Chapter Two #2
She grimaces. “It might be. It doesn’t always work out.
I have to warn you of that. Mr. Kessler won’t work with just anyone.
But I’ve given his card to a few clients over the years.
You know, when conventional options were exhausted for them like they are for you.
I… I don’t know the details of what he arranges.
I don’t ask. But the few people I’ve sent to him have been very grateful that I gave them his name. ”
My fingers tremble as I pick up the card. “And this is legal?”
“As far as I know, everything Mr. Kessler does is above board. He’s discreet, professional, and very selective about who he works with.” She pauses. “I’m not telling you to call him. I’m telling you he exists. What you do with that information is your business.”
“Thank you,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.
“You’re welcome. I… I feel for you, Mr. Conti. I love my brother with all my heart, and if I were in your shoes, well, let’s just say, I’d probably give Mr. Kessler a call myself.” She grimaces. “Not that I’m telling you to do that, you understand.”
“Right, no, I understand perfectly. If I call Mr. Kessler it’s all my own idea.”
“Exactly.”
I finger the card, feeling a flutter of hope for the first time in weeks. “I appreciate your compassion. Thank you, Ms. Bellamy.”
“You’re welcome. And Mr. Conti?” She catches my eye as I stand. “Good luck with your brother. I mean that sincerely. I’ll be sending good thoughts out into the universe for you two.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Thank you.”
After I leave the bank, I sit in my car in the parking lot, staring at the card.
My mind is going in six directions. The rational part of me, the part that has kept Fabio and me alive for nine years, is screaming that this is sketchy.
A plain white business card? Ms. Bellamy’s nervous demeanor?
A man who supposedly helps people but operates in the shadows?
That’s the story line of every tragic True Crime story I’ve ever watched.
But the other part of me, the part that watched my mother’s engagement ring get weighed on a pawn shop scale, the part that sees my brother struggling to breathe after just going to the kitchen for a glass of milk, the part of me that has tapped out every legal means to get money, it’s already dialing Mr. Kessler’s number.
He picks up on the second ring.
“This is Kessler.” The voice is calm, measured, and neutral. Not warm, not cold. Just careful.
“My name is Elio Conti. Someone gave me your number. I...” I trail off because I realize I don’t know what to say next. I don’t even know what this man does.
“Who referred you, Mr. Conti?”
“A loan officer. Patricia Bellamy.”
“Right.” There’s a pause. “And why did Ms. Bellamy think you might benefit from speaking with me?”
“Because I’m desperate.” My voice breaks and my face heats, but it’s too late. He’s already heard how hopeless I am. “I’m out of options,” I say softly. “I need a lot of money and I need it fast.”
There’s another brief pause. “How much and how fast?”
“Sixty to eighty thousand dollars. Maybe more. And I… I need it within a month and a half.”
“May I ask what the money is for?” His voice lacks warmth or really even curiosity. There’s something clinical about his tone.
“My brother needs heart surgery. A septal myectomy. He has a condition called HOCM and without the surgery he could die.” I wince. “He will die. There’s no maybe about it.”
Another pause, longer this time. I hear what might be a pen on paper. He’s taking notes.
“Mr. Conti, let me explain what I do, and then you can decide whether you’d like to continue this conversation.”
“Okay.”
“You may not want to continue,” he says. “My services don’t suit everyone.”
“I’m not a criminal,” I say hoarsely. “If it’s something like that, I can’t do it.”
He actually laughs. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
Relief washes through me. “Okay, good.”
“Do you want to hear what I do?”
I grimace. “Yes, please.”
“I facilitate arrangements between people with complementary needs. Most involve alphas who require an heir and omegas who have exhausted their options and are willing to say yes to almost anything. You seem to fall into the latter category, Mr. Conti.”
My eyes widen, and my face heats. I’m glad we’re on the phone, where he can’t see how shocked I am. He’s implying I’m desperate enough to let a strange alpha use me as an incubator.
Aren’t I that desperate?
“To be blunt,” he continues, “the alphas who come to me aren’t looking for love. They want heirs without complications. The omegas I work with need money, protection, or both. I arrange the introduction.”
I let out a shaky breath. It had never occurred to me this was about alphas wanting babies. Honestly, I’d have been less surprised if it had been about organ harvesting.
My head is spinning as I mumble, “I… I see.”
“These are formal, contractual agreements,” he says. “Both parties enter willingly. No one is in any way coerced. The terms are negotiated and legally binding. The omega receives very generous compensation that is agreed upon in advance. The alpha receives an heir or two.”
I don’t say anything for a few seconds. My hand on the steering wheel is shaking slightly. Because of the secretive nature of it all, I knew it was going to be something strange. But I never imagined this exact scenario.
I clear my throat. “So, you’re talking about surrogacy?”
“It’s more involved than simple surrogacy. I’m talking about a contracted partnership. The specifics vary depending on the parties involved. Some arrangements are brief. Others involve a longer commitment. Every contract is different.”
“And the alphas who use your services. Who are they?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential. But I can tell you they’re all very powerful men. Wealthy men who want children without the complications that come with conventional relationships. Alphas who value discretion and control.”
“That sounds intimidating,” I murmur, pulse racing.
“I understand why it might. My job is to ensure that both parties are protected. No one enters an arrangement through my office without extensive vetting and medical screening. Legal representation is provided for both sides at no cost to the omega. I’ve been doing this for over twenty years.
I’m very good at matching alphas with omegas who’ll be compatible. ”
I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. If I had any pride, shouldn’t I have hung up already? Am I actually considering this? Am I seriously thinking of allowing an alpha to breed me in exchange for money? The very idea makes me hyperventilate.
But then I picture Fabio on the couch, looking pale and broken.
Sometimes he gets an expression in his eyes that haunts me.
It’s as if he’s given up. It’s as if he knows there’s no hope.
It’s as if he’s accepted he’s going to die before he even really got to live.
The thought of that is worse than anything any alpha could do to me.
“What happens next?” I mumble.
“You’re interested?” His voice is sharp. Borderline surprised.
“I think I am.”
“You can’t think you’re interested. You must be sure, Mr. Conti. I don’t want to waste my time, yours, or any potential alpha’s time. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes, I do.” I take a breath. “I’m definitely interested,” I say with more conviction.
“All right. Well, in that case we’ll need to begin the intake process. That entails a medical screening and a background check. If you pass the vetting, I’ll match you with a potential alpha based on compatibility. To be honest, I think I have an alpha in mind already.”
“Really?” My voice sounds more panicked than I’d like.
“Yes, I think I might. Your timelines match up. Of course, compatibility is a mysterious thing. It’s not up to me. What I might think looks good on paper sometimes crashes and burns in person.”
“Oh.”
“It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.
” He lets out a breath. “But if you do choose to move forward, you’d meet the alpha in a neutral setting and decide whether you wish to proceed.
Nothing is final until both parties agree to terms and sign a contract.
You can walk away at any point before the contract is signed. ”
“And after it’s signed?”
“After it’s signed, you must fulfill the terms of the agreement and you’ll receive your compensation. It’s that simple.”
Nothing about this is simple. But simple or not, it’s the only door left.
“I’d like to proceed with the intake,” I say because what choice do I really have? The fact that I actually called Kessler shows I already know I’m out of options.
“Very good.” He’s pleased. I can hear it in his voice. “I’ll send you the paperwork electronically. There’s a medical screening appointment that I’ll need you to attend. I’ll choose a clinic in Philadelphia for your convenience. I’ll book it for tomorrow. Can you manage that?”
“I’ll manage it.”
“Excellent. Mr. Conti, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“I’m selective about who I work with. On both sides.
I don’t take every alpha who calls me and I don’t take every omega.
But even though everyone is vetted, sometimes problems can arise.
If at any point during the process you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, you tell me.
That is not negotiable. Do you understand? ”
“I understand.”
“Good. You’ll have the paperwork within the hour.” He hangs up.
In a daze, I drive to the bar for my shift. My conversation with Kessler spins in my brain as I work. The shift goes by in a blur and around dinnertime I head home. When I enter the apartment, Fabio is at the kitchen table doing homework. He looks up when I come in and he gives a tired smile.
“I was just about to make dinner,” he says.
“No need. I’ll do it.” He looks relieved and anxiety nudges me. Even the simplest things tire him out lately. Is his condition worsening? Is it his medication? I don’t know why he’s so fatigued and that just makes me more stressed out. “Spaghetti sound good?”