Chapter 16
SAOIRSE
“Do you want to see?”
A week after saving Bruno’s life, I’m lying in a hospital bed with gel smeared all over my abdomen while a nurse drags a wand over me to check on the health of my baby.
Ignoring it is my main goal but the nausea each morning has been overwhelming.
I don’t know how other women do it. It feels like the baby is trying to claw its way out of my throat to remind me that it’s here and with no one to talk to about whether this is normal or not, the hospital was my only option.
“Saoirse?” The doctor tries again, pausing the wand on my belly. “Do you want to see your baby?”
I keep my gaze fixed on the opposite wall away from the monitor and map out the multiple faces of the smiling, happy family that stares back at me. “No.”
“Are you sure? There’s not a lot to see at this stage. It’s like a jelly bean but if you look closely—”
“I don’t want to.” Cutting her off feels harsh but the less I know about this baby, the better.
I’m not built to be a mother, certainly not one to a strange man I know nothing about.
My fingers tighten around my bunched-up shirt, and I swallow around the lump forming in my throat.
“I just wanted to make sure things were… I don’t know. Normal.”
“Things are very normal, dear,” replies the kindly doctor. The monitor beside me beeps and clicks a few times and then she retracts the wand and gently wipes over my belly with some tissue to remove the gel. “Is that what you were so concerned about?”
As soon as the gel is gone, I pull my shirt down but when I sit up there’s a sudden rush of warm pressure behind my eyes. I blink and suddenly, I’m crying. “Oh, my God!”
“Saoirse!” My doctor moves closer to the bed and quickly presses some tissues into my hands. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry!” I sob, clutching the tissues and trying to stem the flow of tears that suddenly pour down my cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m crying! I’m not a crier!”
Her face is flooded with sympathy as she perches on the bed next to me and her lips pull into an upside-down sympathetic smile. “It’s okay, let it out.”
“No!” I gasp, sniffling quickly and blinking rapidly to try and chase the tears away. “I don’t have anything to let out. I’m not sad, I’m not! I don’t understand!”
Sob after sob tears its way out of my throat as quickly as the rolls of morning nausea until I’m gasping for air and the tissues are rapidly soaked in my tears.
It gets worse when the doctor places her hand lightly on my shoulder.
Pressure swells in my chest and the tears pour like fountains. I feel like I’m drowning.
“Saoirse, have you been talking to anyone about the baby? Do you have a support network around you? It’s very important for first time mothers to have someone in their corner because this can be a very scary experience.”
“No,” I wail loudly, hiccupping. “I can’t tell anyone, I don’t even want to. I don’t want to be pregnant and I don’t even know who the father is. It’s just this thing inside me and I don’t know what to do!”
She pats my shoulder gently. “Honey, there are options. If you don’t want this baby then there are plenty of things you can do, from abortion to adoption.”
“I don’t know!”
“You have a strong family around you, can’t you tell them?”
“No,” I sob. “Not until I know who the dad is. And it’s complicated because— because I don’t want them to look at me differently!”
The tears become overwhelming and for twenty minutes I sob my heart out while the doctor cuddles me.
Eventually, the tears dry and I’m left feeling incredibly embarrassed at falling apart.
Last time I cried like that was Brenden’s funeral and even then I did it quietly.
Shaking my head, I dab at my raw eyes with even more tissues and then sag back against the bed.
“I can’t tell you what to do, dear. Or take those steps for you. But I advise you to reach out to someone. A sibling or a friend. It’s important that you have someone to help you deal with the emotional toil of this, regardless of what you decide.”
She’s right, but the idea of admitting this to anyone is incredibly daunting.
No one has ever given me a reason to think they would react negatively but I have too much on my plate right now to worry about fielding baby questions from my siblings.
After reassuring the doctor that I’m fine and will take her advice, I hurry from the hospital and don’t stop speed-walking until I’m outside and the hot June sun is baking my bare arms to a crisp.
“Cian?” He answers on the third ring.
“Saoirse!” His voice immediately calms me but just as I would know with him, he can instantly tell something is wrong. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
“Trust me,” I say, breathing deeply with only faint sniffles. “Listen, I’m calling about the masquerade.”
“Ah, your search for a certain mask right?”
“Exactly. Have you come up with anything else?”
“Y’know, I’d ask why you aren’t looking into this yourself given how important it seems to be to you,” he replies with an audible smirk. “But then I have always been the better twin at getting info.”
Rolling my eyes, I walk slowly down the street toward the bus stop. “Now who’s bullshitting.”
“Fair. I have nothing new I’m afraid. I’ve matched every mask to every patron,” Cian sighs. “But I’m on to staff now.”
“Staff?” I stop in my tracks. “I don’t remember the staff wearing masks.”
“Not all of them were but there were quite a few who took part. Particularly those serving certain entrees or meals. It was supposed to add to the theme I think.”
An employee? Could that have been who it was? The man certainly didn’t give off the same vibe as every other guest and his suit definitely wasn’t as pristinely fitted as even Cian’s. Have I been looking in the wrong pool of guests?
“Thanks, Cian. This is really important.”
“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me why?”
“Not yet.”
“You’re not in any trouble are you?”
There it is. His honest concern that I could meet with my concerning honesty. I could tell him the truth about a quick fling in a closet resulting in a baby but I know as soon as I tell him, he’d likely never leave my side. And then my investigation would become very difficult.
“No, Cian. I’m not in any trouble. Thank you.”
“Alright. I’m here, remember?”
“I know.” I should ask him to pick me up now that I’m far away from the hospital, make him feel useful and further reassure him that I’m fine but there’s someone else I’d much rather see. “Love you.”
“Love you too, sis.”
The line clicks and I’m left in silence amidst the busy, bustling street. Several texts ping through from my security who are alarmed at my late check in so I text them quickly and then call the one person I do want to see.
Bruno.
“Hey gorgeous,” Bruno says as he answers, sounding as breathless as ever. “Don’t tell me. You’ve cracked the case wide open and you’re calling to tell me that I no longer have to look over my shoulder or worry that my name is stricken from my father’s will.”
“Damn,” I chuckle. “That’s a lot of pressure for one phone call.”
“So that’s a no.”
“Sorry, no.”
“Damn.” He groans dramatically. “There goes my good mood.”
“Bummer.” I pout slightly. “Why are you always breathless when I call?”
“Oh, I’m moving some furniture around. And by moving I mean I was cleaning up and some bullets decided to do a Houdini and roll under the bed. Do you know how hard it is as a muscular man to fit under a bed? Impossible, I tell you.”
“You could have called me for help.”
“And have you crawling about on this disgusting motel floor? Not a chance,” Bruno chuckles. “Moving the bed was much easier. So!” He groans and breathes out deeply as if relaxing. “If you’re not calling with that kind of good news, what are you calling for?”
“Hang out with me.” Why is my heart racing so fast asking a simple question? We’ve fucked, more than once. I saved his life. We’ve been working together. So asking him to hang out shouldn’t be such a big deal and yet it feels like my heart is going to explode out of my chest.
What if he says no? What if this is purely business for him with a side of adrenaline-fueled sex? What if he’s just using me and the thought of spending time with me without the focus of work or more is just too—
“Thought you’d never ask,” Bruno replies. “Text me where you are and I’ll come pick you up.”
It’s as easy as that. He arrived twenty minutes later and while I don’t have a plan in mind, he does.
We drive to a mall and shop for an hour as he uses what money he’s scraped together to buy some more decent clothes so he can stop wearing the same pair of jeans all the time.
We have lunch in a small family cafe and share tales of our childhood—though they’re more like when we fired our first gun and how we learned to fight rather than delightful stories of school and pets.
Bruno spends a long time talking about a dog he had as a child until his father decided it was making him too soft and got rid of it. Cruel, in my opinion.
After lunch we drop into an art gallery and explore the intricate and delightful—and often confusing—works that are considered art these days.
Bruno gets scolded for touching a statue that had no signage indicating it was part of a display and we leave quickly barely hiding our laughter.
Dinner is a poke of fries from a food truck and we walk along the river as the sun sinks low behind the horizon and the sky turns into a beautiful cherry pink.
It’s exactly the kind of day I needed after such a whirlwind morning.
He makes me feel like a person, like a real human rather than an Underboss and it’s not something I’ve felt in such a long time.
My life has been full on about work since Brenden’s murder and the years haven’t been kind.
This might be the most fun I’ve had since then and none of it was particularly exciting. It was all nice.
So was Bruno.
I pop a hot fry into my mouth as Bruno walks ahead a little and then turns to face me while walking backward.
“I hope you trip,” I smirk, chewing slowly and savoring the salty, vinegary mouthful.
“You wound me with such threats,” Bruno gasps, hand on heart. “After I bought you dinner.”
“Mmm so extravagant,” I tease, popping another fry into my mouth. “How can a girl possibly think ill of you after that?”
Bruno laughs loudly and shakes his head so hard that several strands of dark hair sweep down and kiss his forehead. “Y’know, for someone so dangerous you have a knack for making me feel human.”
I nearly trip with how similar his words are to my own thoughts. “Really?”
“Really. After I got out of prison, I felt like I was branded. Like everyone who looked at me could instantly tell I’d been in prison and knew everything about me.
Adjusting to life out here is so hard to explain because…
I dunno. I find myself missing stuff on the inside because I understood it.
I even make my noodles the same way because it’s familiar.
But after meeting with my father…” He puffs out his cheeks.
“Even Mary, bless her, she looks at me just like the others do. I don’t hold it against her though, she’s the only one who cares for me.
But you…” His eyes meet mine as he continues to slowly walk backward. “I dunno. You just make me feel real.”
Shit.
As he speaks, one thing becomes shockingly clear and I don’t know how I missed it before. Maybe I was purposefully ignoring it. But I like him. Really like him. Hearing him talk like this makes my cheeks warm and pride swell in my chest which has never happened before.
My heart is racing because of all the walking we’ve done, or because I’m growing a baby, or eating while walking. It’s racing because of him.
I’m crushing. Hard.
“But you better be careful,” Bruno grins. “If you’re not careful, being too nice to me will have terrible consequences.”
“Such as?”
“This crush I have on you might turn into something much more. After all, prison taught me not to sit on these kinds of things.”
He says it like a joke, like it’s a passing tease and there’s no truth to his words but when I look in his eyes, it’s like I can see right into his soul and the truth is clear to see.
Or it’s my own wishful thinking.
“Well,” I smirk, increasing my pace slightly and walking past him. “Who’s to say it hasn’t already for me?”
Two can play at this game.