

I went to an AA group in a nearby town, a small circle of people who were all battling their own issues. They didn’t look at me with pity, didn’t judge me for my past. They just listened.

And I read. Everything I could get my hands on. Self-help books. Parenting guides. Books on overcoming addiction, on building a better life, on finding the courage to be vulnerable. I devoured them. It was all a slow climb, but with each page, I built the foundation for something better, something I could give to Valeria. She became the reason I kept going, the reason I didn’t give up.

In the quiet moments, when I was too scared to look at the past or face the future, it was Valeria’s tiny hand in mine that gave me the strength to push through. And through all of it, Dr. Halston was there, guiding me like a steady anchor, reminding me that change was possible, that I wasn’t beyond saving. Together, they gave me the strength to face myself, to admit that I needed help, that I couldn’t keep running forever. And now, every time I look at Valeria, I see the courage and strength I thought I’d never have.

The clock on the wall catches my eye- nearly time for our morning walk into town. I clean Valeria up properly this time, changing her into a fresh outfit and packing her diaper bag while she toddles around the living room, “helping” by moving her toys from one spot to another.

Our house is small but bright, with worn hardwood floors and walls I painted myself during my pregnancy. The kitchen needs updating, and the back porch creaks ominously when it rains, but it’s ours. Safe. Private. Home.

I bought it outright with the money Achilles left me, knowing I couldn’t risk a mortgage or any kind of paper trail. I funneled the purchase through a land trust, keeping my name off the records and ensuring no one could trace it back to me. Every dollar is carefully budgeted, stretched as far as I can make it go, but it won’t last forever. Soon, I’ll need to find work.

The thought makes my stomach clench. How can I work and still be there for Valeria? How can I trust anyone else with her safety?

I check my reflection in the hall mirror as I gather my things. I look... different. Softer, maybe. My hair is longer than it used to be, fuller too- healthier. Probably from eating real meals, staying sober, and shedding some of the stress that used to weigh me down. There are faint lines under my eyes that hadn’t been there two years ago, but my face has more color now, a warmth that wasn’t there before. Perhaps from the time I spend outside- with Valeria at the playground, in the garden, just living.

I don’t look like the ghost I used to be. I don’t look like a Warwick or an Ashwood or anyone else’s weapon.

I just look like Valeria’s mother.

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