38. Lucia
38
LUCIA
T he final bell rings and students’ voices fill the hallway outside my classroom. My second graders jump to their feet, collect their things, and race for the door. I stand there leaning against the doorframe, watching them mill about, my mind a million miles away. They’re so full of energy and carefree in a way I barely remember.
I’ve always wanted kids—since I was little, I imagined myself as a mom. I pushed my baby dolls around in toy strollers, changed their diapers with meticulous care, and dropped them off at pretend school. I’d even pack them little lunches and kiss them goodbye, just like I saw my mother do to my brothers and me. When Gianluca was born, I was able to experience being a mother as firsthand as a girl can get without having a baby herself. I helped change his real diapers, fed him bottles, and rocked him to sleep. It was like all my childhood dreams had come to life in my baby brother, and I cherished every moment of it.
But now, with the looming possibility of becoming a mom staring me in the face, I feel like a stranger in my own skin. Am I really ready for this? I thought I would be, but something about it feels terrifying.
Gianluca . My heart tightens as his name whispers through my mind again, a bittersweet ache that never truly fades. The loss of my baby brother still haunts me. He never got to grow up, never got to run through hallways like my students, or yell after his friends as they bolted for the door. He would be eleven if he were still alive, a thought that sends a fresh wave of grief through me. I can almost picture him now—lanky and mischievous, with a crooked grin and grass-stained knees. But that image is just a cruel trick of imagination, a glimpse of a future that will never be. Instead, I’m left with fading memories of tiny fingers and soft baby giggles, frozen in time like a photograph that can never be updated.
Before I can spiral down a hole so dark I might never crawl out of it, Brooklyn’s voice breaks through the noise. “Hey, Luce!” She is bright and full of life, the opposite of my thoughts.
I shake off the memory of my baby brother and turn to see my best friend striding down the hall. Her smile is wide, and she has her bag slung over one shoulder. “You ready to hit up the Walgreens?” She asks, and the question pulls me back to reality.
I force myself to smile. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”
We fall into step together, the crowd of students parting around us as we walk toward the exit. I can feel the anxiety building in my chest, tight and uncomfortable, knowing that what comes next won’t be easy. “Listen, before we leave, you should know something.”
Brooklyn’s brow furrows. “Know what?”
I sigh heavily; this is going to bring up more questions. “Just… don’t freak out if you see someone following us,” I mutter.
Confusion flashes across her face. “Following us? Like, a stalker?”
“Like, a bodyguard.” I chew on my bottom lip, trying to figure out the best way to explain my situation without indulging her curiosity. “It’s complicated.”
Brooklyn narrows her eyes. “Everything is complicated with you, Lucia.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice; I know my life is not the easygoing story that some girls have. It’s a tangled web of complications and secrets I’ve learned to navigate, albeit not always gracefully. “It’s not what you think,” I say, my voice low and tinged with a hint of resignation. “He’s just here to keep an eye on me. There was a whole stalker incident a while back,” I admit. That isn’t the whole truth, but it’s a piece of it, and I hope it’s enough to quell her curiosity.
I watch Brooklyn’s face carefully, searching for signs of disbelief or further questioning, silently praying she’ll let it go. The last thing I need right now is to dive into the murky waters of my past.
Brooklyn lowers her voice and leans in, grabbing my arm with a grip that’s both conspiratorial and uncomfortably tight. Her eyes widen with a mix of concern and barely concealed excitement. “Does this have to do with your family?” she whispers urgently, her breath hot against my ear. Her tone changes dramatically, turning salacious with glee. “Everyone knows the Terlizzis have something to do with the Midwest mafia,” she continues, her voice dripping with the thrill of potential scandal. “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret. Is that why you need a bodyguard? Are you in some kind of danger?” The eagerness in her voice makes it clear she’s hoping for an affirmative answer, hungry for a taste of danger and intrigue in our otherwise mundane elementary school teacher’s lives.
I swallow hard, the word mafia hanging between us like a dangerous secret. She is closer to the truth than she thinks. “Something like that,” I mumble, averting my gaze and fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, not wanting to explain further. It’s too much to unpack, and I don’t have the emotional energy or desire to delve into the intricacies of my family’s world or the complex realm that my fiancé runs. If Brooklyn knew the full extent of it all—that I was engaged to the man who not only has connections to but actually runs the Midwest mafia, as she so eloquently puts it—I can only imagine the endless barrage of questions it would bring.
Brooklyn stares at me for a long moment like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle. But instead of pressing the matter, she just nods and starts walking again. “Alright, I guess we’re bringing your bodyguard to Walgreens, then.”
As we approach the front doors of the school, I spot Raffaele leaning casually against a sleek black car. He has his designer sunglasses on and his muscular arms crossed over his chest. His face wears its usual expression of mild indifference, a mask that rarely slips to reveal the sharp intelligence beneath. I can’t help but wonder what others think when they see him waiting like this, my own personal escort in an Armani suit. “That’s him,” I gesture my chin at him.
“Cute,” Brooklyn says with the ghost of a smile. “If that’s what mafia guys look like, hook a sister up.” The last thing Brooklyn needs is an introduction to the second most annoying man I know, right after the man I’m arranged to marry. Raffaele would probably turn on the charm, all smooth talk, and calculated gestures, while Brooklyn would be none the wiser to his true nature. No, it’s better to keep my worlds separate, especially when one of those worlds involves a man who’s as dangerous as he is irritating.
We climb into my car, and Brooklyn glances over her shoulder as Raffaele mimics my movements in the car next to mine. He pulls out just as we are, following behind us as we leave the parking lot. “So, this is your life now? Always being followed?”
I grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary. It’s hard to keep the frustration out of my voice when I say, “Yeah. Pretty much.”
The drive to Walgreens feels like it takes an eternity, each second stretching out like taffy. The silence in the car is thick and uncomfortable, a palpable tension that seems to smother us both. My thoughts are racing, ping-ponging between the possibility of my pregnancy and the suffocating weight of Saverio’s control over every aspect of my life. It’s a dizzying mental whirlwind that leaves me feeling nauseous and trapped. Or maybe that’s the baby.
Brooklyn chatters away, bless her heart, trying valiantly to fill the silence with her usual bubbly energy. But her words wash over me like white noise, barely registering as I remain lost in my tumultuous thoughts. To her credit, she doesn’t even chastise me for my obvious inattention. She understands, in that intuitive way of hers, that she can fill the silence with a thousand words, but it won’t change the heavy burden weighing on my mind.
I keep circling back to the pregnancy test waiting for us at the end of this interminable drive. My stomach clenches thinking about it, my mind reeling with the implications of what a positive result would mean. It’s not just about becoming a mother—it’s about being tied to Saverio for the rest of my life, about bringing an innocent child into this dangerous, twisted world I’ve found myself trapped in. The “what ifs” are enough to make me want to scream, but I bite my tongue and focus on the road ahead.
When we finally pull into the parking lot, I catch a glimpse of Raffaele’s car as it parks a few spots down. He stays close but doesn’t hover—he’s trying to look casual, like another shopper. Brooklyn raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything as we head into the store.
The fluorescent lights feel too bright as we step inside, and the familiar smell of detergent and pharmacy-grade soap makes me nauseous—my heart races as we make our way toward the back where the pregnancy tests are. Brooklyn sticks to me like glue, her nervous energy feeding off mine.
“Do you know which one to get?” She whispers, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and anxiety.
“No idea,” I mutter, scanning the rows of boxes. There are too many options, each one promising the fastest results and the clearest answers. I remember the one I got a few years ago when Saverio and I had a pregnancy scare when I was in college. But I didn’t have his guard dog tailing my every move back then. I bought the test just before the store closed when it was dark outside, and no one would notice a girl in a hoodie and sunglasses.
Brooklyn grabs a box, holding it up like a prize she’s won at a carnival. “This one seems legit,” she says, trying to lighten the mood with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She turns the package over, examining the bold claims on the back.
The laughter I force sounds hollow, echoing in the empty aisle. “Sure. Why not,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. My stomach churns as I take the box from her, the weight of it feeling much heavier than it should. I can’t help but wonder how such a small object could potentially change everything.
As we head toward the checkout, I catch sight of Raffaele in one of the nearby aisles, pretending to browse through a display of vitamins. He’s trying not to make it obvious, but he’s watching. He’s always watching.
“Alright,” I whisper to Brooklyn. “You buy it, and I’ll Venmo you. I’ve got to keep Raffaele distracted.”
Brooklyn nods quickly and takes the box, discreetly turning her body away from the bodyguard so he can’t see what’s in her hands. “Got it,” she whispers, her eyes darting nervously towards Raffaele before focusing back on me.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the performance ahead. With a final reassuring glance at Brooklyn, I walk over to Raffaele, my steps measured and deliberate. A smile spreads across my face, carefully crafted to appear natural and carefree. “Hey,” I say, my voice pitched slightly higher than usual in an attempt to sound casual. I lean against the shelf, feigning interest in the bottles of supplements. “You find anything interesting? I hear fish oil is all the rage these days. Supposed to be good for… well, everything, I guess.”
He glances down at me, not buying my attempt at small talk. “No.”
I keep smiling, stepping closer to him. “You sure? They’ve got some great deals on fish oil supplements this week.”
Raffaele raises an eyebrow as he looks down at the bottle I’m pointing to. I can feel Brooklyn getting closer and closer to check out, so I keep talking.
“Fish oil is really good for your heart,” I ramble, feeling like an idiot but knowing I need to keep him busy. “It helps with inflammation, too. My doctor recommended it when I was toeing the line of high cholesterol one year. You should try it.”
Raffaele just stares at me, unimpressed. “I’m good.”
When I finally overhear Brooklyn saying thank you to the cashier, I let out a silent sigh of relief, my shoulders sagging slightly. The pregnancy test is purchased and safely tucked away in her bag, out of sight. Raffaele is none the wiser, still standing there with that skeptical look, clearly wondering why I’ve suddenly become so passionate about fish oil supplements. Mission accomplished , I think to myself, feeling a mix of triumph and lingering nerves.
“Guess we’re ready to go,” I say, turning quickly on my heel to hightail it out of the store. “Everything good?” I ask Brooklyn as we climb back into my car.
“Easy peasy,” she says as she pulls out the bag with the test in it. “Now we just need a bathroom.”