The Mafia Heir's Revenge Baby novel · Chapter 10 of 24

Chapter 10: Haverford

Fifty faces turned from Carmine to me.

They wanted me to cry, or throw something, or run.

I walked to the bar instead and picked up the long silver pin someone had left there for the reveal.

The giant black balloon with the question mark hung right above my head.

"I'll save you the trouble," I said, and popped it.

Nothing came out.

No pink. No blue.

Somebody had forgotten to fill it, or nobody had ever planned to.

It just hung there, a black rag on a string.

An aunt laughed first. Then a cousin.

Then half the room.

I put the pin down and walked out through Corsaro's front door with fifty people laughing behind me, and I didn't look back.

Gianni caught up with me on the sidewalk.

"Car's around the corner," he said.

"I can get a cab."

"You can," he said. "Get in the car."

It was a black sedan, newer than the Lincoln, no dent in the door.

He drove without talking.

I sat with my arms crossed and stared out the window at the row houses going by, and I shook.

Not from fear this time.

From rage.

"My son moves into my house," I said. "And his mother can visit."

"I heard."

"He grabbed her arm in front of fifty people. He'd do that to Archie. He'd do it the first time Archie beat him at anything."

"I know."

"You don't know. You weren't married to him."

Gianni pulled over.

We were on Ninth Street, outside the bakery, the windows dark.

He turned off the engine and turned to look at me.

"I grew up with him," he said. "He broke my arm when I was eight because I beat him at checkers. Pop told everyone I fell off the porch."

I stared at him.

"That boy is never going to live in his house," Gianni said. "Not on Saturday. Not ever. I don't care what any paper says."

"You can't promise that."

"I just did."

The streetlight came through the windshield and lay across his face, across the white scar, across his mouth.

My rage went somewhere else.

It went hot and low and sudden, and I saw him see it.

"Bess has Archie," I said. "At the hotel. All night."

He didn't move.

"Juniper."

"Stop saying my name and take me upstairs."

He was out of the car before I finished the sentence.

He came around and opened my door, and I didn't wait for him to help me out.

I grabbed his tie and kissed him against the side of the car, right there on Ninth Street, under the bakery sign.

He kissed me back so hard my head went back against the roof.

Then he picked me up again, the way he had in the hallway, and carried me to the door while I laughed into his neck, and fumbled the key twice because I wouldn't stop kissing him.

His apartment smelled like bread and coffee.

He kicked the door shut behind us and set me down in the dark.

I didn't wait for the lights.

I pulled his tie loose and went for the buttons of his shirt.

My hands were shaking and I didn't care.

He caught my wrists and held them against his chest.

His heart was pounding under my palms.

"Slow," he said.

"I don't want slow."

"I know what you want."

His voice was low and rough and completely steady.

"You've been ordering me around since the sidewalk," I said.

"You liked it."

I pulled my hands free and shoved his jacket off his shoulders.

It hit the floor with a heavy sound.

"The bedroom," I said.

"You're giving orders again."

"Then stop making me."

He laughed once, low in his chest, and picked me up.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and kissed him hard while he walked.

He carried me through a narrow doorway into a small room.

The streetlight came through the window and lay across the bed.

He set me down at the foot of it and stepped back.

He pulled his tie off slowly and dropped it.

I watched his hands.

"Your turn," he said.

"You first."

"I said your turn."

I reached behind me for the zipper of my dress.

It came down with one long sound.

The dress fell to the floor and I stood there in nothing but black lace and the streetlight.

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