Chapter Thirty Tiernan
CHAPTER THIRTY
TIERNAN
After the polygraph, I stopped at Fermanagh’s to drink a pint of Guinness with Fintan to take the edge off. I didn’t want to face Lila before I sorted myself out. A lot of shit ran through my head.
Relief. Fury. Unfathomable bloodthirst.
Tate not being the rapist was both good and bad. I needed to finish that prick, whoever he was. But if it was Angelo, shit just got a whole lot more complicated.
Finally, I dragged my ass upstairs and opened the door. Lila sat with Imma on the couch. They were both holding and stroking Lila’s belly. It was still mostly flat, but her tits certainly got the memo. They were heavier and more swollen than before. Tender to the briefest touch.
“Hi!” Lila squeaked when I walked inside, hurrying to greet me at the door. She pressed her sweet lips to mine, throwing her arms over my shoulders. I kissed her back, annoyed with how fucking natural it felt.
“Good news!” she signed. “We felt the baby today for the first time. It is doing a fluttery thing. It’s like tiny fish are swimming in my belly. You have to feel it.”
She grabbed my hand and pressed it against her bare stomach below her pink crop top.
Anger seared through my veins.
I didn’t want anything to do with this bleeding baby.
At first, I was indifferent toward it.
But that was before.
Before Lila became more than just business.
Before I found out the baby was probably pure Outfit and Camorra bloodline.
It was possible—likely, even—that Lila was pregnant with Angelo’s child. And if that were the case, and Angelo’s identity was exposed, I doubted he would end up with a bullet in his face.
More likely than not, Vello would seize the opportunity to marry her off to him.
Not that I cared. It was what it was. There were no real alliances in our world. But I needed the Camorra for my plans with the Rasputins. That was all. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Fine. Fine. I did care. It was going to hurt.
Not a fatal wound by any means, but…
Let’s just say I wasn’t eager to get rid of her anymore.
And there was Lila, delighted and bursting at the seams because she could feel the eejit’s baby inside her. Fucking fantastic.
“I feel nothing.” I wrenched my hand away, snarling in her face. Lila’s mouth hung open, those cerulean eyes sparkling with hurt and sadness.
I sidestepped her, making my way to the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”
I knew she couldn’t answer me with my back to her. I was being a cunt, and there was nothing she could do about it. I held all the power.
Then why did I feel so…restless?
If the baby belonged to Angelo, I had a huge fucking problem to solve in order to keep this woman.
And I promised her family I’d find her attacker and bring him to justice.
Lila’s heels clacked across the floor behind me, and for the first time in days, she didn’t prepare me a plate of whatever Imma had made but folded her arms and gave me a pointed look.
Ignoring her, I uncovered the saucepan on the stovetop, grabbed a fork, and ate the pasta inside while standing.
She signed something. I kept my gaze on the pasta.
She stepped into my line of vision, snatching the fork from my hand.
“What’s your problem?”
I had a bevy of them, and the shit she stirred in me was at the top of the list.
“No problem,” I said dryly. “I’m fine with playing house, Lila, but make no mistake—I don’t care about the bastard in your stomach. You decided to keep it. I didn’t stop you. But don’t expect me to pretend it’s anything more than an inconvenience to me.”
My words made her flinch, and the only thing stopping me from pulling my gun out and putting a bullet in my own head was my ironclad resolution to kill Angelo before I left this earth.
It was the first time I truly hurt Lila—not scared or intimidated her—hurt her.
And it didn’t sit right with me.
Luckily, I was trained to push through any pain or discomfort.
“I see.” Her chin wobbled, and her nose pinked, but she didn’t let the tears fall. She pressed a hand to her stomach protectively. “I guess this means you don’t want to know the sex of the baby. I got my NIPT results back today.”
I stared at her coldly, leaning against the kitchen counter.
I wanted to say yes. Not because I cared. Fuck knows I truly didn’t. But because she did and because making her feel better was worth making myself feel like shit. Normally, anyway. But this wasn’t about feelings. It was about drawing a line in the sand.
I couldn’t afford to care.
She could be gone tomorrow, if they found out it was Angelo’s baby. And I’d have no one to blame but myself for being an eejit. Because beautiful Italian Mafia princesses of respectable pedigree weren’t meant to breed with poor Irish scum who made their buck running whorehouses.
Empty. I felt so fucking empty I was surprised I was still up on my feet.
“I’ll take that as a no.” She tilted her chin up regally.
I watched her turn around and walk away. Spine straight and head held up high.
And for the first time in my life, I felt the kind of pain I didn’t like.
_______
That night, I dissolved into the person I was before she stitched me up.
I removed the eye patch before I went to bed. I used to do it all the time before she moved into my bedroom. The patch was a bitch to sleep with, needed constant readjustment, and besides, it felt good not to have the string digging into my skull.
I refrained from removing it thus far, committed to not scaring my delicate bride. Now, it didn’t matter anymore. She wasn’t staying. Angelo was the father. That was why he told Chiara he’d agree to marry her.
Flicking the bathroom light off, I moseyed into the lit bedroom. Lila was standing by her side of the bed, wearing a pale pink babydoll dress that showed off her magnificent tits. Her hair was loosely French braided, falling over one shoulder.
She turned to look at me, her throat bobbing at the sight of my ghastly eye. Or lack thereof. There was a milky white ball where the eye should be.
Lila gasped, the back of her knees hitting the bed frame.
I sauntered into the room. “What’s the matter, darlin’? See something you don’t like?”
She pressed her lips together. I wanted this. To destroy what we had. Snuff that hope out of my system.
Another step toward her. She didn’t cower. Didn’t move.
“Do I disgust you? Repulse you?” I stopped when I was toe-to-toe with her, snatching her chin, tilting her head up to make her look at her brother’s handiwork.
“Do you regret letting me kiss those lips?” I dipped my head down to brush my mouth against hers. “Suck this neck?” My lips fluttered along the side of her throat, and I gave her a nice, visible hickey. “Bite this flesh?” I sank my teeth to her collarbone.
She stood there, completely still, letting me take out my anger at Achilles, and Vello, and Tate, and Angelo, and the fucking world, on her.
For a moment, I thought we’d both finally snap. Rip each other’s clothes off and find out what this sex thing was all about. That in the heat of this anger, confusion, and revulsion, I would finally suck those beautiful tits. Taste that cunt that smelled like the most delicious of meals.
But then Lila pushed me off her, a storm dancing in her pretty blues.
“If you’re trying to make me hate you, don’t bother,” she signed. “This high school bully stuff doesn’t impress me. I know who you are. How you’ve taken care of me. I don’t know what happened to you today, but I’m going to take some space from you and hope you return to your senses tomorrow.”
I wanted to smash the walls down, because Lila was more mature, more levelheaded than my own grown ass. Because she refused to give up on us, when I knew the only way to keep her was to kill her entire family.
“I’m going to sleep in the recliner tonight. If Imma sees me on the couch, she’ll ask questions.” She shook her head. “Oh, and by the way. It’s a boy. We, dear husband, are having a boy.”