Chapter 3
CHIARA
A little while later, while Sonia helps get the boys ready for the party, I stare at myself in the mirror while Dom is busy in the shower.
A red, skintight dress hits my knees, and the little baby bump is already making its appearance.
I wonder if I’ll have a daughter. If we’ll have the kind of bond my mom and I once shared.
Not to say I could never have it with my boys, but having a daughter .
. . I don’t know, it somehow would make me feel closer to my mom.
Being a mother is something I’ve always wanted.
Having those boys gave me back something I had lost when I was shot.
Something I was afraid I’d never get again.
Every day before, I’d tried to convince myself I didn’t care each time I didn’t end up pregnant.
I was afraid to hope. But even though it took time, I had my babies, and they’re everything I could have ever wanted.
When I lost the first baby, when the doctor told me the dreadful news, I was numb, on the outside at least. But inside, I was someone else.
Someone I didn’t recognize. I had wanted that little baby so badly, and it had killed me to know my family had destroyed my chance of knowing that child.
It took me a few months to truly mourn the loss, but the knowledge that I could have more . . . that’s what saved me.
I recall the moment when the doctor came to see me after I woke from the surgery.
I remember her white coat with that brown stain on her right sleeve, like she’d spilled coffee on it.
I remember the way her thick brows bowed when she looked at me.
And in that instant, I knew for certain. I wasn’t a mother anymore.
The room spins as I stare at the bright lights appearing above. I’m fuzzy, like I’m shaking, yet I’m still, on a bed, in the hospital. I don’t know how long I’ve been awake, but I haven’t told a soul. I fear my world is about to crumble, and I want to stay on the side where it’s still safe.
The water is everywhere, climbing up my nose. My lungs ache as I scream, drowning in the bright crimson, yet no sound comes out. I try to fight it, needing someone to get me out, to save my baby. But everything turns dark, and then I wake up here.
Maybe I’m not actually here. Maybe this is all some kind of messed-up dream. The baby is okay. I’m okay. Everything is okay.
I ball my shaky hand into a fist, and my nails sink into my palm until pain registers.
I have to be alive. Dead people don’t feel pain. Right?
“You’re awake!” Raquel’s voice rips through my thoughts, and suddenly she’s there with a gentle hand against my shoulder. “Are you in pain? Do you need more meds?”
I shake my head with vigor, attempting to sit up. So I am alive. But does that mean my baby is . . .
“Hey, don’t . . . Just lie down. You just had surgery.”
“Su-surgery?” My mouth is parched, but I fight it. “What happened?”
I push myself up, ignoring the dizziness.
But you know what happened. You were shot.
“Is our baby . . .” I can’t seem to finish the thought, a throb building behind my eyes.
Because I know. The baby . . . she’s not here anymore. Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them away, biting down, fighting the treachery of my emotions.
No. You won’t do this. You won’t give up. She’s still alive. She has to be.
Raquel’s gaze widens for a mere second before she tightens her lips. “Let me get the doctor and call Dom. He just went to get us something to eat.”
“Raq—”
But she’s out the door before I finish.
No.
My chest rattles as breath after breath shoots out of me in a panic, tears starting to overshadow the hope I was trying so badly to hold on to.
The baby is dead, but I can’t seem to cry. There’s anger there too. It vibrates through me like a plague of my own damnation.
My father, he did this.
He killed my mother and my child. They’re gone.
Because of him.
“Ahhh!” I scream, a fist slamming into the tray that sits directly over my bed.
The cup filled with water flips onto the blanket, ice-cold liquid hitting my thigh, but I don’t even jump.
My ability to control my labored breathing is useless. My chest is closing in, and the room is somehow squeezing into me, caging me in.
I’m drowning. Again. My lungs burn. I claw at my throat, my breathing growing harsh.
No. I’m suffocating. The room spins, my gasping inhales fighting inside my lungs.
“Ms. Bianchi,” the doctor calls, stepping inside.
I turn sharply to find Dom beside her.
“Don’t call me by that name!” I roar. “Ever! Do you hear me?”
My body trembles as I register her. Through her black-rimmed glasses, she peers at me. The sympathy there . . . it clouds over her, and I fucking hate it.
“Just tell me!” I scream.
Dom sits next to me. His hand is on my knee, and I turn to him. I see it in his eyes—the aching, the bleeding. I shake my head.
“No. Don’t fucking say it.”
My emotions, they consume me. Everything hurts. I ache for that child, for the loss.
“Ms. . . . ah . . . Chiara. How are you feeling?”
“I feel like shit! Okay? Is everyone happy now?” My pitch rises, my exhales hammering through me. “Is my baby dead? Don’t sugarcoat it. I know I was shot in my stomach. I remember when the bullet hit me and where. So tell me. Is she dead, Doc?”
“I’m so sorry, but the baby didn’t—”
“Get out!” I yell louder.
The tears, they waver like a quiet storm until it hits like thunder.
She stands there, tightening her thin lips.
“I said get out!” I point to the door. “Get the hell out of here!”
She finally nods, scurrying out.
“Baby, I’m sorr—”
“Don’t do that! You knew. You should’ve been here to tell me as soon as I woke up! But you-you-you were gone,” I sob, my control snapping.
The gaping wreckage of my heart . . . I can no longer hold on to it. I scream. I cry. I don’t know for how long. But his arms come around me, and I no longer know why I was mad at him at all. Because in this moment, all I want is to hold on to him.
I swipe the tears from under my eyes, smudging some of my eyeliner, but I can’t seem to care enough to fix it right now. All I want to do is hold on to this baby that’s inside me and keep it safe.
The bathroom door swings open, and Dom is there with a towel wrapped around his hips, the deep V pointing to where I normally would crave him. But right now, all I can think about is how lucky we are to have what we have after everything that’s been taken away.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, concern fitting his face, his cheeks hollowing.
His bicep muscles strain as he uses a smaller towel to dry his hair, and he comes to stand behind me when I don’t answer. I see him through the mirror, and a smile immediately forms on my face.
“Just thinking about how happy you make me.”
“It’s only getting better from here, baby.” A hand twines around my stomach, his palm spreading across my lower abdomen. “I swear it.”
“I hope so.”
“Uncle Matteo and Aunt Aida are here!” the boys shout, jumping up and down.
The rest of us are gathered in the back, the yard set up with a long table, a white tablecloth draping it.
Pink and blue plates and a balloon centerpiece are at the center.
We catered some food, so no one had to cook, especially Sonia.
We wanted her to have fun with us. And this time, we made sure the catering company was triple-vetted.
“What the hell?” Dante says. “I thought I was your favorite uncle.”
“When Uncle Matteo’s not here.” Gianni giggles, his emerald eyes full of mischief. “He brings the best presents.”
“Damn. It’s like that?”
“Yeah,” Matteo throws in, his footsteps getting closer. “It’s like that.”
Aida is all smiles beside him, both of them with huge bags in hand. Cecilia, their daughter, runs up to me, and I kneel so she can jump right into my arms. She’s only two, and the cutest little thing with her big hazel eyes.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I tell her, giving her a tender kiss on her cheek and rolling a hand down her long brown hair.
The boys jump all over Matteo like maniacs, and Matteo flips Frankie upside down while Gianni wraps his arms around his thigh.
“Aida.” I go to her, embracing her in a tight hug. “I’m so happy you guys were able to cut your trip a little shorter. This means so much to us.”
“We’d never miss it. We’re both so happy for you.” She pulls back just as Raquel comes out of the house, after having to use the ladies’ room for the hundredth time.
Her hand rests on that round belly, where her son is quite comfortable. Four-year-old Carnelia, her daughter, runs past her mother, her black hair twirling in the wind as she hops off to be with her cousins.
“Oh my God. There you are!” Raquel rushes over, but it’s more like waddling. She’s due any day now, so her running days have been numbered.
“How’s little Tristen doing?” Aida asks as they hug.
She huffs. “Destroying my damn bladder. I swear he’s trying to kill me in there.” Her head shakes, her brows arching. “How he still has room to kick his mother all day, I don’t know.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember when Cecilia did the same. I could barely sleep those last few weeks. You’re due in three days, right?”
“Yes, and I swear if this child is late, I’m pulling him out myself.”
We all laugh, and then more people arrive. This time, it’s Enzo and Jade, with Robby and Lauralyn with them. Their little girl is three and is Jade’s replica down to her eyes.
I still can’t believe Robby’s twelve now. He’s come a long way since the torture my family has put him through. In fact, Aida and Jade have put the past as far behind them as they can.
Jade has started a center for trafficked women, and with her guidance, that place has been a refuge for many women.
It’s thanks to her that Aida has gotten through her issues.
She was one of the first people Jade helped.
After the center opened, Aida continued to attend the meetings, and even assisted Jade with organizing events, and later on, began helping women at the center too.