Page 59 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

She waddles up to me, arms raised in silent demand. I scoop her up, resting her on my hip, and press a kiss to her temple. “Ready to go, love?”

She claps her hands, delighted, as if she understands that our walk to town is one of the best parts of both our days.

We step outside, greeted by the lingering chill of early spring, the air still crisp but carrying the first hints of warmth. The wind carries the scent of damp earth and fresh grass, and the trees lining our path are budding with the soft greens of new growth. Valeria babbles happily in my ear as I settle her into the stroller, adjusting the little sweater I’d bundled her in.

The town I chose to disappear into is little more than a dot on the map, nestled between forested hills and winding country roads no one has any reason to pass through. The houses are mostly older, with wide porches and weathered shutters, and the shops along the main street all belong to families who’ve been here for generations.

It’s quiet. Ordinary. Safe.

And for the first time in my life, I’ve let myself be ordinary too.

The small town has been kinder to me than I deserve. They welcomed me- Sarah, I tell them to call me- with open arms. A young mother starting over, they say. So brave, they whisper.

They don’t ask questions. They don’t pry into the past I carry like an old wound. When I arrived, pregnant and alone, they embraced me without hesitation. The old women in the market cooed over my belly and slipped me extra bread with knowing looks. The waitress at the café offered me chamomile tea instead of coffee without being asked. When Valeria was born, my neighbor left a handmade quilt on my porch with a card that simply read,For your little one. Here if you ever need anything.

They bring casseroles when Valeria is sick and offer babysitting services. And yet, even now, with all the kindness I've been shown, I still struggle to accept it. I take what Valeria needs, but never more. I nod politely when comfort is offered, but rarely reach for it. Because one day, all of this could vanish. One day, the past I left behind might come looking for me.

Which is why I always check in at the bookstore.

The bell above the door chimes as I push the stroller inside, the scent of worn paper and sawdust greeting me. The place is small, the kind of independent shop that specializes in battered secondhand novels and obscure treasures buried in high, dusty shelves.

Lucy, the clerk who's probably younger than I am but who treats me like a little sister, looks up from her phone with a bright smile.

“Sarah! And little Val!” She comes around the counter to coo at my daughter, who gives her a shy smile.

“Morning,” I reply, lifting Valeria out of her stroller. She wriggles excitedly, reaching for Lucy as she takes my daughter to the basket of children’s books she keeps near the register just for her.

“No strangers in town,” she reports, answering my unasked question. “Though Mrs. Peterson said her nephew might visit next month.”

I nod, relieved but also guilty for using her this way. She thinks she's helping me avoid an abusive ex, and in a way, she is. Just... not the way she thinks.

“Thanks for keeping an eye out.”

Lucy shrugs, as if keeping watch for strange men is just another chore on her to-do list, like restocking the shelves or dusting the counters. “Like I said, small town. Newcomers stand out. If anyone’s looking for you, I’ll know.”

I nod, glancing down at Valeria, who has settled onto the floor with a book, gleefully turning its pages. “I appreciate it.”

Lucy hesitates for a moment, then rests an elbow on the counter. “You know, you could let people in a little more. You're notactuallyalone here.”

I exhale through my nose. “I know.”

But Lucy smiles like she doesn’t quite believe me, and she’s not wrong. I might have built a life for myself here, but I’ve kept a part of myself walled off from everyone. Maybe always will.

“Mind if I browse?”

“Take your time! I just got in some new board books Val might like.”

I push the stroller toward the children's section, but my eyes catch on the newspaper rack. The headline grabs my attention.

NEW YORK MAFIA GROUP SUSPECTED IN MIDWEST TURF WAR

Rising Power Threatens East Coast Families

I pause, skimming the article. The piece details a series of targeted attacks on rival operations, each strike swift and deliberate- warehouses burned, supply lines disrupted, key players disappearing overnight.

“Mummy?” Valeria's voice pulls me back. She's reaching for a book with a rabbit on the cover, her favorite animal this week.

I put the paper down and lift the book for her. “Here you go, little warrior.”

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