18. Ava
18
Ava
I’m pregnant .
It’s the first thought that pops into my mind when I wake up, the last thought that slipped away last night when I finally passed out. I wake groggily, trying to find the annoying buzzing that woke me up back into this self-made nightmare. My hand closes around my phone on Nico’s nightstand. A notification illuminates the top of the screen. A short message from Marcel ominously reads:
Salvatore needs to talk to you today.
No context, no further explanation. My thoughts spin through a frantic series of what-ifs. Is it about me? About Nico? I cannot think of a good reason to be called into Salvatore’s office, like a child dragging her feet to the principal’s office.
He can’t know , can he?
But he is the don, and everyone says the don always knows more than he should and less than he lets on. My hands feel clammy. If Salvatore knows, then…
The thought of Marcel finding out makes me sick with fear.
For the first time since I’ve known him, Nico oversleeps. I sneak out of the room to let him rest. My hands and feet feel numb and clumsy as I get ready for the day, my anxiety a constant cloud. I wonder if that’s bad for the baby and find yet another thing to be anxious about.
I have a general sense of what I need. Vitamins and doctor’s appointments—the earlier the better. I wish I could talk to Tessa about it. She just went through all this, so she would have a hundred resources at her disposal and be more than happy to shower me in them. I stare at my own reflection, wondering if I could trust her to keep my secret. Would she be compelled to tell her husband? My thoughts drift to Cecilia, my second-best option, but she was quite clear about how she thought I should resolve this.
Maybe she’s right.
My thoughts swing like a pendulum between my options.
How long can I keep this from Nico? If it’s even possible. Can I hide the prenatal pills? Can I make it to my doctor’s appointments without him following? He’s been busier lately, but the man has a preternatural sense for where I am and what I’m doing. How long can I realistically get away with it?
My eyes drift down to my belly, knowing that the answer is there in its flat, unremarkable shape. I flirt with the idea of telling Nico when he wakes up, but his words are a whisper at the back of my mind. A bloodbath .
Why?
Because of Thaddeus? Marcel? Salvatore ?
I decide not to tell him anything. I need some kind of leverage first, some way to protect Marcel, to stop Nico, and to prevent whatever disaster he thinks is looming on the horizon. And right now, with my toes on the threshold of Salvatore’s office door, I need to manage one crisis at a time. He calls for me to enter.
He smiles at me, but his scarred smiles are seldom reassuring.
“Have a seat,” he says.
I note Marcel isn’t here as I slide into the chair across from him.
“What did you need to talk about?” I ask, desperate to pop the bubble of suspense in my head.
“Thaddeus,” he sighs.
I’ve never felt so much relief hearing that name.
Salvatore gives me a gentle but firm suggestion that I should start seeing him regularly if I want this deal to work. I realize how strange it must look to him. I agreed to this deal, insinuated that this was what I wanted and that I was willing to do whatever it took to see it work…and not once have I made any effort toward getting to know the man. We’re not kids. We have each other’s numbers, but Thaddeus and I continue to be led around by Salvatore instead of either of us asking each other if and when we’d like to go out like reasonable adults.
I can’t explain to him that, between having a mental health crisis and getting knocked up by his brother, my schedule has been a little tight lately.
But Salvatore is right, and in some backward, old-school way of thinking, the bid of an $80,000 sedan has declared Thaddeus Mori’s very serious intentions toward me and our arrangement.
“I’ll reach out to him today,” I promise.
Before I can stand up, Salvatore adds, “Marcel says you’ve been spending a lot of time with Nico.”
I freeze like a deer that just heard a twig snap in the woods.
“Nico has been spending a lot of time with me,” I correct him carefully.
Salvatore leans back, studying me over his intertwined fingers. “Has he said anything about his release from prison?”
I struggle to think of anything. Nico has told me a lot about his life before prison, but not much about getting out.
“Nothing specific.”
I hate the way he looks at me, like every answer runs through his own lie detector test, scanning it for irregularities. One wrong blink, and I might be quietly shuffled to the list of people Salvatore distrusts.
“Can I ask why, sir?”
“Nico’s release was funded by someone cooking the books at the fighting ring. That much we suspected from the beginning, and now we know it for a fact. They skimmed enough money to pay off a judge, who accepted a fraudulent appeal and fast-tracked Nico out of the system. His prison records were tampered with to exclude the multiple convictions and incident reports he earned in prison, and all recorded evidence of his visitors and phone calls have gone up in smoke. Someone has an incentive to want Nico out, which on its own isn’t an issue, but also for keeping their motives a secret from me.”
“I don’t know anything about that…”
Salvatore nods.
“I didn’t think you would. I wanted to wait until after you were married and the deal was done, but I promised you a job and I think I may have something for you now. Marcel wants you far away from Nico, but I want the opposite. I want you to investigate Nico. The circumstances of his release, his friends, his habits. He might let his guard down around you. See what you can learn and how much you can get him to admit to. Everything you discover, bring back to me.”
My heart drops to my feet, my tongue going dry.
Salvatore stands and comes around the desk, making me look up at him. His hand rests on my head, and I shudder under his touch.
“I trust you with this because I know you love your brother, and you’re willing to protect him. Depending on what we find, we may be able to take the arranged marriage off the table.”
Which means something would happen to make Nico no longer a threat.
It isn’t even a question. I am not given the option to say yes or no . This is a command. A job .
Just like Frankie swaying toward the bookie that night at the fighting ring, I am the mental warfare that Salvatore wants to use against Nico. The Achilles heel that might bring him down—for everyone’s benefit. Maybe even mine.
I feel myself nod. I am going to look into Nico, to try to learn the truth about him. Salvatore doesn’t have to know that I’m not just doing it for him. I’m doing it for me. My stomach squirms nervously, a quiet voice in my head gently correcting me:
For us .