Vendetta: A DeLuca Family Novel (The DeLuca Family Book 2) (10 page)

I
’d messed up
. I acted like an immature idiot. I was trying to make things easier for both of us by just brushing it off, acting like it was no big deal, but it just blew up in my face. For weeks, I replayed the look on his face when I’d told him it was ‘just sex,’ and the way his expression went from confused to completely blank in the blink of an eye. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized it was the wrong thing to say, but it was too late to take it back.

The way he looked at me—I couldn’t get it out of my head—like I was something stuck to the bottom of his boot. Then him explaining how he and Eddie had negotiated over me like I was a toy that they couldn’t agree to share, so they put it where neither of them could have it. I hadn’t realized how easy it was for the person you loved to make you feel worthless.

It was as if the butterflies, that I felt every time I heard his voice or read one of his letters, had turned to lead, sinking into a tight ball in the pit of my stomach. I’d pushed him out of my life in a fit of anger and embarrassment and he’d heeded my words, completely disengaging. I’d tried to call, sent texts, emailed, and nothing. Every attempt I made to contact him went unanswered.

I was still pissed that he’d treated me the way he had, but as angry as I’d been when he left, I knew that I couldn’t stay mad forever. We’d been through so much together, and I couldn’t imagine any version of my reality where he wasn’t a part of my life. I decided to give him time to sort through everything that had happened between us. God knew
I
needed it. Eventually we would get over the awkwardness and get back to the way things had always been.

“Nothing will ever be the same again,” I whispered into the silence. I was sitting on the edge of the tub staring at a little plastic stick that had the power to change everything.

When I was late, I told myself over and over that I was smart and things like this just didn’t happen to smart girls; there had to be a mistake. I never forgot to take my pill—ever. This kind of thing only happened to girls who were careless and flakey, not girls like me. I wasn’t even twenty-one yet, I didn’t know how to be a mom, I didn’t even feel like an adult yet.

I allowed myself to wallow in self-pity and denial for an hour before I picked up my phone and tried calling him for the hundredth time since he’d left my apartment three weeks ago. I mentally willed him to answer, hoping somehow he would know that I needed him and decide to pick up. It didn’t work. As a last resort, I dialed the number I’d memorized when I was eight, my hand shaking as I listened to it ring out. Finally, the line picked up and a familiar voice greeted me.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Frankie,” I said, my voice shaky.

“Oh, sweetheart, is everything okay?” Marcella asked, worry in her tone. Must’ve been mother’s intuition or something, but I wasn’t about to pour my heart out to his mother before I even had a chance to talk to him about my situation.

Our situation.

I had to remind myself that I wasn’t alone. Just because I couldn’t get a hold of Enzo didn’t mean he would let me go through this by myself once he knew.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I just can’t get a hold of Enzo and I was hoping…” I trailed off, not knowing what I had been hoping for.

“Oh, I, umm. He didn’t tell you?”

The ball of lead in my stomach grew heavier. “Tell me what?”

I heard her take a deep breath before she spoke. “He left last week. He’s in the Middle East somewhere, not sure where but you know he can’t tell us that sort of thing. Security and all that,” she rambled.

The tears I’d been holding back broke through and a sob escaped my lips before I had a chance to muffle it. He’d left. He didn’t even say goodbye. He just left—again.

“Frankie? Honey, are you okay?” Marcella asked again, her voice strained with concern.

I cleared my throat and sniffed, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my sweatshirt as if having a tear free face would make me sound more convincing when the next lie came tumbling through my lips.

“Yeah, sorry. We’ve been missing each other’s calls. I’m sure he left a message telling me how to contact him. I’ve just been too busy to check them. It’s no big deal.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am. Thanks for letting me know,” I said quickly.

“Are you sure— “

“Really, I’m fine. I promise. Listen, I’ve got class in twenty minutes, and I have to go.”

“All right, love you,” she said softly.

“Love you too, bye,” I said hurriedly and disconnected before she had a chance to say anything else. I quickly turned off my phone. Marcella was surely already dialing my mom’s number, and she’d be calling to check on me in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t deal with lying to her right now—I’d fall apart.

It took me four weeks to pluck up the courage to make a doctor’s appointment. It was just a technicality really. I knew I was pregnant, but just the thought of another person knowing before Enzo did made me feel physically sick. Or maybe that was morning sickness, I couldn’t tell.

The paper on the exam table crinkled under my thighs as I uncomfortably shifted, trying to get comfortable while I waited for the doctor. I was surprised when the nurse asked me to take my clothes off and put on a gown. I’d thought they would just have me pee in a cup or take some blood and that would be that. I wasn’t expecting an exam. My heart thundered in my chest as I looked around the room. There was a 3D model of a baby inside the womb and several posters that depicted the progression of pregnancy. My head started to spin with thoughts of how the fuck something that big was going to come out of me.

My panic was interrupted by a quick knock on the door. It opened and a middle-aged woman, with blonde hair tied into a tight bun at the base of her neck, walked in. She smiled as she came to sit on the stool in front of the computer.

“Hello, Francesca. My name is Dr. Decker.”

“Frankie. Please, call me Frankie,” I said, my voice wobbly with nerves.

“Okay. So Frankie, according to the urine test, you are, in fact, pregnant,” she said simply, as if she hadn’t just confirmed the end of my life as I knew it. I stared at my hands in my lap, unable to meet her eye.

“From your reaction,” she continued, “I assume it wasn’t planned?”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head.

“I see. Have you thought about your options?” she asked gently.

My head snapped up. “No,” I said again, my voice stronger this time.

“I’m sorry?”

“There aren’t options. Not for me.”

Her brow furrowed. “Frankie, honey, only you can make this decision. I’m just here to make sure you have all the information you need to make it, okay?”

I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I know. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not like that. I’m having it, the b-baby that is.”

She smiled kindly. “All right, so why don’t we get a picture of your baby?”

“Picture? You can do that? Already, I mean?”

She laughed. “Yes. Why don’t you lie back and put your feet in these,” she said, pulling up the stirrups from the end of the table. She must have seen the confused look on my face because she continued. “At this stage the only way to get a picture is with an internal sonogram.”

“A what?” I asked, still not understanding.

“We insert this wand,” she said, holding up something that looked more like a dildo than a medical instrument. “And the head here is placed up against your cervix. That’s the only way to get a clear picture when the fetus is this small.”

That sounded like torture, but I really wanted to see what it looked like so I just nodded and laid back as she rolled what looked like a condom over the wand. I decided it was best if I didn’t watch what she was doing and instead tried to make out shapes in the tiled ceiling while she worked.

“So, where’s the father, if you don’t mind me asking.” I didn’t like the way she made it sound like she already knew the answer before I spoke, like she’d already come to some foregone conclusion about my situation just because I was young. Not that it wouldn’t have been right; but still, it rubbed me the wrong way.

“My husband is overseas, private security,” I said without thinking. It was true anyways. She didn’t know that I hadn’t actually spoken to him since the conception of this little tadpole.

“Oh,” she said surprised.

Neither of us said anything else for a long while as she got everything prepped and calibrated the machine. My face burned with embarrassment and discomfort as she positioned the wand.

So not the doctor visit I was expecting.

“There we go,” she said as a whooshing sound echoed from the machine.

“That’s the heartbeat and you can see the baby right there,” she explained, pointing to a blob on the screen. “Looks like you’re measuring at right about seven weeks which puts your due date at January fourth.”

A stubborn tear leaked out of my eye as I listened to the galloping beat and stared at what was apparently my baby.

My baby.

Fuck, I was going to be a mother. Enzo was going to be a father. My stomach tightened at the thought. He was on the other side of the world doing God knows what, and he had no idea. I’d tell him, of course—just as soon as he returned one of my calls.

“Here, I’ll print out some pictures for you to take home,” she said, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Thank you,” I whispered and tried to discreetly wipe my eyes.

I left the doctor’s office with four black and white blotchy pictures of my baby and the first smile I’d felt in weeks pulling at my lips. It was short lived because as I drove home the thought that he might think I got pregnant on purpose to trap him had me spinning into a full-blown panic. It had never occurred to me that he might not be happy about the situation. For some reason, my fear had overshadowed any thoughts of his reaction. The more I thought about it, the more I worried about his reaction.

What if he thought he had to make right by me? We’re already married, what if he wanted to be with me? Would it only be for the baby?

The idea that he would choose to be with me just because I was pregnant had bile rising in my throat. I didn’t want to trap him, and no matter what he said, I would always wonder if that was the real reason. No, we couldn’t be together. As much as I wanted it, I couldn’t bear the thought that he’d come to resent me. We could just be friends, like before.

Friends could raise a baby together without hating each other, right?

“
I
’m sorry
,” the doctor said, her eyes soft and full of sympathy.

I felt my heart crack in two, I actually felt it. All the air left my lungs and my vision blurred with tears.

No, this can’t be happening. I did everything right.

“How?” I asked, my voice hoarse with emotion.

“I wish I could tell you. Sometimes the pregnancy just isn’t viable and your body rejects the embryo. It’s nothing you did, sometimes it just happens.”

“Are you sure?” I could hear the desperation in my own voice. Maybe it was a mistake. If she would just check again, she’d see that she was wrong the first time.

“I’m sure. There isn’t a heartbeat. I’m so sorry, Frankie.”

I shut my eyes and turned away from her pitying expression. I didn’t want or need her pity. It had only been two weeks since I’d laid on this same table and she’d printed off pictures of my baby. They had been tears of joy then. Now all I felt was sorrow, deep in my bones. I wanted to die. It was my fault. My body had rejected my baby. I couldn’t even begin to process that.

Enzo.

I hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell Enzo yet, and now the baby was gone. I’d started to get used to the idea of being a mother just to have it ripped away from me without any reasonable explanation.
It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair.

“Do you want me to call someone? There are some things we need to go over before you leave, but you probably shouldn’t be alone right now,” the doctor said, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“No, I’m fine,” I croaked.

“Are you sure? A friend, maybe?”

“There isn’t anyone. It’s fine. Just tell me what I need to do.”

She sent me home with a prescription, except this time it wasn’t for prenatal vitamins. I was supposed to take a pill that would help ‘move things along’ since it could take weeks for my body to naturally dissolve the pregnancy. She said it would be a good idea to have someone with me when I took it since the drug could cause severe cramping and it would be an ‘emotional experience.’ She’d actually said that, like I wasn’t already having an ‘
emotional experience
.’

Even the pharmacist gave me a sympathetic smile when I filled my prescription. It was as if I couldn’t escape it. The doctor had been unnervingly detached. The fact that she didn’t call it a baby anymore didn’t escape my notice. She kept using words like embryo and referring to it as ‘the pregnancy.’ It made me want to scream.

When I got home, I put on a pair of pajama pants and the sweatshirt Enzo gave me when I was fourteen, needing the comfort of it. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat on the couch staring at the little pill in my hand. Taking it would mean that it was real. I stifled a sob, willing myself to keep it together for just a little bit longer. I took a deep breath and popped the pill into my mouth, chugging half the bottle of water to wash it down.

Then, I cried. I curled up on the couch and let everything wash over me. It was real. My baby was gone, and the only person in the world I wanted with me wasn’t even returning my calls.

I
want to tell him
. I have to tell him, but how?

It’s been three days and the guilt has clawed its way through me, turning me into a paranoid wreck. He’s been suspicious; I could tell by the way he watched me, like he was waiting for me to drop a bomb. Of course, his intuition is completely right. I had to tell him about the baby, our baby. I just wasn’t sure I was strong enough to tell the story.

Before, I didn’t feel like I owed him anything. He’d cut me out, and by the time he came back into my life, the damage was done. After the past few days, though, I realized he deserved to know what might have been. It was only right. Besides, I couldn’t continue the way things were with a bomb like that hanging over my head.

“You want to talk about it?”

“What?” I asked, startled out of my thoughts.

Does he already know? No, he can’t. Don’t be an idiot, Frankie. No one knows.

I’d never told anyone about it. I was the only one aside from the doctor who knew. I’d even hacked into the hospital’s database a few years ago and wiped it out. The only way someone could find out about it is if they got a hold of my physical file or I told them.

“You’ve been quiet, is everything okay?” Enzo asked, briefly taking his eyes off the road to look at me.

“I’m fine. Just mentally preparing myself for wedding talk,” I said, dismissing his concern. We were headed to Carlo and Mia’s for Sunday dinner once again. With the wedding just three weeks away, she’d been in a fucking tailspin lately, stressing over the details. I’d received no less than six text messages a day asking me my opinion about this or that. Not to mention the baby questions, since she was simultaneously planning a wedding
and
decorating a nursery.

“
H
ave you seen this
?” Mia asked, holding up the newspaper for me to see.

“I read about it this morning. That makes what, three girls in as many weeks?”

“Yeah, all found in different parts of downtown, makes my skin crawl,” she said, her hands, like always, moving to cover her belly. She’d really popped in the past few weeks, her round stomach protruding from her thin frame, making it impossible to overlook.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure they’ll find the guy. People like that always leave evidence behind. They’re bound to catch him.”

“Just makes you think about the kind of world you’re bringing your kids into, you know?”

“Says the soon-to-be mobster’s wife,” I joked, picking up my glass of wine and taking a drink in an effort to bide my time while I composed myself. I loved that Mia was happy, but seeing her pregnant and talking about kids still sliced me deep.

“Come on, it’s not the same thing. Whoever’s hacking up girls all over the city is clearly insane. The only thing they have in common is that they look alike. There’s no rhyme or reason to it.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said, glad to be off the subject of kids.

“We’re safer with him than without him. Besides, I love him, what am I supposed to do?” she shrugged.

What’s a woman in love to do? I’d like someone to explain that one to me.

“Yeah,” I agreed, my eyes unwillingly drifting to where Enzo was standing talking to Antonio.

“How’s that going?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, turning back to her.

“Well, I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks,” she said, shooting a disapproving look at me.

“Sorry, things have been kind of crazy,” I grumbled. It was the first time we’d been to Sunday dinner since Enzo had moved me into his place. I’d worked from the house for a solid week after what happened at my apartment. I hadn’t felt up to seeing anyone, not even Mia.

“I get it. What I mean is that you guys seem different. Is there something going on there?”

“We’re still figuring things out.”

“Well, you better figure it out quick, because from the way he’s been looking at you since you guys got here, he’s already made up his mind and there’s nowhere for you to hide.”

The weak smile I’d been managing fell from my face, and I chanced a quick look over my shoulder at him. Sure enough, he was staring straight at me, a slight grin pulling on one side of his mouth when he caught me looking.

“All right, enough ogling. Help me get dinner on the table,” Mia said, shoving a salad bowl at me.

“So did Elena help this time?” I asked as we started to load the table up.

“I’ll have you know that I did everything myself,” she said with her nose in the air.

“Is it edible?” I asked with a laugh.

“Fuck off. Elena helped me make it last week, and I practiced following her recipe all week. I can officially make Chicken Parmesan all by myself.”

“You’ve made the same dinner every day this week?” I asked, trying to hold back my laughter.

“How else was I going to make sure I got it right? Besides, Carlo only had to eat it three times for dinner; the other two times it didn’t exactly turn out right.”

“Jesus,” I said shaking my head. The poor guy probably never wanted to see a piece of breaded chicken again.

“It’s his favorite,” Mia argued.

Not anymore.

“That’s nice of you,” I said and ducked into the den to tell the guys dinner was ready.

There was something about announcing dinner to the men folk that rubbed me the wrong way, but since I didn’t actually cook, I guess my inner feminist couldn’t be too pissed.

We all settled to a surprisingly good meal. I’d have to give props to Elena next time I saw her; she was a damn good teacher.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Mia said. “Your dress came in; I’ll need you to try it on before you leave and make sure it fits.”

“Sure, sounds good,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes. Mia and Carlo had opted not to have a bridal party but she’d still insisted on me wearing a dress of her choosing. If it had been up to me, I would have worn pants or at the very least my leather jacket, but it was her wedding. If she wanted me in a dress, then I’d be in a fucking dress.

Angelo’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out, his eyes knitting into a frown when he looked at the display.

“I need to take this,” he said, quickly getting up and leaving the room to answer.

Carlo shot a look at Antonio who shrugged and shook his head. A minute later, Angelo came back into the room, only this time his face was drained of color and worry etched on his features.

“What’s wrong?” Antonio asked.

“That was Mallory,” Angelo said, looking from Enzo to me.

“The forensics lady?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Angelo nodded. “She called to warn me, well, you actually,” he said looking right at me.

“Spit it out already,” Enzo barked from beside me.

“She thinks that your stalker might be the one that’s been killing those girls in the city.”

“Why would she think that?” I asked, my stomach rolling.

“She didn’t put it together until this last one they found a few hours ago. All of the girls had brown eyes and blonde hair; if you look close, they all kind of look like you.”

“But I dye my hair red. That doesn’t make any sense,” I argued.

“That’s the thing; the killer painted their hair with their own blood to make it bright red.”

My head spun and I had to brace a hand on the table in front of me as my vision swam. I fought to catch my breath as my heartbeat thundered in my ears. Enzo pulled me onto his lap and rubbed circles on my back. I curled into him as I tried to breathe through the panic attack. I’d had them before, and I knew what I had to do to get through it, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Finally, my breathing returned to normal and I was able to pull myself together. Someone handed me a bottle of water and I downed it. My hands were still shaking as I tried to right myself. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat before I spoke.

“What else did she say?” I asked, still holding onto Enzo for strength.

Angelo looked to Enzo as if asking for permission, and the fear I’d felt was suddenly replaced with anger.

“Don’t look at him. I asked you a question,” I demanded.

“Sorry. This last one had a message carved into her forearms,” he said, giving me a worried look.

“What was it?” Enzo asked.

“It says, ‘He can not have you. You’re mine.’ She sent a picture,” he said handing his phone over.

I stared at the picture and the words sliced crudely into the skin of the poor girl’s forearm.

“The contractions,” I whispered and Enzo squeezed me tighter.

“She said his murderous rampage is escalating. It was almost two weeks between the first and second murders, and the third was five days ago. Mallory said the girl they found today was killed sometime last night,” Angelo said somberly.

“Who would do this?” I asked to no one in particular.

Enzo kissed the top of my head. “I don’t know, but I’ve got you,” he whispered.

After Angelo’s announcement, no one had much of an appetite so I helped Mia clear the table. I needed something to do because sitting there thinking about some obsessed psycho out there killing girls that looked like me was just too much. At least, if I kept my hands busy, I could pretend like I wasn’t fixating over it.

“
Y
ou guys should stay
,” Mia said as Enzo and I started to gather our things.

“Thanks, but we’re just going to head back to the city,” I said, pulling on my coat.

“But it’s safer here,” Mia argued.

“I’ll be with Enzo— “

“What if he comes after you there?” Mia questioned, her voice rising an octave.

“She won’t leave my sight,” Enzo answered.

“There’s only one of you. How good is your security? Do you even have a security system?” Mia rattled off, not leaving it alone.

“Mia, Enzo is perfectly capable of taking care of his own wife,” Carlo said firmly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

My heart squeezed hearing him refer to me as Enzo’s wife. We’d said it to each other, but hearing it from someone else was surreal.

“But—” Mia continued to argue.

“Can you guys give us a minute?” I asked. Carlo and Enzo nodded and left us standing in the foyer.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just stay,” Mia huffed, running her hands through her hair.

“For how long?” I asked.

“Until they find the guy,” she urged.

“Who knows how long that will take. I’m not going hide out all the way out here. Carlo’s right; Enzo will protect me. Besides, you have a wedding to plan, you don’t need house guests,” I joked trying to lighten the mood.

“I just want you to be safe. Is that so fucking unreasonable?” she volleyed back.

“Hey,” I said stepping closer. “I’m not Gina; nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, tears spilling down her face.

I pulled her into a somewhat awkward hug. “I do know that, because I have Enzo and he’d die before letting anything happen to me. And trust me, that asshole is too fucking stubborn to die.”

“I know, I just can’t help but worry,” she sniffed. “Christ, these pregnancy hormones are seriously fucking with me.”

“Are we done with the mushy girl talk now?” I asked, pulling away to look at her.

“Yeah,” she laughed, wiping her face.

“We good?” I asked, eyeing her.

“We’re good,” she nodded.

“Is it safe to enter?” Enzo asked, coming back into the foyer.

“Yes, I’m exhausted. Let’s go home.”

His smile was so big, it consumed his face, and I was momentarily taken aback. I hadn’t seen him smile like that in years.

“What is it?” I asked.

Enzo shook his head. “Nothing, come on,” he said, leading me out the door.

“So everything okay between you and Mia?” he asked as soon as we were on the road.

“Like you weren’t eavesdropping.”

He just grunted in response. We drove in comfortable silence for a few miles before I brought up the subject that was weighing heavily on both our minds.

“I’m scared, Enzo. This guy’s killing innocent girls and staging them to look like me. What kind of fucked up psycho does that?”

“I don’t know, but I promise you I’ll keep you safe. Whoever this is, he’s not getting anywhere near you.”

“He already has,” I said, remembering the picture he’d taken of me while I slept.

“Not since you’ve been with me. I know you like your freedom, but after what we found out tonight, you’re not going anywhere without me glued to your side, babe. I don’t trust anyone with your safety but me.”

“You won’t see me putting up any fights,” I laughed, but it was hollow.

“What the—” Enzo started, but was cut off by the blare of a car horn. High beams shown through the back windshield blinding us. The two lane highway that led from Carlo and Mia’s house was unlit and mostly deserted at night, but with the headlights from the car behind us, we couldn’t see a thing.

“Grab my phone. Call Antonio!” Enzo shouted as the car moved into the oncoming lane and sped up trying to pull alongside us.

“Where is it?”

“My right pants pocket,” he said gesturing with his head.

Just as I reached over the console, Enzo floored it, causing me to jerk back in my seat. I tried again, the seatbelt digging into the side of my neck as I strained, finally wrapping my fingers around the phone. I quickly found Antonio’s number and pushed the call button.

“Shit!” Enzo exclaimed veering onto the shoulder before jerking back into our lane.

“Hello?” Antonio’s voice came over the line and I could have cried in relief.

“He’s trying to run us off the road,” I shrieked as we swerved again.

“Put it on speaker!” Enzo barked at me.

My clumsy fingers fumbled with the phone until I found the Bluetooth button and switched it on. Antonio’s voice came crackling through the speakers; he was shouting orders at people in the background before he came back on.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Headed south on the highway, about five miles from the house. This guy’s all over the place,” Enzo snapped.

“We’re in the car now headed your way,” Antonio called out.

“Fuck! Hold on, baby,” Enzo yelled, “he’s going to hit— “