“Girl, get over here,” Halsey calls, waving at me.
She’s standing near a display of baby blankets, each one covered in the cutest patterns—tiny elephants, bears, foxes. “Tell me these aren’t the most adorable things you’ve ever seen.”
“They’re definitely adorable,” I agree, picking up a blanket with little giraffes on it. “But I can’t seem to wrap my head around actually needing them.” I glance at my belly under my oversized hoodie. “It still feels unreal.”
Halsey’s smile softens. “But it is real, my friend.”
We meander further into the store, Halsey rattling off half a dozen must-haves she read about on some mommy blog. My mind drifts to Dante, currently out of town on business, apparently putting out some fires caused by the Lombardis.
He keeps me in the loop, but only so much, which I’m fine with. I’m not exactly dying to know every detail of his mafia negotiations.
I glance back at the two hulking guards trying to look inconspicuous and stifle a laugh. They look absolutely miserable.
“Okay, so spill,” Halsey brings me back into the moment. “How’re things going with you and Mr. Mafia Don these days? And please tell me you’ve done something about that vulture Linda.”
I snort. “Oh, yeah. He humiliated her in front of several key mob members a few nights ago. It was magical.”
Halsey’s eyes light up. “Damn, I wish I could’ve been there. Any video? I’d pay to see Linda’s meltdown.”
I laugh. “No recorded evidence, sorry. But trust me, it was amazing.”
We continue strolling through the aisles, picking out cute baby outfits and packages of onesies. I find myself rubbing my belly unconsciously, torn between excitement and lingering anxiety. The break-ins at my apartment and Dante’s penthouse, the swirl of secrets about my father’s death. It’s a lot to handle.
A figure suddenly slips up behind me. I sense the presence before I see it. Halsey’s busy cooing at a set of plush toys so she doesn’t notice. I turn slightly, catching a glimpse of a large man dressed in dark clothing, not the typical customer you’d find in a baby store. He looks Russian based on his features.
My heart rate kicks up, sensing something is not right. I frantically look around for the guards.
He sidles past me, subtly brushing my arm. In a low, heavily accented voice, he mutters, “For you,” before slipping something into the pocket of my hoodie.
I recoil at the intrusion. I’m about to say something, but he gives me a sharp look and darts away, hurrying past a display of baby carriers.
I spot one of the guards at the store’s entrance, scanning the crowd. The Russian glances his way before bolting for the side exit, slipping out before the guard notices him.
I slip a hand into my hoodie pocket and feel a folded piece of paper. What the hell? My pulse spikes. “Hey, Halls,” I say, trying to sound normal, “I’m gonna pop into the bathroom real quick. Be right back, okay?”
“Sure, I’ll be here, fawning over these micro-Chucks. Can you imagine a baby in Chuck Taylors? So damn cute!”
I hurry to the bathroom, locking the door behind me, my breaths coming hard and fast. I open the note and read.
Hell’s Kitchen Library
Book #315
Reserved in your name
I’ll be in touch
After baby shopping, Halsey and I grab a quick lunch before saying our goodbyes and embracing tightly. The guards and I get into our waiting car, the ride back to the estate spent in silence.
After taking a hot shower—to calm my nerves more than anything else—I dress in dark jeans and a black oversized sweater, then tie my hair up into a messy bun.
I head out of the mansion, keys in hand, certain no one saw me leave…until I hear the crunch of footsteps on gravel behind me.
Shit.
I glance over my shoulder, spotting one of the guards Dante assigned me following me to the garage. I was hoping to slip in and out unnoticed.
“Need a ride?” he asks.
No sense in trying to bluff my way out of this.
“Yeah, to Hell’s Kitchen,” I say casually. “For, um, some pickles. And gelato. They have this great little store there that sells homemade pickles in various flavored brines and I’ve been craving them.”
He gives me a questionable look. “That’s kind of far for a snack run. What’s really in Hell’s Kitchen?”
“Can’t a girl keep a secret?”
His response comes as a raised eyebrow while crossing his arms over his chest.
“Alright, fine. I’m picking up a personal item.”
He frowns. “A personal item?”
I sigh dramatically. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to get awkward about it.”
He rolls his eyes. “Just tell me.”
“I’m picking up something lacy.” I wink. “A custom-made romantic surprise for Dante.”
“Okay then.” He clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “I’ll just, uh, wait in the car.”
“Good call,” I say with a smirk.
Men. So easy.
I’m tense on the drive to Hell’s Kitchen, my mind racing with what I might find. To my surprise—and unexpected luck—I see an intimates store near the library.
“Right here!”
The guard blushes slightly, then pulls the car into an open parking spot along the curb, not saying a word.
“You don’t need to come in. I need to try it on, and I want to shop around a little, so give me a bit.”
“Got it. I’ll wait right here.”
I get out and casually head into the store. Once inside, I dart directly out the back door and down the block toward my real destination.
The library is a stately old building, with cathedral ceilings and creaking floors. A bored librarian barely glances my way when I enter. I walk around, searching for the reserved books location. I spot it and head over, scanning the numbers on the spines until I find the book I’m looking for.
It’s a bulky reference book on old restaurants in New York. I yank it off the shelf, my heart thumping. At first, it appears nondescript. Then I find a small envelope taped to the inside cover. I glance around to make sure no one’s watching then take the book and duck into a quiet corner. I pluck the envelope free and open it. Inside is a USB stick.
My chest constricts with dread, but I’m already in too deep. I can’t run to Dante—he’d probably be angry at me for coming here alone and for keeping the baby store incident from him. I have to see what’s on it first.
I look around and spot a row of computers. Only one is free, so I plant myself in front of it. My pulse roars in my ears as I insert the USB. A single file labeled RestaurantCCTV.mp4 appears on the screen.
I double-click on it. The footage is grainy, timestamped from years ago—two nights before my father was killed, if I recall the date right. My stomach plummets at the realization. The camera angle covers a dimly lit restaurant interior with patrons milling about. My eyes skim across their faces, dread building with each second.
Then I see them.
My heart lurches. A younger Dante Bellacino sits at a small table wearing a tailored suit. He’s leaning over, talking intently to a man I recognize—the man who shot my father. The man I’ve only seen in my nightmares and scattered photos. He gestures animatedly as he speaks, Dante nodding along. My blood runs cold.
I watch as the two of them speak for a full minute, exchanging what looks like heated words before the killer stands, slaps some cash on the table, and storms off. Dante remains, his mouth set in a straight line. The footage ends soon after.
My heart feels like it might shatter into a thousand pieces. We always suspected an Italian ordered the hit, but I never considered that Dante could have been involved. Tears burn my eyes. Has he been lying to me all these months, staying by my side, comforting me, knowing he had a part in my father’s death? No wonder he was so desperate to find out about my background.
I yank the USB from the computer, my hands shaking. A wave of nausea hits me, but I manage to keep it together, stuffing the USB into my purse. I have to get out of here before I lose it in front of everyone.
Outside, night has enveloped Hell’s Kitchen in an eerie glow. I run back through the lingerie store and out the front. The guard gets out of the car and opens the passenger door.
“Ms. Smith? Everything all right? You don’t have any bags.”
Shit.
I force a tight smile. “Yeah, just feeling a little queasy. Let’s head back, please.”
He shrugs as I slide in, heart still pounding, brain on a full-blown spiral. That footage—could it not be what it looks like?
But the pit in my stomach tells me differently.
I press a hand to my belly, trying to ground myself. The man whose child I’m carrying, sleeping beside, trusting with my damn life, might’ve sat down with the guy who murdered my father. Maybe he even ordered it. Or knew it was coming. Or… God, I don’t even know what’s possible anymore. I just know it hurts like hell to even think it.
By the time we pull up to the gates, I’ve got my poker face on. I can’t let anyone see the crack in my armor—not until I’ve figured out what the hell I’m actually dealing with. Because right now, all I’ve got is a USB with possible evidence that the man I’m falling in love with was involved in my father’s murder, and a heart trying not to break.
The guard drops me near the front steps. I mumble a thanks and head straight for my room.
Inside the suite, I toss my purse on the bed, lock the door, and take a deep breath. One look in the mirror tells me I’m a mess—eyes glassy, face pale, hands trembling.
I feel like I’ve just been hit by grief—the death of a man still alive that I thought I knew.
Nausea hits me like a tidal wave. I sit on the bed, head between my knees, until it passes. I cradle my stomach, whispering to the little life inside me.
I can’t let myself spiral. I need answers. Real ones. Maybe there’s context I’m unaware of. Maybe that conversation wasn’t what it looked like.
Or maybe I’ve been sleeping with the villain in my story this entire time.