Chapter 5: Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King: Chapter 5

Strands of broken police tape flutter in the wind. I slam the car door shut, crossing the sidewalk to Elijah. It’s been a long night. He has his hands on his hips and a frown on his face—head craned back as he looks at the fire escape like some wannabe detective. Hell, with that blue suit and haircut, he almost looks the part.

“Whatever you think happened here—it’s worse,” Elijah says, without turning to me.

“Everything always looks worse in the morning,” I answer calmly, following his gaze. “What’s the issue?”

The scene has mostly been cleared, except for a couple of evidence markers abandoned in the dumpster. Apparently, the body went straight into the trash. Practically decapitated itself on the edge of the opening. A long, dark red smear stains the edge of the bin.

“This wasn’t one of Jon Dellucci’s little henchmen, Ren. This was his son, Arlo.”

I roll my mint into the side of my cheek.

“Well, that’s embarrassing for him. She’s what, five-foot-six?”

“Can you take this seriously for five seconds?” he snaps.

“Do I seem unserious to you?” I stare him down, silent and calm, until his sense of self-preservation finally kicks in. He backs down with a heaving sigh, hands running through his hair. I watch him, wondering what that’s like. To feel so anxious.

“Ren, last night, you practically bought Nadia’s debt. And—” He glances distrustfully at the dark windows of the building, stepping closer, “—and you killed two more of Dellucci’s men just for the fucking pleasure of it; God knows why—”

“And it can stay between me and God. No one else saw.”

“You know damn well there will be CCTV footage. There’s no doubt Dellucci connects us with this, even if we can get the cops not to pursue it. And if Jon finds out you’re harboring the woman who killed his boy—”

“Let him connect us to it,” I interrupt. “And if he wants Nadia, he’s welcome to come and try to take her.”

I pat Elijah on the back and step away.

“What are you going to do with her, Ren?” he calls out, not for the first time. In all the years I’ve looked for her, my brother has tried to be a beacon of reason. He’s tried to understand me, rationalize with me, meet me halfway. More than once, he’s urged me to call off the dogs and pursue something else— anything else. And whenever he’s asked why I wouldn’t, what I wanted out of all this, I never have answered him.

A trash truck rumbles by, its brakes squealing as it comes to a stop.

“Looks like Arlo Dellucci missed his hearse.”

Behind me, Elijah sighs.

The police have already investigated Nadia’s apartment. Here, the crime scene tape isn’t broken, and it’s the only thing stretched across the dark entryway. Most of the door is in pieces. I step into the tiny space, following the footsteps of officers and apartment managers that came before us. It’s a narrow studio with two beds, one of them only big enough for a child, the other a twin mattress. There’s barely enough room for one person, much less a little girl.

I flip on the light, which hums irritably and turns everything orange and dingy.

“This is where she’s been staying?” Elijah asks behind me, ducking the tape.

There’s no room for it to be messy, the only aftermath of the fight the few items left upended on the floor. A giraffe lies abandoned on a pink pillow.

“Get her clothes sizes. Text them to Olivia.”

Elijah doesn’t ask what for. He finds the closet, and he does as I tell him, giving up on questions that I’m not interested in answering. I walk to Nadia’s empty bed, run my fingers over the pillow, through the covers where she’s slept. I try to center myself, thinking about her body stretched out here night after night. Alone. Bunkered down like a fox in her hole, just waiting for me to come smoke her out, chase her down, run her to the ends of the earth.

And somehow, Dellucci beat me to it.

My fingers grasp the bedcovers, and I lift them, breathing in her scent.

It makes me dizzy with the past. The present. The future.

All the prominent families knew I was hunting Nadia Petrone. If Jon knew where she was, if she came to him once asking for loans and money without ever tipping me off, then he’d already disrespected me.

It would be war either way—Nadia just did me a favor by making it hurt him a little more.