Chapter Ten #2
I stared at the ceiling to gather myself, blinking back the tears that wanted to leak out as the doctor lifted the robe to expose my belly while carrying on a conversation in Italian with Vito.
Vito was asking a lot of questions, none of which I could understand.
The cold wand was placed on my belly. The rapid pulse of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room.
I turned my head to stare at the monitor.
Brutal emotion overwhelmed me again. Unlike the scans I’d had in London, this machine’s picture quality was much clearer and gave a three-dimensional image of my uterus.
I could see the baby’s face, its features, its tiny hands and fingers, the curve of its spine as it curled in on itself.
Love washed through me—swiftly followed by fear—as I realised how vulnerable that little life was. And how easily it could be harmed. Then a stark, damning realisation followed. How could I ever have believed I could protect this baby on my own?
The doctor spoke in Italian, clearly giving Vito all the information I wanted to hear too.
I lifted my head to ask them to speak in English, but what I saw on Vito’s face as he watched the pictures on the monitor shocked me into silence.
He was staring at the image as he fired questions at the doctor in Italian, but the cynical smile was gone.
For the first time since he had appeared in my kitchen, I caught a glimpse of the man I had coaxed out of hiding five long months ago.
The man who had taken me with such passion, but had also been playful and even tender as well as dominant.
‘What is the doctor saying?’ I whispered, desperate not to break that spell.
Vito’s gaze lurched to mine. He blinked as if waking from a trance. But the shimmer of wonder remained for a few seconds more. And foolish hope blossomed under my breastbone.
However ruthless he was, however dominating and controlling, seeing his child for the first time had had an impact on him.
‘He says you and the foetus are healthy and strong. But the baby is large, and you are small.’
My heart lurched at the pride in his voice.
Before he said anything more, though, the doctor began to take a series of measurements with the equipment, interrupting us to relay the information to Vito in Italian.
They continued their conversation, deliberately excluding me. A chill prickled over my skin as they discussed my baby as if I wasn’t even there.
The moment of connection felt lost, the tears welling again as I lay back down. And it occurred to me that however strong a connection Vito felt for this baby, he did not necessarily have one to me. The feeling of powerlessness returned full force.
I’d always considered myself so strong—smart and resilient and focussed and adaptable—because I’d had to be as a kid, as a teenager, even as an adult.
I’d got over the fact my dad hadn’t cared enough about me to stick around and see me born.
I’d picked up the pieces when Mum had disappeared when Evie and I were both still teenagers and worked my butt off to make a stable, secure life for us.
My ill-advised engagement to Dave had all been part of that plan.
Dave might be boring, but he was safe, reliable, predictable.
And when I’d discovered he wasn’t, I’d kicked him to the curb.
During my wild night with Vito, I’d finally discovered sometimes safe could also be repressed.
I’d even managed to drag myself up by my bootstraps and get over the trauma of watching Vito get shot, of being shot at myself, once I’d discovered I was pregnant.
But what did I do now? The problems I faced felt insurmountable. What if I really was no more than a piece of ‘property’ to Vito? How did I deal with the fact I still felt drawn to him—physically, sexually and even emotionally?
I was so screwed. I was rudderless, dependent in a way I’d never been before. And that scared me even more than thinking about all the ways my baby could be hurt in the violent world in which Vito lived. The world I would have to live in now too.
‘Leave us.’ Vito’s command had me drawing in a shattered breath as it dragged me back to the present.
The doctor obeyed him instantly, hooking the wand back to the machine. He switched off the monitor and left the room without another word.
I continued to stare at the screen through the mist which had formed in my eyes. The picture was gone, the monitor dark, but it felt as if I could still hear my baby’s heartbeat.
Vito stood and walked towards me. I cradled my bump, aware of the cold gel the doctor hadn’t had a chance to wipe off.
But when I tried to draw the gown back over my belly, he clasped my wrist, preventing me.
Without saying anything, he ripped a strip of tissue off the roll by the machine with his other hand and then slowly cleaned off the gel.
I shuddered, his tender care of me as disconcerting as it was unsettling. I was scared to let my guard down, to let in any feelings towards him. But how could I prevent it when I’d seen the awe on his face before he’d had a chance to mask it? How did I protect myself from that?
He placed his large hand over my stomach. And his gaze rose to my face—the fierce expression devastating me even more.
‘It is a boy,’ he said, his voice thick with pride.
I nodded as my belly bottomed out under his hand.
‘Is that what you wanted?’ I asked. A man as alpha as he was would no doubt prize a son more than a daughter. But he seemed surprised by my observation.
‘Why would you think this?’
I shrugged. ‘Because you’re a mafia boss, and from what I’ve observed of how things operate in your world, men have a lot more power.’ Which had to be the understatement of the century.
It saddened me to realise he might not have valued a girl child…even though I might have been better off. Would he have discarded us both if I wasn’t carrying his son?
Maybe that’s why your own dad didn’t want you?
The little voice I remembered from the darkest days of my childhood when my insecurities had got the better of me whispered in my head.
I shut it out because it wasn’t going to help me. But then my mind started to race with thoughts of what it could mean for a boy, having Vito as a father. Would he expect his son to inherit his empire? Would he want to teach him how to shoot a gun, how to kill?
I pressed a hand to my mouth and turned away from him, feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. But he grasped my wrist to tug my hand down. Then he gripped my chin to bring my gaze back to his.
‘You are wrong, Mia. I am not a monster,’ he murmured.
‘How do I know that?’ I blurted out. ‘When I don’t know you or what you intend to do with us both?’
He frowned, but instead of looking angry, he ran his thumb down my cheek—his eyes shadowed with an emotion I couldn’t name. Not regret, but also not the ruthlessness I was used to. For a second I saw something sad, almost haunted in his eyes.
‘Is this why you did not tell me of the baby, because you thought I would hurt you both?’
It would have been so easy in that moment to pretend I had been afraid of him.
But I had to be honest with myself now, as well as him, so I shook my head.
‘It wasn’t you I was afraid of. It was the violence in your life.
It terrified me that night, seeing you get shot.
I thought if I kept the baby a secret, we would both be safe, that no one would ever find us… ’
‘This is foolish, Mia. I have enemies. It is a hazard of my business, and they would have found out about you both eventually…’
‘But how?’ I asked, my voice breaking.
‘Stop this,’ he said, the dictator returning, but he still didn’t sound as angry as he had been before, when he had first spotted my pregnancy.
Instead he sounded concerned and determined.
‘It is my job to keep you safe. No one can hurt what is mine. I will not let them. You should not have denied me that right…’
What is mine… Why did that sound so cold—and so divorced from the man who had watched his baby on the monitor for the first time only moments ago with awe in his eyes, or the man who had cleaned the gel off so tenderly?
Who was the real Vito Rocco? And how much of myself would I have to risk to find out? Because it felt like I’d risked so much already.
‘You talk about the baby and me as if we are possessions you own, Vito,’ I said, trying to make him understand how diminished I felt. ‘And I hate that. It makes me feel so powerless.’
He stiffened, and those dark brows jerked up his forehead. Was he astonished I had dared to challenge him? Or simply shocked I would expect him to consider the emotional impact of his actions?
I soon realised it might be both when he replied, his tone tight with frustration again.
‘You will not be powerless once you accept that you and the baby are my responsibility now. Your feelings will not keep you safe. I will. If you do as I demand, you will have everything a woman could desire.’
‘Everything? Really?’ I scoffed at the arrogant statement, letting the surge of temper cover the anxiety making my stomach hurt.
He lived a lavish lifestyle, and anything he wanted that he couldn’t buy, he took by force—like the services of a top obstetrician in the middle of the night. But I had to make him understand, I wasn’t for sale at any price.
‘I will be generous with you once you accept your position,’ he continued, misunderstanding me again. ‘Even though you did not tell me of my child.’
A muscle pulsed in his jaw, signalling his growing anger. The mention of my decision not to tell him about the baby again, though, was a red flag I knew I had to address.
I hadn’t been blameless in what had happened up to this point.