"Dad?" Scarlet interrupts.
"Sweetheart. Scarlet! Are you okay?"
She sniffs. "Not really. What's going on, Dad?"
"You're listening in, DeLuna?"
"I'm here, Lambert," I confirm, glad we're off first-name basis. I didn't like him calling me Antonio. "What the fuck?"
"I had to do this. A juror came to me. She was scared to death. Threats were made to her and her family?—"
"You know that sequestering them doesn't save their families, right?" I interrupt darkly.
"I do. They don't."
What the fuck is he playing at?
"Listen, Antonio. " Back to first names; I sigh. “Don't hurt my daughter. You have to trust me."
"Trusting you is the very last thing I'm going to do," I reply.
"Just give me a few days, a week, and this will all be over. I've ordered this trial fast-tracked. They're keeping everyone in solitary confinement. Even me."
"This is one giant fuckup, Lambert," I growl. "Give me their names." I don't explain whose. He knows damn well that I'm talking about the compromised jurors.
"Don't run any more interference on this, Antonio. I've got this under cont?—"
"The fuck I won’t," I yell. "The names. By tomorrow morning, or I'll send you a piece of your daughter."
"Daddy," Scarlet says, but I snatch the phone from her hand and hang up. She stares at me with wide-open eyes.
"I'm not going to hurt you, passerotta," I reassure her because, despite her bravery, I see a spark of fear in her eyes.
She surprises me again. "I know, but you'll have to geta piece of mefrom somewhere, right? That means some innocent woman…"
She trails off, and I pull her into my arms, touched by her empathy. "They're never innocent, passerotta, trust me."
They're never innocent,repeats in my mind while I take a long, hot bath, luxuriating in oily bubbles that must have cost a fortune.They're never innocent. What does that even mean?
The reality of the world I've been thrust into slowly begins to dawn on me, creeping closer with every passing moment. This isn't just money and power; it’s blood and death, too.
My bravado of joining his family is slowly ebbing. This isn'tjustweapon and drug smuggling. People die! People have died. I'm still not ready to shed a tear over Hank and Marco, but… am I ready to be part of this?
Muffled yelling from downstairs only adds to my bedraggled state of mind. Earlier, I thought it was hot when I watched Antonio in all his furious glory. Even now, imagining what helooks like makes my insides flutter.What the hell is wrong with me?
The worst thing is that I don't feel appalled. Not even a bit. I'm confused, hurt, unsure of my place in life, and… happy. So fucking, ridiculously happy, it's not even funny. Again,what the fuck is wrong with me?
The wound on my shoulder blade stings. I guess even expensive bubbles can burn. It's time to get out anyway; my fingers are already pruning. I forgot to take painkillers earlier, and the little episode on Antonio’s desk… my eyes roll back just thinking about it… didn't do my shoulder blade any favors. Neither did his grabbing my hips again. I get out of the water and stare at his obvious handprints, and a smile curves my lips. Gently, I move my fingers over the bruises. I like them.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Shut up, or I might get tattoos of his hands there, I threaten my stupid logical mind. And what do you know? It shuts up. Good.
Another thought enters me. The same as I had earlier this morning. Pregnant?
I rub my flat belly. Is there a little jellybean inside? As if on cue I feel a flutter, before the whiskey I drank earlier—fuck, I drank whiskey!—comes back up, and I empty my stomach right into the sink. Yeah, I definitely need to figure this one out. Quickly.
But… Antonio's baby?