Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Tre
Yesterday was fucking bananas.
That’s the most benign way to describe the most life-altering day of my life.
I’m fucking pregnant.
I also had mind-blowing sex four times. Once at Alejandro and Toria’s.
Once on my sofa. Then two more times in my bed last night.
Joaquin definitely didn’t want to leave this morning, but he pulled himself out of bed at five-thirty.
His internal alarm must be loud as fuck because we didn’t fall asleep until nearly three.
He met the other guys for their workout.
He had to go because they were meeting at his place to go for a run then breakfast. It was too late to cancel, and it would only cause questions neither of us wants to answer yet.
He lingered over his kiss goodbye, then he was gone.
Now I’m waiting for Paola to return my text.
Sera’s mother-in-law is one of the most well-connected people in the tri-state area.
The woman makes and breaks elected officials as the most intimidating campaign manager and publicist corrupt-as-fuck NYC politics has ever seen.
She makes men cry before noon with just one text.
God forbid she calls someone. Drown yourself in the Hudson in January. It’s less painful.
She makes her older brothers, Salvatore and Massimo, look like pussy-ass little bitches. That’s fucking saying something since they’re the NYC Cosa Nostra don and consigliere. Smart people fear her more than her brothers. If she weren’t a woman, she’d be their top enforcer.
No one will ever confirm it, but I have my suspicions.
Before Salvatore married Sera’s aunt Sylvia and she secretly became her husband’s top advisor alongside Massimo, Paola was their go-to strategist. Fucking morons who think Mafia business isn’t women’s business.
Men may be the heads of our families, but women are what keep those heads from toppling into the shitter.
Paola
What’s up?
Me
Can I call you? Or can you call me?
I can’t believe the text went through with how quickly she calls me.
“What happened? What’s wrong? Who does Carmine kill?”
She asks the last question with humor—in case someone’s listening in. But she means it.
“Um, I need to make some doctors’ appointments. I figured you’d know who to go to.”
“What kind of doctors?”
Her skepticism echoes in my head. I inhale as I lay out my rehearsed answer.
“I need a dermatologist, a dentist, an OBGYN, and an optician.”
“Which one do you need most, Tricia?”
Fuck!
She sounds like my mom when she knows I’m selectively telling the truth.
“Whichever ones you can recommend.”
“Try again.”
I cringe. I’ve known the woman as long as I’ve known Sera.
The Mancinellis are still deeply connected to the Cosa Nostra branches in Sicily.
They often vacationed there in the summer, so I’d see them when I visited with Sera.
It was during one of those visits—we were twelve—that Carmine fucked up so badly that she didn’t talk to him for nearly twenty years.
His fuck-up at Salvatore and Sylvia’s reception didn’t help either, but that’s neither here nor there right now.
Focus.
It’s too soon to claim pregnancy brain.
My family doesn’t go as often as the Mancinellis, but we’d go for at least ten days at least once a year. She probably changed my diapers for all I know.
“An OBGYN. I need an exam.”
“To see how pregnant you are.”
What the ever-loving fuck do I say to that?
“Um.”
“Tricia, if you just wanted any OBGYN, you’d look online. If you wanted the best, you’d ask any other woman in my family. You’re asking me not only because I’m Sera’s mother but also because I’m discreet.”
The Mancinellis rarely use “in-law” to describe their relationships. I noticed the Diaz family is similar. No one’s trying to replace a biological connection. It’s just a sign that the family’s unified. Us against the world. I like it. I could see Luciana as a second mother, and I barely know her.
“Yes.”
“Joaquin Diaz.”
It’s not a question, so I opt to say nothing.
“Do your parents know yet? Does Sera?”
“No. Only Joaquin and I do. Elle suspects something. We’re waiting to tell our families since we still have stuff to—to figure out. But I want to see a doctor sooner rather than later. I want—want—to—to make an informed decision.”
I stumble over my words, suddenly nervous to suggest I might make the opposite decision Paola did when she got pregnant with Carmine at nineteen.
She was unwed and just having fun with Cesare Ciccone.
Their parents forced them to marry, and it was a match made in hell.
Once Carmine left for college, they separated.
Best thing to ever happen to them besides having Carmine.
They’re practically besties now that they don’t live under the same roof.
“Tricia, I know it’s a different situation. I’ll support whatever you decide. What does he say?”
She doesn’t hide her disgust. I suppose saying Joaquin’s name once was more than enough acknowledgment for one day.
“He’s encouraging me to decide, and he’ll accept whatever I want.”
“You believe that?”
“Yes, Paola, I do. I’m not new to syndicate life.
I know, just like you do, how they lie. There’s not even the most subtle pressure to decide one way or another.
It’s truly up to me. I actually wish he would state a preference.
It’s not that I feel alone or feel like he’s disinterested.
I just don’t want to decide all alone something that affects him as much as it does me. ”
“Does it affect him just as much?”
“Of course. Paola, just like Cesare never would’ve let you raise Carmine alone, even if you hadn’t married, Joaquin would never abandon me.
I know you heard about what happened when someone accused Alejandro of being a deadbeat dad.
If you’d heard about it in time, you would’ve gone into battle with the Diaz women.
So would Sylvia, Carlotta, and Nicoletta.
The bratva and mob moms would’ve driven you.
The one thing these men never ever do is neglect their children.
To imply they would is the one thing that can unify all the mothers across the syndicates. That accusation is one step too far.”
It’s true. Most syndicate mothers wouldn’t give a fuck what happens to a rival.
If the guy dies, he should’ve paid more attention or moved faster.
But to suggest any son would be so dishonorable as to neglect a child brings out a level of defensiveness that makes the threat of nuclear war look like a children’s squabble.
Maybe I’ll fully understand that protectiveness when I become a mother, whenever that might be.
Right now, I can only guess what it’s like to have emotions that strong that they could put aside generations of hatred.
“You care about him already.”
Again, another statement not a question.
“I do.”
Paola sighs. It’s not dramatic. It’s just acceptance.
“I suppose you could do worse.”
“Thanks.”
My comment’s dry, and she chuckles. I wasn’t aiming for funny, but I suppose it’s better than a lecture.
“I’ll text you a name and number. Give me five minutes, then call. They’ll get you in today if you can make it.”
“I can. Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Tricia. If you decide this isn’t what you want—the baby or Joaquin—come to me again. I’ll help you. I know you’re close to Elodie, and she’s a Diaz, but come to me. For this sort of thing, I know people she doesn’t. Bring her with you if you want, but I’ll make the arrangements.”
I can only imagine what that would be like. Me on an examination table with Elle to my left and Paola to my right, them glaring across the table while holding my hands to comfort me. At least, I can say I’m loved down here just like I am in Boston.
“I will.”
“I’ll keep your secret, Tricia. But you know it’ll come out. Have you heard from your father or uncle yet?”
“No. Do they know about Joaquin?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t imagine how they wouldn’t. You spent the entire reception talking to him. People saw you leave together. You’ve been spending time with the Diazes. Someone’s bound to have said something.”
“Someone in your family?”
“Maybe. I honestly don’t know. But you know your father has men here to watch you. I’m certain he’s asked Salvatore and Massimo to keep an eye on you too. There are probably Mancinelli men assigned to you.”
“I’m pretty sure there are. I’ve sensed them even if I haven’t recognized them.”
Fuck my life.
It wasn’t na?veté that made me think I might have some privacy. It was wishful thinking.
I’m not a perpetual optimist, but one can always hope.
“What do you think your brothers have told my dad or Uncle Tommaso or Uncle Santino?”
Uncle Santino is my dad and Uncle Tommaso’s brother-in-law.
He’s my branch’s consigliere. He appears like the most easygoing of the three, but he’s not.
He just hides his darkness better. My dad and Uncle Tommaso have resting bitch face.
Uncle Santino will kill you while laughing like he just heard the funniest joke ever.
“I haven’t talked to them about you beyond you moving down here and working with Sera until you find something else. What will your mother say?”
“You mean after she castrates Joaquin? She’ll support whatever choice I make. But she’ll have her pound of flesh from Joaquin.”
Double fuck my life.
“Will this be what gets your mother to reunite with the O’Rourkes?”
“It might. I’m sure Siobhan, Saoirse, and Breda offered to have the guys watch out for me too. But it’s not like they’ve invited me over for Sunday dinner.”