Page 117 of I Would Beg For You

Their eyes are shift away.

“Fuck this!” I say as I start out of the room, phone in hand, ready to call my uncle. They won’t do it. Not for me. Maybe if Valentino had asked. Maybe if there was more at stake.

I pause in my step. There is more, but they don’t know it. My hand goes to my belly, cradling it softly. Serafina’s existence, it’s something Valentino should’ve heard about first, a precious moment between us, when we discover we’re going to be parents for the first time. As things stand, my husband may not ever even know he was about to become a father, and sooner than he expected, too, given how far along I already am.

Yet, this is news that can make the scales tilt in my favor. I can win them to my cause, to my vendetta, if I let them know.

Val, I’m sorry, my love.

I turn around and face the men. “You won’t do this for me, fine. That man I used to call my father has it in for me, and he won’t stop. Not with me. Not with my children.”

Victor, always the most perceptive one, hitches in a sharp breath. “You’re…?”

“Pregnant? Yes. This child will be my heir, and you think that fucker is going to ever stop wanting our money? Think again.”

I can see the energy shift in the room. All of them sit up straighter, shoulders tense, faces hard.

“But killing him?” Luciano says. “That’s not a place for a woman.”

Sexist, much? Had it been anyone else, I would’ve jumped at their throat. But Luciano’s old-fashioned like this, and it’s actually endearing, because he means no ill with his conservative ways.

“For a woman, no,” I tell him. “But a wife and a mother?”

Here’s the thing with Italians—mothers are sacrosanct. Women can be playthings, whores, virgins, but mothers? They’re respected, period.

I’m counting on this turning the tide for me, for them to look at me with a different eye. And this is exactly what happens. Their gazes all drop to my belly when I feel the flutters and my hand automatically goes there.

Antonio’s eyes grow wide. “You’re rather far along, aren’t you?”

I nod. “Val doesn’t know. Even I didn’t know until very recently.”

I owe them at least this truth. They all want him to wake up, I know this, but maybe now, they have even more reason to wish for this, to request from a higher power that Valentino be allowed to see his child when she is born.

I swallow the lump in my throat and steel my back, wincing at the pain. The damn Tylenol has already worn off, and I don’t know when I can take another dose, if it’s even safe to load up on them. Best we get to business asap—the sooner we’re done, the sooner I can see a doctor and make sure my baby is okay, and also the sooner I can return to my husband’s bedside with no cloud of darkness hanging over us.

“Joel Smith. Anyone know where he is?” I ask. “Actually, wait.” I dial my uncle’s number, bring him up to speed about what’s going on, then put him on loudspeaker. “We need a plan, and before any of you asks, yes, I’m going in, and that’s it. Got it?”

***

It turns out they do know where the rat is holing up. Valentino had planned to take care of him after he’d found me, except he didn’t get the chance. The news of a crew finding hiswhereabouts then his location came from intel my uncle fed the capo in charge of that mission. They found all this in the early hours of the morning, when Valentino was in surgery.

Marco leaves with Antonio shortly after our stand-off in the living room. Luciano heads back to the hospital to be with Francesca at Valentino’s bedside. He’ll be back later, he assures me, when the time comes for our…expedition. I’m left with the remaining two brothers. Victor retreats behind a wall of impassiveness, as always, and Franco turns into an absolute mother hen with me. I have to shut him out of the bedroom feigning needing to rest so I can have a moment to myself.

It's a relief to take a breath and not having someone hover. If Valentino had been here, I’m sure he’d be the same. He was protective of me after our wedding, when I was still recovering from the stint in that mental institution. He would’ve been absolutely on my case from the moment he heard I was pregnant, treating me like fragile blown glass, most probably.

Tears prick my eyes as I think of him, and though steeling myself, I let them fall. Maybe keeping them in can do more harm than good, and I’m going to need all my focus on the goal for later. Purging some of the over-ebullient emotion inside me sounds like a good idea. So, I have a good cry, the whole time keeping a hand on my belly to check if the baby isn’t in distress from my bawling. She’s quiet, though, then there’s a little flutter.

I manage to get onto my phone and search a bit more about my state. I must’ve gotten the dates right, and according to this online pregnancy calendar, I’m currently in Week 28. Third trimester already, and baby’s supposed to be moving quite a bit, though the flutters, they’re mostly hiccups as she gets used to the taste of amniotic fluid.

I need to see a doctor, a specialist, as soon as possible. However, the priority right now is peace of mind, and that, we won’t have until Joel Smith has been dealt with.

I spoke for a long time with my uncle earlier, wherein he asked me if I knew what I was doing. Not in a condescending way. It felt like a caring father asking his daughter if she’d really weighed in the pros and cons, the consequences, what she’ll be able to live with.

My breath had hitched when he asked that. Death isn’t something new to me. It might’ve been an accident, but that boy in that basement? I killed him. I’m not proud of it, but I’ve seen death so close to me now, saw it steal. I can’t let it get its hands on Valentino, and much less on Serafina. Not now, and not for a long time. Death will always ride in the chariot with the man who fathered me, until it claims said man from this plane of existence. Only then will I, and especially my future children, be safe.

So, it’s really a non-starter.

Joel Smith has to die.

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