Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
I think my face is green by the time I manage to spit the words out.
“I need you to put me in contact with Enzo.”
His entire body freezes before he picks the glass back up. He downs the remaining liquor like a shot before turning back to me. “And why do I need to get you in contact with Enzo?”
“He’s the father of my child. I need to tell him.”
My father slams the glass down, the entire desk shaking from the force. I'm surprised the glass doesn't shatter into a million pieces. I jump at the noise, shying away when I see the glare my father is pointing in my direction. Every muscle in his body is tense. The hand that isn’t clutching onto the empty glass is balled into a tight fist.
“Dammit Emma. Why?” His voice is angry, but more than that, it’s broken. Resigned.
I don’t have an answer for him. Not one he will accept, anyway. I can't describe the connection I felt with Enzo. Besides, my father will brush it off a naivety. So I stay silent, not wanting to hear him destroy the most meaningful night of my life.
“Do you know who he is?”
“He’s Enzo…”
“He’s Lorenzo Lombardi, heir to his father’s criminal empire and future boss of the Lombardi family mafia.”
Time stands still as I digest his words. Criminal empire. Mafia. They’re all words I’m vaguely aware of, things I understand happen in the world but never thought would affect my life.
It doesn’t make any sense. If Enzo is the heir to the criminal empire, Sal would be the current boss. It’s hard to picture the boisterous man I met as some sort of hardened criminal. And, if Sal is a criminal, that makes my father…
I refuse to think about it. I store the thought away in the deep corners of my mind to dissect later. The information is going to change how I look at my father, and how I look at my life up until this point. With everything else that is happening, I don't need anything else challenging me.
My dad curses. Instead of pouring himself another glass, he pulls out the entire bottle and starts taking swigs directly from the opening.
“Have you had any appointments yet?” he asks me. I wrinkle my nose. The smell of alcohol is growing stronger in the room, and I can barely stand the scent when I'm not pregnant.
“No, I have one scheduled for next week.”
“Cancel it. Tell them you’ve miscarried. There are too many eyes in this city. Anything could get back to them.”
Turning his attention away from me, my father frantically types on his computer. He multi-tasks, pulling out his phone while also navigating his screen. I’ve never seen my father work. He’s always kept his personal life entirely separate from his home life. It feels like I’m getting a glimpse of what my father looks like when he’s working.
Working for the mafia.
I want to ask him what he’s doing, but I feel frozen. Between the information that the father of my child is the future boss of a crime family and my father’s anger, I feel like anything else is going to overload me. I put my hand on my stomach. It’s a habit I’ve gotten into, though I’m not sure why. I still haven’t felt anything, and I know nothing about them yet. According to the app I downloaded, most women find out their gender during their twenty-week ultrasound. There are also blood tests that can tell me the gender. I still haven’t decided what I want to do. My baby is the size of a strawberry now, and I grow more protective of them every day.
“Wait, if Enzo is the future head of the mafia, what would that mean for my baby?” I finally manage to ask.
My dad shoots me a glance but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. I’m patient. I don’t move from my spot until he gives me his attention.
“The Lombardi’s take family seriously. If they were to find out about the child, they would want him to be a part of the family. They would expect him to act as the heir.”
The thought makes me sick. A lifetime of expectations to be forced on my child simply because of who their father is.
I’ve lived my entire life with the weight of the invisible expectations of my father. My child deserves better.
“We can get you on a flight out to your aunt’s in Colorado tomorrow night. We’ll have to be careful about where you get care. We’ll have to find someone who doesn’t use any of the traditional electronic health records. The Lombardi’s have their fingers in all of those, so they’d be able to find you," he tells me. Never once did he bother to consult me about the decisions he was making for my life.