Page 12 of Dangerous Secrets

Bianca moans and lets her head relax back against the wall. I could do this with her all night long, but I have to hunt an assassin whom I heard is working tonight. So, I back away and let her enjoy her post-orgasmic high. Her chest is heaving, her body glistening with sweat. I may just pay my little homeless friend to keep an eye on this little sex den I’ve created.

Her phone buzzes and I look over where her dress lays to see her clutch glowing. The light from the phone shines through the material. Her escort is looking for her most likely and she’ll have to get out of here. I reach for my slacks, taking the knife from my pocket, and then I move back to her. Her eyes are heavy, slowly opening to watch me slit the leather cords. Her knees almost buckle, and I catch her.

“Why do you do this to me?” she asks, smirking.

“Because you like it… And if you made us public, I could do this every day, instead of only a few times a week.” I kiss her, sealing the fact that I have claimed her as mine. “It’s up to you.”

I release her and watch as she leans against the wall to gain her composure. My cum slides down the insides of her thighs. There is no mistaking that I’ve marked my territory. “You know I can’t…”

I reach for my clothing and dress in silence. I’m biding my time, because right now she says she can’t openly admit we’re together, but one day she will. For now, I have to respect her wishes. I won’t push her away by being hasty.

“You’re still mine, Bianca, even if no one else knows it.” With one last glance over my shoulder, I head out the door and down the dark hallway. So, tonight isn’t the night I’ll woo her into submission, but soon.

8

BIANCA

My flat has always been my safe haven. I selected it because of its location and security features. Decorated it with modern furnishings in colors that are calming—blues and greens. Organized every aspect to maintain my sense of control and make my life as easy as possible, but even in this space I’m not feeling myself today. For weeks I’ve been feeling off, sick at times, achy, overly tired. I know all the symptoms and I’ve been avoiding what I feel is the inevitability I can’t escape from.

Now I wait, seated on my navy-blue sofa, staring at my glass top coffee table. The grocery delivery people will bring my order soon and I’ll be face to face with a truth I feel in my core even before the empirical evidence confirms it. I’m pregnant with Rome’s baby. My cycle is late, and my moods have changed. My tits are tender; I’ve been overly emotional. I want to eat everything in sight while not being able to stomach anything most days. It’s obvious.

But I wait. Because I have to take the test in order for my heart to allow me to believe it fully.

I stare at the unmoving coffee ring on the glass, wondering when I left it there, which mug dripped with the dribbles that sluiced down the side of my mug. What morning was it that it happened and how long has that gone unnoticed? I’m a tidy person. I don’t like messes or stains, but my flightiness lately has made me scatterbrained, impulsive even. Is it the shift in my hormones?

The remote is moved too, not lying where I normally leave it. I’m meticulous, organized. It's what makes me a good killer. I obsess about every detail of everything and for good reason. One tiny mistake leads to being caught and I cannot get caught. So why is my remote lying on the end table instead of in its slot in the small, brown wicker basket on the entertainment stand? And why would I make mistakes like that?

I think back to when I watched television last. It was when I was making the darts, one of which I used on Rome’s friend on the sidewalk that day. That was almost two weeks ago now, and I can’t remember specific details. I’m so busy I don’t have time to sit and watch television, so that means for two weeks I’ve been distracted enough to not notice the remote is not in its rightful place. Which means I may have made other mistakes too.

The thought makes me feel antsy. I stand and pace. I can’t trip up. I can’t forget something or leave something out. It is the difference between life or death—literally. New York state still enforces the death penalty and when I get hauled in, I’ll face capital sentencing for sure. And I will be hauled in if I make mistakes.

I glance at the clock. Still twenty minutes until the delivery is supposed to arrive. I’m a fierce woman and I don’t scare easily. When Rome dragged me off the street into darkness that night I was startled only because I wasn’t prepared to see anyone. I would have handled myself had it not been him, but even so, I didn’t run away. Other women would have been screaming for help at the sight of him.

But this? The idea of being pregnant with my enemy’s baby, it’s nerve wracking to say the least. I know I’m playing with fire; I feel it every time he touches me and I can’t get enough. The risk of getting caught, the thrill of knowing how wrong it is—they combine to create a desire so overwhelming for a man so irresistible. It’s a heavy emotion that guts me and I have to sit back down.

Mickey will most certainly kill me if he finds out I’m procrastinating on the task he gave me because I’m enjoying frequent wild sex with my target. It didn’t start that way. I was always aroused by how attractive Roman is, but I intended in the beginning to get close to him in a way that made me close to his whole family. I don’t even know when it changed from me weaseling my way into his life to me wanting to be in his life.

But it changed and now I sit on my sofa knowing something else is changing too. My body. No period means something, and I can’t bring myself to fully admit it. All I can do is sit and stare at the wall. This is my day off. I should be out hunting Gusevs, not agonizing over how much my life will change the minute I piss on that little plastic stick.

I stare into space, deep in thought, for so long I don’t even realize it’s time. The bell rings and I know it’s the grocery delivery. My stomach tightens and I stand and walk to the door. A glance through the peephole shows me the delivery person is gone, sat my things down by my door and left exactly like they’re supposed to. I crack the door and see two brown paper sacks full of the things I need.

Nobody sees me pull them into my loft. I shut the door and carry them to the kitchen counter where I unpack things. Fresh produce goes in the fridge; cans and boxes go in the pantry. I ordered a stack of toiletries: toothpaste, deodorant, toilet paper, and of course, the pregnancy test. It stares at me accusingly. I don’t for a second regret sleeping with Rome.

To regret my choice would be to miss out on an exhilarating exchange that has shifted my thinking about what I want out of life. Before Rome I only wanted to do my boss’s bidding. I wanted to follow orders, rank up, prove myself and make my brothers proud of me. I never thought of my own desires or wants as being important. I was part of a big machine that made Mickey money, kept him safe.

But I want more. I don’t want to kill people the rest of my life if it leaves me in isolation, secretive about my every thought and action. To remain within my identity as L’ombra would be to remain isolated and alone. No one could ever know the real me, and even if I married within the family, no one would ever be able to bear my burdens, know my jobs, listen to my sorrows and victories. Mickey owns my life and I don’t like that.

I pick up the test and turn it over in my hand. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve taken them before, but they never turned up positive. Somehow, I know this one will, and I’m not sure I hate that idea. Rome may be the enemy and my target, but he’s a good man. I’ve laughed with him and argued. We’ve had incredible sex and exchanged our ideas on life and politics. We have so much in common.

My chest feels heavy as I walk to the bathroom. This test doesn’t have to change anything about my life. Even as I lower my pants and sit on the toilet, I’m thinking how L’ombra will still go on. Mickey will call me to new jobs, pay me well for my service, and promote me. I may be sidelined for a short time when my stomach is full and large, but I’ve lived a double life for so long, I know how to balance it. My duties as Bianca Moretti, stage performer, will shift and change. I’ll have to find some other cover for how I make good money when my body is large, and men don’t find me seductive.

But once the pregnancy passes, I can return to singing. I’d have a child, my home, my life as L’ombra kept secret as always, but is that what I want?

I hold the stick between my legs and relax my pelvic floor, emptying my bladder. I feel the weight of the piss as it hits the wand and soaks into the cotton swab at the end. This moment seems to last for ages. I lay the wand on the counter and clean myself, then wash my hands. I don’t even have to wait the full three minutes. Within thirty seconds I see the tell-tale lines. Two of them—pink and very loudly shouting my sentence. Roman’s baby is in my womb.

Tears threaten to well up and not for what most people would think. I didn’t even know how desperately I wanted to be a mother, how much I love him, until now. Until I look down and see those lines telling me what I have to go through for love and how it’s going to affect me. I love him. I honestly, and sincerely love him from the depths of my soul. He is the only one I can be myself around—well, my true self. L’ombra is just an alias, just a job. It’s not me. I’m Bianca… I’m the singer he fancies.

I jump when I hear a loud banging on my door. I have no clue who could be coming to my house right at this very second. I blink my eyes hard, pushing the tears back as I rush to the door and look out the peephole.

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