Page 39 of Mafia Boss' Surprise Baby

21

MICKEY

Fury doesn’t even begin to describe it. The way I want to burn through the ranks of my organization until I root out every coward who’s paving the road to hell with coin they make pushing drugs on my streets. I don’t pump millions into the schools and community centers and hospitals in Southie just to be undercut by moneygrubbing traitors who don’t care what happens to the people in this town, to their own people. It sickens me.

We keep hitting dead ends. Whether it’s the money trail or the questions we asked Oscar it never goes far. Maybe we find two or three other people involved but not the whole drug ring, not the suppliers or the top guy, the ambitious asshole bent on carving out a name and fortune on the backs and chalk outlines of our neighbors.

Part of the rage I feel is righteous indignation over what street drugs do to neighborhoods, especially disadvantaged ones. Another piece of my anger is the disgust I feel toward disloyal members of my own organization and their betrayal. The last and most volcanic part of this puzzle, the agent that causes the explosive reaction inside me, is the danger Katie was in. I could have lost her. First when that dipshit dealer threwa rock at us and again in the parking lot when Oscar pulled a gun. She would’ve been caught in the crossfire, an innocent bystander.

The coal of this fury smolders in my chest all the time and keeps me awake. If I’m not actively pushing for answers, interrogating suspects or dispatching lieutenants to search the homes and offices of anybody with a red flag, I’m in for it. The pictures flip through my mind like a channel I can’t change. It plays in a loop and there’s no stopping it.

The grip of Katie’s fingers on the back of my coat and how she hid her face. The way she was when I held her in the car afterward, wild with fear and grief. The way she’d been laughing with me just before that, the thousand-watt smile on her beautiful face while we talked about going back to my house. The twist of her fingers in my hair or her nails down my back when I was within her, when we were joined body and soul as much as any man and woman could ever be. That connection shook me to my core.

The truth is, I don’t care what Rory knows or thinks. I don’t care what my organization thinks of my relationship with Katie Donahue. What does concern me is the impact on her career. How she’s worked so hard, finished two degrees and she’s in the thick of CPA testing, and if word got out that she was sleeping with a man so famously on the wrong side of the law, she’d be labeled as corrupt. No legitimate firm would hire her because she’d be tainted and viewed to be untrustworthy by association. It would undermine all her achievements and tar her with the same brush as me.

Maybe I deserve it, but she doesn’t. I have enough power and influence to tell everyone who doesn’t approve of my affair with my top lieutenant’s much younger sister to fuck off if they don’t like it. She’s more vulnerable to rumors, to attacks on her reputation.

The life I have to offer her was too much in the way of danger and instability and not enough commitment and peace. I grew up in this life and knew from the beginning it was the path carved out for me. I never resisted it or even considered walking away from it back when I still might have had that option. Once you’re in the business you don’t leave the business. Not unless you want to die an ugly anonymous death in witness protection. People leaving it behind and living a good life? That’s Hollywood shit, a fairy tale and nothing more.

Every time I see her at work, she’s pale and drawn with shadows beneath her eyes like she doesn’t sleep. That vibrant personality and sparkling eyes are dulled. I wonder if she misses me the way I miss her. If the reason she looks wrung-out like a disaster victim is because she can’t get over this. It’s too much to hope that it could be true. She’s young and resilient and probably has a new boyfriend who keeps her up all night wearing out that sweet body of hers. It makes me ill just to think of her with another man.

I told Katie that my work comes first, it’s a way of life. I have casinos, the car dealership, the entire cargo import and transport network. Even with capable managers working for me, I have a lot on my plate. Rooting out everyone involved in a drug ring may not have been on my bingo card for the year but it’s sure as hell my top priority now. I can’t turn my back on this, on running the show and making sure my people are taken care of, just because I met a woman I like. Grown men don’t quit their jobs to pursue a relationship or to make a girlfriend more comfortable.

I give myself this same lecture probably six times a day, just to bolster my resolve. She’s going to work for me, avoid me personally and finish her licensing requirements. She’ll quit when Benny’s ready to return to work. As much as I want him to make a full recovery I’d be lying if I said I was eager for him tocome back. Because the meetings and emails are all I have left, my link to Katie until she leaves for California.

When she goes, I won’t see her again. If I do, it’ll be by accident, through Rory. I wince as I imagine him calling me up and asking if I wanna come over and meet his new nephew because his sister and her family are in town for the holidays. In my mind I punch her husband in the face. Not because he treats her bad—she’s not stupid. She’ll pick a man worthy of her. I punch this imaginary motherfucker because he gets to do life with Katie and I don’t. I’m so pissed about that it’s almost hard to breathe sometimes.

A better man would be resigned to his fate, admit his business doesn’t fit in with a family life in any real way and move on and wish her well. I’d do anything for Katie. Even let her go. I’m not gonna stop her from leaving Boston for good. I won’t follow her to California and pressure her to come back to me. This isn’t about controlling her or screwing up her plans.

I’ll live with the ghost of her and the weeks we spent together. I’d rather have leftover traces of her and memories than anyone else. If it’s depressing or sounds hopeless, it’s just the truth of the matter. There’s plenty I can do with my business and my life moving forward. It’s just gonna feel hollow most of the time because she’s gone. The only comfort will be knowing she’s okay, somewhere out on the West Coast living her life, unharmed and safe from this place and the danger I bring with me. It’s all I can give her after all.

Maybe I try to call her a few times. I even leave one voicemail.I hope you’re feeling better. Call me. It’s not about work, just—call me back.It sounded pathetic, even more so when days passed and I didn’t get a call or a text in return. She turns up for meetings and keeps me updated on any findings she has about the investigation. There isn’t much excuse for us to talk or for me to seek her out.

I want her back, but I get that it’s over. There’s not going to be a Hail Mary play where I can tell her I’ve taken care of all the danger. That once the drug ring is busted up there won’t be any risk. That would be a lie, and I said all along, I won’t deceive her. Not that she’d ever believe the danger was over to begin with. And it will never be over, not really.

Increasing security, bringing in a personal protection detail for her, for myself, at my house—there are measures I could take. But they won’t bring her back to me. I’ve rehearsed that conversation enough to figure out how it would end. The same fuckin’ way it ended the last time.

With Katie Donahue walking out of my life.

22

KATE

Mickey stops calling. It’s for the best. I had to ignore the calls anyway. He texts if it’s business. There’s no room in my life for personal, not with him. I start doing yoga in the mornings. First, I open one eye, eat a saltine cracker and wait for my stomach to settle. If it goes okay, I get up and do yoga. If not, I get up and puke, then do yoga. I’m not sure where the rumor of a pregnancy glow came from but I look like the Corpse Bride no matter how much bronzer and blush I apply.

The second CPA exam date rolls around and even though I devote a ton of time to preparing, I get into the test and feel completely lost. Half the questions seem foreign to me, impossible to figure out. As I try to concentrate, I get more and more anxious and sweaty and shaky. Around the two hour mark I throw up.

I’m not sure if I panicked or if I really didn’t know the answers. I beat myself up over it that night and then make myself go on with work and exercise and eating as healthy as I can make myself in the evenings when I’m mostly sad and nauseous.

Weeks of seeing Mickey at work hasn’t made it easier. When he speaks to me directly, when he says my name, his voice stillhas that warmth that I remember and that I loved so much. It makes me want to cry every damn time. And what am I going to do? Say, hey, boss, could you stop saying my name because it makes me wanna bawl like a baby? And speaking of baby, I’m having yours and haven’t told you.

When I get the failing score on my second test, I expect it but it still upsets me. I’m taking tiny nibbles of toast with peanut butter on it when Rory comes in unexpectedly and takes one look at me.

“Whoa, what’s wrong?” he asks.

I open my mouth to tell him I’m fine but it doesn’t work out that way. I start to speak and the tears I’ve been trying to hold at bay just pour out of me.

“I failed the test and I’m in love with Mickey, but I can’t be with him,” I blurt out.

---