Chapter 12 #3
“Whatever I’m reading. And you’re right about our world being like a shifter one.
The bratva are the witches because they’re little bitches.
The Mafia are the vamps because they can’t survive without leeching onto everyone else.
The mob are the knuckle-dragging wolves.
‘Me Tarzan, you Jane.’ And we’re the dragons.
All the best qualities of those fuckers and exceptional at everything.
There’s a reason my family runs an entire continent. ”
He watches me, particularly when he maligns the Mafia. He waits for me to defend my family, but I can’t. He’s not exactly wrong. Besides, I’m making the same choice my mom did. Leave my syndicate family to join a rival’s. History repeats itself.
Even if Joaquin and I don’t wind up together, if I keep this baby, then I’m binding myself to the Cartel. I don’t know that anyone would cut me off like my mom’s uncle did to her. I don’t think anyone would force me to declare my allegiance. It would just happen.
“I, um, got a doctor’s office number today. I want to make an appointment.”
Joaquin watches me for a moment before he responds. “Does that mean you decided?”
“No.”
“Tre, I think you have. If you didn’t want to go through with this, why would you want to see our—embryo?”
He’s careful what he says, not wanting to overstate anything or come across as emotionally manipulative. Maybe he’s even doing it for himself. Keeping himself from getting too emotionally attached. His question gives me pause. He’s right. I want to make sure everything is all right.
“Are you considering adoption, Tre?”
“No. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.”
“Is it something you want to think about?”
“No.”
My answer’s more strident than I intended, but it says far more than one word usually can. Joaquin pulls me closer, and I rest my head against his chest as we approach a town car.
“Do you want me to take you home?”
“Will you stay?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Tre, I came to pick you up.”
A driver opens the rear passenger side door, and I slide in. Joaquin tells the driver where to go, then follows me in before the man shuts the door. I notice the privacy glass is already up. It’s that way in my family’s cars and the Mancinellis’. Privacy is an expectation, not an exception.
“It’s not yet five. Is the doctor’s office still open?”
“I think so. I was going to call earlier, but Sera needed me.”
“How’d you find the doctor’s office? Sera? I can recommend two?—”
“Paola.” I blurt the answer like yanking off a Band-Aid.
He stares at me for a moment before nodding. “Does she know?”
“She guessed even though I mentioned needing a dentist, an optician, and a dermatologist.”
“Do you want to call now or wait until you’re by yourself?”
“The office might not be open that early.”
His brow furrows.
“I hoped you’d spend the night again, Joaco. You get up so early that I’d be alone by the time the office opens. And no, I don’t want to do it alone. I—I don’t want to do any of this alone.”
He pulls my seat belt across my lap and fastens it for me.
He stares at me, and I sense he wants to lift me onto his lap because he doesn’t let go.
But he lets me stay in my seat. I wonder if he would if I wasn’t pregnant.
I pull out my phone and unlock it, then pull up Paola’s text.
I dial the number and put it on speakerphone. It rings three times.
“Good afternoon, Braxton OBGYN.”
Braxton? Interesting. Like Braxton Hicks contractions?
“?Qué mierda de vida!”
I look up at Joaquin as he mutters under his breath. He reaches toward my phone, but I pull away. That sounded a lot like che vita di merda—fuck my life in Italian.
“Hello, this is Patrizia Vizzini.”
“Ah, yes. We expected your call earlier.”
“Sorry. Something came up at work.”
“We close in thirty minutes, so unfortunately NP Diaz can’t fit a new patient in.”
My ears are ringing. My gaze slowly rises to meet Joaquin’s. He’s so pale, I fear he might pass out.
“Diaz?”
“Yes. Margherita Diaz. Apparently, the woman who referred you to us was very specific.”
“Ugh, does the nurse practitioner know I was referred to her?”
“I’m not sure. She’s been really busy today.”
“Is—is she—like—a gynecological nurse practitioner?”
“That’s technically a Women’s Health Nurse Practitioner. And no, she’s a nurse-midwife who’s also a nurse practitioner.”
“Oh, okay.”
Joaquin looks like he might cry. He’s retreated into the corner of the backseat while still watching me. He looks desperate to be anywhere but here listening to this call.
“We can fit you in first thing in the morning. Can you be here by seven-thirty? There’s some paperwork you need to complete. If you want to complete it through our portal, you can come in for eight o’clock.”
“Yeah. I mean, yes, I can be there, and I can do the paperwork online.”
“Do you know where our office is located?”
I’m still observing Joaquin, so I see him close his eyes before he nods.
“Yes.”
I finish the call by giving her my phone number and email address. I hang up, not having taken my eyes off Joaquin since I heard the midwife’s name. I know exactly who she is. Why the hell did Paola refer me to his fucking aunt?