Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Joaquin
This was not how I planned my day when I woke up.
Work out and breakfast with the guys.
Go to Alejandro’s housewarming party.
Check some properties under development in Jackson Heights, our Colombian enclave in Queens.
Work out with the guys again.
Dinner.
Bed.
That’s how the day was supposed to go. Finding out my one-night-stand-turned-girlfriend is pregnant wasn’t even on the bingo card.
I didn’t make my declarations about wanting a future with her because we thought she might be pregnant.
I wanted to do that from the first night.
Then I wanted to do it at the dinner, but we know how that went.
I hoped to pull her aside at the party and talk to her, but my huevos shrank up inside me when I saw her.
Then I overheard that conversation… And well, here we are.
A positive pregnancy test.
“Joaco—”
“Sí. Sorry. Yes.”
My mind reverts to Spanish in high-stress moments. It was my first language, and I still speak it daily. Maybe retreats is a better word than reverts.
“Are—are you—okay with this?”
I peer into Tre’s nervous gaze. Her brow’s furrowed, and I suspect she’s on the verge of tears because I withdrew.
“Chiquita, it’s a surprise for both of us. But I’m okay with it. I told you, I’ll support whatever you want.”
“I shouldn’t make this decision alone. You’re this baby’s parent too.”
“I am. But we’re not married. Even if we were, I’d never force you to do something this life-altering and potentially dangerous if you don’t want to.”
“But—”
She looks away from me, and it takes me a moment to understand what’s going through her head. I think she needs permission—not from me but maybe the universe—to want this since I suspect she was raised the way I was.
Under no circumstances do you get—someone—pregnant without being married.
This world is too dangerous to bring a child into it without proper forethought and planning. I can’t believe I’ll be the first one to have a child. I always figured it would be Jorge, if anyone. He seems the best suited to be a papá.
I figured Javier hates people too much to ever find someone who’d want his misanthropic ass. Then he found Madeline, and there was a lot of past trauma for them to work through. She’s a midwife and dedicated to other people’s babies right now.
Pablo’s our top enforcer, and while he was once the sweetest of all of us, he’s now so jaded and closed off that no one thought he’d marry either. He and Florencia are eyeballs-deep in getting her residency, then citizenship taken care of.
Alejandro’s—well, he’s just so damn pretty—he hates being called that—that I never imagined he’d settle down. Toria has an interesting career that doesn’t make growing a family feasible until she retires.
And Tío Enrique is old. Not in a decrepit kind of way. He can still thrash my ass in a boxing ring and outrun my mile by nearly a minute. But he’s in his late fifties and has Pablo as his heir. Tía Elle has three adult sons, so she doesn’t want to start over.
That leaves Jorge. He’s not what anyone would consider cuddly—except with his wife. I definitely never pictured him with spit up on his shirt and wearing one of those baby carrier things.
You should learn what they’re called since you’ll be wearing one in eight months.
There’s something about him that makes it easier to picture him as a dad before any of the rest of us. But he’s always been the most—I don’t know—settled of us.
“Joaco?”
Merde!
“Sorry, chica. I was thinking about the guys in my family. I didn’t think I’d be the first to be a papá, but they’re all going to make amazing tíos. Even my cousins will be more like tíos segundo than primos segundo.”
“Segundo? Second, right? It’s the same in Italian.”
“Yes. It’s like uncle once removed or cousin once removed. Do you speak fluent Italian?”
“Yes. I’m proficient in Sicilian too. Not everyone in my family speaks both. I learned Sicilian for when I went on vacation with Sera. Her mother’s family prefer it to Italian when they’re home.”
Serafina’s going to murder me. If she doesn’t send Mancinelli men after me, she’ll find some of her mother’s Sicilian Cosa Nostra family or her father’s Venetian Mala del Brenta men to tear me apart. I’m sure she’d pay for a first-class ticket for them.
Tre nudges me. “She won’t kill you. Maybe me, but not you.”
“Why on Earth would she take issue with you?”
“Because I’m supposed to know better than to get involved with someone in a cartel—especially the Cartel.”
Just like her family are the Italians—the Mafia in Boston, and the Mancinellis are the Italians—the Mafia in NYC, my family are the Colombians—the Cartel along all the Eastern Seaboard.
Sure, there are some Mexicans trying to sit at the grown-ups’ table, but we make sure they understand they’re still in booster seats.
Any other Latin American groups are barely more than street gangs we rarely think twice about. They all exist at our largesse.
“Is that going to influence your decision? I know you’re worried about your family, but what about the Mancinellis?”
She hesitates for a heartbeat before she shakes her head. The average person never would’ve noticed, but I’ve been trained to interrogate. I notice any tell.
“Take your time, little one. Nothing needs to be decided today.”
“But it does soon. If I can’t go through with this, then I need to decide quickly. I won’t let this progress. It’ll be hard enough as it is.”
“What do you need from me?”
She looks at me blankly, and I realize I never responded to her earlier discomfort. I let myself sink into my own thoughts rather than support her. What the fuck kind of partner does that make me? I’m too self-involved, but this is a shit ton to take in. I’m a little rattled.
“Chica, if you want to have the baby, then we’ll figure out how to do that. We have time to decide what our relationship will be and how that’ll affect our co-parenting.”
“Are you really okay with being a dad? Fuck, Joaco. This is a fucking disaster. If you’re not ready for this, I won’t force you either. You can walk away, and I’ll?—”
“Finish that sentence, and I’ll make sure you understand what happens when you’re purposely disagreeable with me.”
I sound fiercer than I intended, but I don’t want her to get herself worked up over something that’s a nonstarter.
“You’d punish me?”
“Yes.”
Her nostrils flare as she inhales so deeply I see her chest rise. She stares at me as the tip of her tongue peeks between her lips. The idea intrigues her.
“How would you do that?”
“Orgasm denial, restraints, spankings, edging. As your pregnancy progresses, I would lighten the spankings to just my hand.”
“So, there would be times when it wasn’t your hand?”
“Most definitely.”
“And if I don’t agree to that.”
“You will.”
Lust sparks in her gaze, and I can practically smell her arousal. She’s more than intrigued. She’s fucking turned on. She likes the idea of BDSM, even if it’s just light. But she especially likes the idea of me dominating her.
I lift her to straddle my lap. My hands rest on her hips for a moment before I pull her closer to me. I know she feels my hard-on.
“Joaco, no man’s spanked me. At least, not since I was like five or six, and my dad realized it wouldn’t even be worth trying.”
“I promise mine will affect you.”
She stares at me before she nods, offering me a timid smile.
“Is that what you want, chiquita?”
“Yes.”
“I want to be clear, though. I won’t punish you for standing up for what you want.
I won’t punish you for disagreeing with me if it’s a legitimate argument.
I won’t punish you for not wearing a coat, staying up too late, or not eating your vegetables.
That’s not the kind of dynamic I want, and I don’t think you would either.
It’s not true domestic discipline. But I will punish you if you’re purposely disagreeable because you speak poorly of yourself.
Your thoughts are your own, and I can’t control that.
But I won’t listen to anyone diminish you, even if it’s you doing it.
I will punish you if you take any unnecessary risks.
I will punish you if you ignore or disobey safety protocols.
I’d insist upon both of those pregnant or not. ”
“I understand. And if you break those rules?” She waggles her eyebrows.
“You’d have to catch me first.”
“But how glorious that would be if I did!”
She giggles, and I love it. It’s the lightest I’ve seen her since the night we met. She’s the woman I spent hours listening to, hanging on every word. She appears younger than she did a few minutes ago. She takes my breath away.
“Maybe I’ll let you tie me up one of these days, chiquita, and have your way with me.”
“I’d never untie you. Can you imagine it? My very own boy toy sex doll?”
She giggles again, but she squeaks when I abruptly rise and flip her onto her back on the sofa.
I hover over her before slowly lowering my weight onto her, keeping much of it off her.
I don’t want to crush her. She’s not a fragile woman, but she’s still petite compared to me.
I glance down between us. An image flashes before my eyes.
Her belly too rounded for me to do this.
I want to put my hand there. It’s such a strong craving that it nearly knocks me sideways.
Un bebé.
Nuestro bebé.
Un ni?o o una ni?a.
A baby.
Our baby.
A little boy or girl.
Heat blooms in my chest, and I know what decision I hope she makes.
“Sex doll, huh?”
I kiss her, pressing my tongue between her teeth until it curls with hers.
She sucks lightly on mine, eliciting a growl as I grind my cock against her pussy.
She lifts her hips to meet mine. I feel like I could come without her touching my skin.
I slide my hand under her skirt and beneath her panties.
They annoy me. I pull them away from her, then let them snap back.
“Wear these again, and I’ll shred every pair you have.”
She stares at me aghast. “You want me to go commando?”
“Yes.”
“But.”