Chapter 32
The slap of his gloves sounding off the empty walls of the exam room is harsher than I expect, but I don’t take my eyes off Benicio. Casually, he tosses them across the room into the empty trash bin, then looks at me and Damiano. The playfulness on his face leaves. “Sorry, I played basketball in college on a scholarshi-”
Damiano clears his throat, and Benicio stops. Seriousness returns to his fa?ade. “The baby is fine. The heart rate checks out. Everything looks normal for around eleven weeks. Growth is perfect. Baby B is on track according to what we saw the last time you were here.”
He looks between Damiano and me before continuing. “You do have a subchorionic hematoma, though.”
My brain has yet to wrap around his words when I hear, “What is that?”
My eyes divert to a worried Damiano, who asked, then back to Benicio for an answer.
Immediately, when he saw the blood in the bathroom, he took control. In a millisecond, Damiano had yelled for Gio to grab a pair of his underwear from his room, then wrapped a towel around me and between my legs to catch the bleeding before picking me up and carrying me around bridal style. While we’d waited, he’d apologized profusely, offering me comforting words and saying that he would never be rough with me again, then praying gently in Italian.
It was bittersweet that he’d shown such vulnerability, but at the same time, I was happy to know he was capable of that emotion. Not that I intended to ever use it against him. But seeing Damiano sincerely worried about me and his baby forced an emotion I had tried ignoring to explode within me. It made me want him to worry about me and our children constantly. Not to worry, per se, but to be aware that he cared about what could happen to us because he loved us, not because we were an obligation.
“Basically, it's a build-up of blood between your uterine wall and the amniotic sac. It’s very common in early pregnancy, and the majority of the time, it resolves itself without any medical intervention.”
I’m quiet– Thoughtful.
I don’t have the nerve to say that for the briefest of moments, I hoped I was miscarrying. This so-called war that’s coming isn’t something to take lightly in this lifestyle, and bringing a child into it would make things a million times worse.
Plus, it would soothe my soul if the Rossis met the end during it.
Granted, I know they will cause their demise, but I need it to be by my hand. I haven’t killed dozens of their men over the last few years just to allow someone else that gratification.
The Rossi Family is mine.
Aldo Rossi is mine.
“So, we don’t have to do anything for it?”
Damiano asks.
Benicio shakes his head for a second, then stops. “Not really, but no sex. At least not until her second trimester.”
Benicio stops to think. “Better yet, you have an appointment in a couple of weeks, where we’ll get another look at Baby B, and we’ll complete the genetic testing at that time. So, we’ll see how it’s looking at that point.”
He waits. “Are we learning the gender?”
What?
I look at Damiano, and we both shrug. “I guess.”
Benicio smiles. “Good. Then we’ll do all that testing and also take a look to make sure that you’re in the clear for routine activities.”
“Should she stop running?”
I snap my head to look at Damiano, who doesn’t regard me after his question. I’m uncertain if I should be happy he’s asking or annoyed that this will give him another excuse to confine me to my bed. Lord knows, he’s been trying to keep me there since we returned from Italy, and not even in the sense of fucking me all the time. I might not have minded if he had been doing that. His past silent treatment and avoidance of me have made me barely want to get out of bed, along with being sick.
“The bleeding stopped,”
I interject. Sure, there was a scary amount before, but that wasn’t the case now.
Benicio hesitates. I told him my running helps me cope with things from my past. “I would say for now, to halt all physical activities. When you come back, we’ll revisit everything and reassess.”
I’m defeated.
In the last three hours, everything has been stripped from my being. I finally got fucked after a forced hiatus, found out being pregnant is less fun than I already know it is, and been told that I can’t do the one thing that is second nature.
And I’m still pregnant.
The sigh that escapes my mouth is too audible. Damiano and Benicio look at me, mirroring expressions of empathy I despise.
I don’t need them to give me sad looks. I need them to figure out how to fix this bleed. It’s bad enough that I’ve sacrificed my body to this baby in exchange for a sense of immunity. They can give that grace. What am I supposed to do if I can’t run when I can’t sleep?
Cry?
Kill?
“What about her being sick?”
“Damiano.”
My husband looks at me sternly. The look doesn’t silence me like it would other people; instead, it makes me want him more.
Which is why you’re here.
Benicio looks at me. “Sick? Like morning sickness?
I shake my head. “It’s not bad.”
“It’s all day. She barely keeps anything down.”
Damiano counters. “She doesn’t eat. Vlad shoving this broth Anya suggested down her throat.”
Shoving?
I guffaw. He’s still salty about the smoothie. Like he was the one forced to drink it and threw up. “He’s not shoving anything in me.”
I sigh. “We all know who did that and why I’m here.”
“It’s not enough, Bellissima.”
I roll my eyes. Sure, it’s hard to keep things down, but since food tastes like shit anyways, I feel like I’m not missing out on anything. Who needs food when the mere thought of it sends me to throw up?
“It helps.”
I counter.
“I’ll prescribe you something that should help with the nausea. It can make you a bit drowsy, too. I always suggest taking them at night, but to each their own, you know?”
Benicio jumps in, assisting us with ending the impending disagreement.
I nod, resigning to my inevitable destiny.
From here on out, I will be resting, untouched, fretted over, and undoubtedly coddled. The vast mansion is going to be my demise. “Anything else?” I ask.
Benicio reaches down by the machine and produces the sonogram a moment later. I look down at the picture of monochrome colors and absorb the idea of the little blob growing inside me. Until now, I’ve regarded it as an intrusion— And it is. But it’s an intrusion that I welcomed and wanted for a brief moment when I forgot the world we live in.
A world of death and destruction.
Whether I want to love this baby or not, whether I am attached to it or not, has nothing to do with how easily things can be snatched from me. Aside from the initial fear I felt so long ago at being a teen mother, when I was pregnant by Aldo, I was excited. I had envisioned a great life for us and molded this impenetrable bubble.
Only for it to be shattered by the person that helped create it.
“Is it normal to not feel anything?”
Damiano looks at me, but I don’t bother glancing at him. I’m sure my question surprises him since I seemed happy for a split-second before he retreated into himself. He hasn’t asked me anything about this pregnancy and is possibly as unmoved by it as I am.
Benicio nods. “It happens, but there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe buy something for the baby. Perhaps a plush animal or something. Sometimes, it takes a while for it to feel concrete. And you have enough time to get used to it. It may be when you feel movement or have the baby, but the connection will happen.”
I hope so.
It takes a moment for me to realize I said the words out loud. Benicio gently pats my shoulder, then stands. His eyes cut to Damiano, and after telling me he’ll be right back to help me, they step outside the room. Their hushed tones in Italian make me roll my eyes. I could hear what they say if I wanted, but I don’t care right now. I lay my head back on the table and look at the sonogram. I stare at the illuminated blob that stands out in the picture. From the angle that it’s at, it looks exactly like I would expect it to— Just a bean with deformed limbs starting to take form.
I want to love it. I had figured that if any connection formed immediately, this would. But I’ve been wrong about many things.
Maybe I’m like my mother and am unable to build a connection with anything that is standing in the way of what I want. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve noticed I’m like her. I have an unhealthy attraction to men that will undoubtedly either kill me or get me killed. I’m too smart for my own good, but I also don’t utilize it in a way that will benefit me.
I’ll probably screw this kid up, or it will come out continuing the tradition of generational trauma.
The room door opens, and Damiano steps in. Immediately, his eyes fall on me, and he nods. “Are you ready?”
I sit up, scooting down to the end of the examination table. Damiano is next to me before I can touch my feet to the step. As if I’m fragile and might break, he helps me down from the table, his eyes watching me carefully.
Without regarding him I grab my pants and underwear from behind the small curtain that is supposed to give the illusion of privacy, and Damiano takes them from me. He dismissively tosses my pants back on the bench and holds up my underwear until he figures out the front and back, then bends down in front of me.
“Step in.”
His arms stretch out toward me, and I lean on his shoulder for minor support to put my legs through while he pulls them up.
Though the bleeding stopped the moment we got in the car, I know that I could still be spotting. I angle my chin towards a small basket of unused sanitary napkins for women. “Grab one of those.”
Damiano looks at the basket and grabs one. “What is it?”
So bright, yet so dumb.
I chuckle. “A pad.”
He stares at me strangely, then extends it to me. Quickly, I pull my panties down enough to put the pad on comfortably in case I start to spot at any time. “You said the bleeding stopped.”
A sigh escapes me. “Yeah, this is just in case.”
When I stand up straight, pulling my underwear up. The unreadable expression on Damiano’s face startles me. I know that he’s not ready to pick a fight with me over a sigh.
Or I hope not.
Before I can ask him what he’s staring at, he pulls me in for a gentle hug against his chest, his muscled arms enveloping me in a comforting embrace I haven’t felt in years. I stand stiffly for a moment, my head pressed on his chest, and when he lets out a deep breath, I finally breathe with him, my body relaxing a bit. His left hand tangles in my hair at the back of my head and tightens to a painful degree that makes my insides clench despite what’s going on, and he kisses the top of my head.
“Everything about you unsettles me, Bellissima.”
“Yeah?”
It takes effort from my position, but I lift my head and look up at him.
His dark brown eyes search mine for the longest– Search for something I’m uncertain of, but instead of kissing me like I expect him to, he leans his forehead on mine. Time seems to suspend briefly while we both stand with our eyes closed, foreheads together, and arms wrapped around each other until a knock disturbs us.
“The car is waiting, Capo.”
Marco Jr. says through the door.
I look back at him, realizing that whatever moment we had where we might have divulged more than we were ready to is over. “My pants.”
Damiano grabs my pants, which are really his, and helps me get into them. He secures the tie around my waist enough that it won’t fall, but it isn’t bothering me, then scoops me up in his arms without question. I don’t bother protesting or trying to fight him. That wouldn’t benefit either of us right now, and I’m tired. This entire day has made us both feel too vulnerable, and if this brief closeness makes us look weak, it would make us appear weaker if I were to fight him.
I will explore the fact that I feel safe in his embrace later. Whenever I feel safe with someone, the other shoe has undoubtedly dropped harder than I expected.
It’ll be a battle for tomorrow.