Chapter 20 #2
"I said that because I didn’t want to freak you out in front of everyone," Erin interrupts. "But Rosie, I have felt exactly like this for the last month. The nausea, the throwing up, not being able to keep anything down." She takes a deep breath. "I am pregnant."
Time stops.
"What?" The word comes out barely above a whisper.
"I am pregnant," she repeats, and now I can see it—the slight glow in her cheeks, the protective way her free hand rests on her still-flat stomach, the joy and terror mixing in her eyes. "With Dolan's baby. About eight weeks along."
"Oh my God." I stare at her, my brain trying to catch up. "Erin, that is—"
"Terrifying and wonderful and completely insane," she finishes. "And I think you might be pregnant too."
"I cannot be pregnant," I say, even as my brain is already doing the math. When was my last period? Six weeks ago? Seven? And I have been with Dante and Gabriel and Luca for—
Oh God.
"I could be pregnant," I amend, and the realization makes me feel like the floor has dropped out from under me.
"We need to get you a test," Erin says immediately, jumping onto her knees. "I have extras in my bag because I have been taking them obsessively to make sure—"
"Erin." I grab her wrist, stopping her mid-motion. "I cannot think about this right now. With everything going on with Patrick and—"
"Patrick?" She frowns. "What does Patrick have to do with anything?"
I open my mouth to deflect, to lie, to protect her the way I have been trying to protect her for weeks.
But then I look at her face—my best friend, my sister, the person I would die for—and I can’t do it. Can’t lie to her. Not about this.
"He threatened you," I say quietly. "After I saw him two weeks ago. He threatened to kill you if I refused to spy on Dante and the Salvatores."
All the color drains from Erin's face. "He what?"
"He wants information so he can take Brooklyn from the Italians.
He said Seamus was in on it, but I know that is a lie.
Seamus would never—" My voice cracks. "He grabbed me by the throat and said if I told anyone, he would kill you.
And I have been trying to figure out how to protect you and handle this and—"
"Rosie." Erin's voice is sharp, cutting through my spiral. "Why didn’t you tell me this immediately?"
"I tried to call you so many times! Because I thought you were safe! You were in Texas with Dolan and I didn’t want to drag you back into this mess—"
"I am already in this mess!" She stands abruptly, pacing. "God, Rosie, do you really think I would let you face this alone? Do you really think I would choose my safety over yours?"
"Yes!" The word bursts out of me. "Yes, Erin, because that is what I chose for you! That is why I took your place at the wedding, why I married Dante, why I have been dealing with Patrick's threats—because you deserve to be safe and happy and free!"
"And what about you?" She whirls to face me, tears streaming down her face. "Don’t you deserve those things too?"
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, there is a knock at the door.
"Come in, baby," Erin calls, clearly expecting Dolan.
The door opens.
But it is not Dolan who steps through.
It is Patrick.
And he is holding a gun to Dolan's back.
"Hello, girls," Patrick says pleasantly, as if he is not currently threatening violence in Erin's bedroom. "Sorry to interrupt."
Erin makes a strangled sound, moving toward Dolan instinctively, but Patrick presses the gun harder against his spine.
"I would not," Patrick warns. "Unless you want to see what Dolan's insides look like."
"Patrick," I say carefully, standing slowly with my hands raised. "What are you doing?"
"What I should have done two weeks ago." He kicks the door closed behind him, the sound echoing in the suddenly too-small room. "Taking control of the situation."
"Let him go," Erin says, and her voice is shaking but firm. "Whatever this is about, Dolan has nothing to do with it."
"Oh, but he does." Patrick smiles, and it is not a nice smile. "He is leverage. Just like you are, Erin. Just like everything and everyone Rosalina cares about is leverage to ensure her cooperation."
"Cooperation with what?" I demand, even though I already know.
"With my plan, of course." Patrick shoves Dolan forward, and he stumbles, catching himself on the edge of Erin's dresser.
"You see, I gave you two weeks to come to your senses. Two weeks to realize that helping the Irish mafia is more important than your misplaced loyalty to the Italians. But you did not. You told them everything, didn’t you? "
My silence is answer enough.
"I thought so." Patrick reaches into his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulls out a small box—maybe six inches square, wrapped in plain brown paper. "Which means we need to do this the hard way."
He tosses the box to me, and I catch it reflexively, my bandaged hands protesting.
"What is this?" I ask, though dread is already pooling in my stomach.
"A bomb," Patrick says casually, like he is discussing the weather. "Small, but effective. Enough to take out a house and everyone inside it."
The box suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.
"You are going to take that back to the Salvatore estate," Patrick continues, his voice hardening. "You are going to plant it somewhere central—the kitchen, maybe, or that media room I have heard about. Somewhere the boys like to spend time."
"No." The word tears out of me. "No, I will not—"
"Yes, you will." He presses the gun harder against Dolan's back, and Dolan grimaces. "Because if those three Italian boys are not dead within thirty-six hours, I will kill Erin. And Dolan. And their unborn baby."
Erin gasps, her hand flying to her stomach, and Patrick's smile widens.
"Oh yes, I know about the pregnancy. Congratulations, by the way. Shame the baby will never meet its father."
"You are insane," Erin breathes. "Patrick, please—"
"I am practical," he corrects. "Seamus was too soft. Too willing to compromise. But I know what this family needs. What the Irish need. We need Brooklyn. And the only way to get it is to eliminate the Salvatore leadership and move in before anyone can react."
"This is not what Seamus wanted," I say, my voice shaking. "He would never have approved of this."
"Seamus is dead," Patrick says flatly. "And I am in charge now.
Which means what I say goes." He gestures with the gun.
"So. You have your orders. Plant the bomb, and press the red button. You’ll have ten minutes to get out of the house, but make sure Dante, Gabriel, and Luca are all in the house when it goes off.
And if they are not dead in thirty-six hours—" He looks at Erin, and the threat is clear.
"Rosalina," Erin says desperately. "Don’t do this. We will find another way—"
"There is no other way," Patrick interrupts. "Not anymore. If I don’t get notice that those fuckers are dead in thirty-six hours you’ll have to deal with the consequences, Rosa. "
I stare down at the box in my hands, my mind racing. I could refuse. Could throw the box at Patrick, try to fight, try to protect Erin and Dolan—
But the gun is still pressed against Dolan's spine. And Erin is pregnant. And I can’t risk their lives, can’t gamble with their safety.
"Okay," I hear myself say, and the word tastes like ash. "Okay, I will do it."
"Rosalina, no—" Erin starts, but I cut her off.
"I will do it," I repeat, looking at Patrick. "Just—please. Do not hurt them."
"As long as you hold up your end of the bargain, they will be fine," Patrick says. "Thirty-six hours, Rosalina. Tick tock."
He opens the door, gestures for me to go, keeping the gun trained on Dolan the entire time.
I move toward the door on autopilot, the box clutched in my bandaged hands, and Erin grabs my arm as I pass.
"We will figure this out," she whispers desperately. "Please, Rosie, do not do this—"
"I love you," I tell her, because it might be the last chance I get. "Take care of yourself. And the baby."
Then I am walking out of the room, down the stairs, through the house full of mourners, the bomb heavy in my hands and heavier in my knowledge of what it means.
Dante, Gabriel, and Luca are waiting by the front door, and the moment Dante sees my face, his expression shifts to alarm.
"What happened?" He is beside me in an instant, hands on my shoulders. "Rosalina, what is wrong?"
"Nothing," I lie, forcing my face into something resembling calm. "Just—ready to go home."
Gabriel's eyes narrow, flicking to the box in my hands. "What is that?"
"Something of Erin's," I say quickly. "She asked me to take it. Can we just—can we please just go?"
The lie tastes like poison, but I cannot tell them the truth. Not here. Not now. Not with Patrick somewhere in this house, his gun still trained on the people I love.
Dante studies my face for a long moment, and I can see him deciding whether to push or whether to call me on the obvious lie.
But then Gabriel steps forward and pulls me into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
"We are here for you," he murmurs against my hair. "Whatever you need, Bella. We are here."
The words are meant to be comforting.
Instead, they make everything infinitely worse.
Because in thirty-six hours, if I do what Patrick wants, Gabriel will be dead.
They will all be dead. And it will be my fault. I close my eyes, clutching the bomb to my chest, and let Gabriel hold me while my world falls apart around us.
Thirty-six hours. God help me.